I had the craziest BH 90201dream last night and I just had to write it out. This story is set in present day (2018) and follows the plot lines of BH 90210 and it's spin off show. Obviously, I don't own the rights to the show or characters, just borrowing them for a little since they are deciding to over take my dreams. Yeah I know I said I was writing anymore, but what am I supposed to do. It's interrupting my sleep. Let me know what you think or if I should continue.
The harsh wind nearly knocked Dylan on his ass as he sprinted across the yard and up the steps to his ranch house. He pried open his door and slammed it shut behind him.
Carelessly, he threw off his hat and tossed his coat onto a nearby chair. He ran a hand through his messy locks and marveled at the length. Over the years he had tried out many looks with his hair, but he never remembered letting it get this long before.
He blamed his grizzly appearance on the ranch. Living and working the farmers lifestyle doesn't leave much time to focus on physical appearance. Most of his crew had matching long hair and husky beards adorning their faces. He glanced in the mirror and looked at his reflection.
Over the years he had grown into his shoulders and finally packed on the weight, thankfully in muscle and not in fat. Long gone was his lanky apperance from his youth. His arms were larger then they have ever been thanks to the hours of hauling heavy materials around the ranch.
Dylan looked away from the mirror and walked over to the kitchen, running a hand through his beard. He opened the fridge and grabbed a bottle of beer cracking it open. He lifted the bottle to drink, but stopped when a light from his voicemail caught his attention. He padded over to the machine and hit play.
He sunk into a worn leather chair, listening to the machine start. He took a long swig of his drink and for the first time since he woke up at six am, he allowed himself to relax.
"Dad?" He heard his son's voice call out, as the recording started. "Dad are you there? Pick up its important . . . okay I guess you're outside. Mom has been trying to call your cell all day and it's going straight to voicemail, which must mean its dead. Why you have a cell phone and refuse to charge it daily is beyond me, but anyway sorry . . . just call me. Please Dad, call as soon as you get this."
Half way through Sammy's message Dylan had already grabbed the cordless phone and punched in the familiar area code for Beverly Hills. Drumming his fingers against the chair he waited for the call to connect. There was something unsettling about the urgency in his sons voice that wasn't sitting right with him. Something was wrong.
"Dylan!" a voice cried out from the other end, "Hey! Can you hear me? God, this connection sucks."
"Yeah Kel, I can hear you." He answered, "What's going on? I got a weird message from Sam. Is everything okay?"
He didn't bother with pleasantries and got straight to the point. When it came to Kelly he learned over the years that you couldn't give her too much. She overreacted to everything. After a particularly nasty breakup when Sammy was about eight, they both had come to the realization that they would never, ever work out as a couple.
They had decided that the only way for their relationship to work was to focus one hundred percent of their energy onto Sam and raise the best son they could. They settled on a comfortable custody agreement, Sam spending his summers and all major holidays with Dylan in Wyoming, but still attending school in Beverly Hills.
Dylan's heart started to beat faster at the thought of his son hurt or in danger. He had no idea how the years had flown by so quickly, but suddenly his baby boy wasn't a boy anymore, he was a man.
At sixteen, Samuel Michael McKay stood tall at six foot three inches. He had Kelly's pouty lips, blue eyes, and bright blonde hair, but got his height and build from his side of the family.
"Sammy's okay." Kelly reassured, drawing him out of his thoughts, "But, Andrea Zuckerman called me a couple hours ago…Dylan, Jim Walsh died this morning."
Dylan let out a breath and fell back into his chair. "What? No way...what happened?"
Kelly sniffled a little before answering, "She said it was a heart attack or something like that. I tried calling Brandon, but it went straight to voicemail and I don't even know how's to get a hold of Brenda. I just cannot believe this. Poor Cindy. She must be devastated."
Dylan sat there in shock allowing Kelly to carry the conversation, mostly talking to her self. He couldn't wrap his head around the news. Jim Walsh was dead. For years, Jim Walsh was the father figure he never asked for, but somehow got and now he was gone.
"Oh, that's Brandon is calling me on my cell. Here talk to Sam. Sammy talk to your Dad." Dylan heard Kelly instruct, passing the phone. He heard the phone being shuffled around before he heard his sons voice.
"Hey. I'm really sorry."
"Thanks Sam." He responded, letting his sons voice sooth him, "He was a great man." He felt his throat tighten up, a familiar sign that he was about to become emotional.
