A.N.: A heartfelt "thank you" to crashcmb for responding to my drowning pleas and offering her beta services.

This story would have been abandoned long ago, if it wasn't for her wonderful assistance. So, it goes without saying that if you hate it, it's all her fault.

In all seriousness, though, if there is any part of this story that is even remotely decent it is because of crashcmb. All the sucky parts are mine.

This is a two-parter. Part two will be up later this week. We're at the fine-tuning stage.

Disclaimer: Josh Schwartz & Co. owns "The OC" and its characters. I do not. I just won't let them move on to Newport...and you know...happiness.………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….....................................................................................................................................................

Just Another Day

Chapter One

Ryan listened, with half an ear, to the utter stillness of the house around him. This had always been his favorite time of the day. That almost magical moment between sleep and consciousness. When he had exactly two choices. To submit to the irresistible pull to drift back into the safety of nothingness, or to fight his way awake and start his day. He was pretty sure the alarm hadn't gone off yet, the radio set to some crap-assed heavy metal 80's station that his brother liked, if only for the desired effect it had for pissing off their parents. But, the clock rested on the little table next to Trey's side of the bed, and Ryan could never be entirely sure that his brother hadn't already slammed the snooze button half-a-dozen times, or turned the clock off completely.

Even better was the sudden, and welcome, realization that there was no school. A whole day that lay ahead. Empty time--time that could be filled on his bike with Lawrence and Hank, exploring neighborhoods beyond the Jack in the Box on Kings Canyon, where his dad had set the invisible line that Trey and he weren't allowed to cross. The line that had been ceremoniously smashed within the first week in which it had been drawn. First by Trey, then by Ryan, as the boys had slowly, but deliberately, expanded their respective worlds, stretching their invisible tethers farther and farther from the block of small ranch homes on the quiet street with the tiny plots of mottled grass and chain link fencing that surrounded them.

His parents were late sleepers. Especially on weekend and holidays. But, even so, the boys would sometimes hear noises from the room next door. Calm, but earnest talking--an exchange of hushed, angry words--or on the rarest of occasions--quiet laughter. Laughter that was broken off with a giggled "shush"--the sound of a playful slap of skin on skin--the squeak of the bed--or a soft, but audible mention of the boys, collectively or by name.

At times like those, Trey could be counted on to make the universal gagging sign. The boys would slip out of bed, quickly pull on whatever clothing was most convenient, and escape silently out their window--leaving their parents to the elusive privacy that the tiny house so rarely afforded and knowing that they would be forgiven for a few hours of unaccounted for time as they took off on their bikes for parts of Fresno as yet unexplored.

Even as he debated stirring or surrendering back to sleep, the silence was broken. Ryan could hear the sound of voices--neither hushed nor murmured. Raised and careless chatter. The clatter of cupboard doors opening and slamming shut. Cups clanging onto the kitchen countertops. A male voice.

"You remember to bring any coffee home or do we have to drink this instant crap again?"

"Oh, shit. I totally forgot. I'll go out and get some."

"Yeah right. Like you're gonna find someplace open. Jesus fucking Christ. I ask you to do one thing. One fucking thing--and you can't even get that right."

"There'll be someplace open. It's no big deal. I'll run out and get something."

Ryan forced open an eye and confirmed that Trey wasn't lying next to him. There were no rumpled sheets or even a pillow on the other side of the bed. No evidence that his brother had risen before him. In fact, there was no evidence that his brother had ever occupied the room, beside a few mementos left over from Trey's brief flirtation with skateboarding. Like everything Trey did, the fascination hadn't lasted long. The skateboard was quickly abandoned for jacking cars and boosting their parts, but the Baker and the Blockhead stickers still adorned the wall under the window on what had been Trey's side of the room--a couple of skateboards still hung on the wall near the doorway. Both, subtle reminders of slightly more innocent times.

With a groan, Ryan realized he wasn't eight anymore. He wasn't even close. He was fifteen and Trey had been out of the house for months now. Ryan threw his feet over the side of the bed, sat up and shook his head a couple of times, trying to force the cobwebs from his brain and to will himself awake.

Shit! How the hell had he managed to regress seven years in the span of nine hours?

He quickly considered and rejected an escape out the window, the way Trey and he used to do back in Fresno. It would solve the short-term problem of having to gauge his mother's mood. And of having to deal with AJ. But, his bike was in its customary place, lying on the ground between the tree and front of the house. It was in plain view of the kitchen and the dining room, so odds were that he'd be spotted as he took off. There'd be no way to fake like he'd gotten an early start--that he'd been up and out of the house before his mother and AJ had risen.

And, as much as he wouldn't mind putting off dealing with either adult in the house, he'd learned the hard way that it was just easier to get it over with. Ryan grabbed a change of clothes and a towel and shuffled the short distance from his room to the bathroom. He made a beeline to the bathroom door and his mother and AJ ignored him, if they saw him at all. Once he was showered and changed, he made his way to the kitchen.

"You leave your clothes and that wet towel on the bathroom floor again?"

"No, Mom." He leaned over and let his mother give him a quick buss on the cheek.

"Thanks, kiddo."

"No problem."

"What're you up to, today?"

"I dunno." He gave an evasive shrug. He still hadn't looked at AJ and was hoping to get out of the house without a confrontation. "I thought I'd take my bike out for a while if it's okay."

"AJ?"

Ryan tried to keep his face impassive, even as he cringed internally. What he did was none of AJ's goddamned business and the fact that his mother was even asking for his permission grated on his every nerve.

"Like I give a fuck."

"Like I care."

"What the fuck did you just say to me?" Ryan hadn't even been aware that he'd spoken the words out loud. He was close enough to the front door that he just exited with a quickly muttered, "Nothin'," and a half-wave over his shoulder. He jumped on his bike and took off, ignoring the angry words that followed.

As he jumped the curb and pedaled furiously down the street, he silently cussed himself out. What the fuck was his problem? He'd been out of there. Out of the house with no damage done until he'd opened his stupid mouth. It made no sense. None. Ryan was a quiet kid. Too quiet, most would say. Hell, he'd even agree. Words weren't really his thing. He rarely opened his mouth. To the point that it aggravated more than a few people. His mother. Theresa. His guidance counselor. Too many teachers to name.

And yet--and yet--at the times that he should just know better. The times that he should be quiet. The times when to open his mouth meant risking something--whether it be detention, an aggressive confrontation, or even a beating at the hands of a man three times his size--those were the times when he would open his mouth and say the stuff that he normally kept bottled up inside