Coughing in an attempt to hold the tears off, he tried to remember the last time he had seen Jim Walsh. They hadn't spoken face to face in many years. The annual holiday cards were exchanged and occasional emails were sent, but he couldn't remember the last time he had seen Jim in person.
"I think I met him once." Sammy said picking up the conversation, "Remeber that summer Mom made me stay in Bevery Hills? You flew in from Wyoming so we could still spend our summer together and you got me that awful job at the Pit? Wasn't that Mr. Walsh?"
Dylan smiled as the recalled that summer. Sammy was thirteen, a small hellion running around Beverly Hills. Constantly, sneaking out of the house behind Kelly's back and getting in trouble with the wrong crowd at school. He flew back to California to snap Sammy back into reality.
He reached out to his old pal Nat, who still owned and ran the Peach Pit, securing Sammy a summer job. Dylan had hoped bussing tables and washing dishes would teach his son some humility.
He and Nat were having lunch one day when Jim an Cindy waltzed through the door. They were all stunned for an moment before they all broke out in big smiles exchanging hugs and hellos. He remember how excited Jim and Cindy were to meet Sam. They gushed over his son like he was their own grandchild. Jim surprised him the most when he confessed how proud he was of Dylan and all that he had accomplished.
Dylan was hit with the overwhelming feeling of guilt as he remembered all their promises of re-connecting they made. He let a few silent tears fall as he realized that was the last time he saw Jim Walsh alive.
"Dad? Are you still there?" he heard Sammy ask.
Dylan wiped his face and cleared his throat, "I'm still here and yeah that was Mr. Walsh."
"He left me a fifty dollar tip. I'll never forget that." Sam said chuckling. "Are you coming to Beverly Hills? Uncle Steve came over earlier to comfort mom, but he's a mess too. Mom's husband of the month is gone on some business trip to Asia so you can stay with us. I overheard Uncle Steve telling mom about a service was going to be planned later in the week."
Dylan found himself agreeing to what ever Sam said, still distracted by unfortunate news. They had started to say their goodbyes, but Sam lingered on the other line.
"Hey Dad?" Sammy called out, unsure if his Father had hung up or not.
"Yes Sam?"
"Is Mr. Walsh related to the girl from your journal?"
Dylan froze. He blinked for a few moments blind sided by the question. "Don't." Dylan snapped in a low voice, "Please don't start with that again Sam, especially not now."
"Sorry." The boy quickly said, mentally kicking himself for bringing up the taboo subject. "I shouldn't have brought it up. I'll talk to you later."
Dylan instantly felt bad, "Wait, Sam hold up. You didn't do anything wrong. I'm the one who should be sorry. I'm just upset about Mr. Walsh and I shouldn't have taken it out on you. I'm sorry."
The line was silent for a few moments. Both McKay men were unsure how to continue.
"Well it's getting late." Dylan said glancing at the clock, "and I still have to finish up some chores around the ranch and also figure out these travel arrangements. I'll call you tomorrow once I figure it all out okay."
"Okay dad...again I'm sorry."
"You have nothing to be sorry for...okay? Talk to you soon."
Dylan clicked off the phone and set down the phone on the receiver. Jim Walsh was dead. Dylan shook his head, still in disbelief. How was this happening? He couldn't believe one half of the infamous couple was gone.
Dylan drained the rest of his beer as he walked barefoot from his living room to his home office.
He flicked on the light, allowing his eyes to adjust to the sudden change in light. He walked to his shelf and pulled a key from behind a framed picture of Sam and walked over to his desk.
Unlocking the bottom drawer, he pulled out an old box, hidden beneath some papers setting it down with a plop on the top of his desk. He paused before opening it.
Too many memories haunted this box…too many regrets.
He pulled the lid off and slowly started to sift through the items, pausing at the old worn journal Sammy mentioned ealier. He tapped it softly before moving on, looking for a particular photo.
"There it is." He said pulling a worn picture from the bottom of the box. It was a picture of himself, Jim and Cindy from his high school graduation.
He tried to hold back the tears once again, but they escaped, streaming down his cheeks. He leaned back into his desk chair and finally allowed himself a moment to grieve for the father he had lost.
Sammy in my minud is kinda an Austin Bulter-esq character. I have no idea where this little story came from, but I'm excited to see where it goes...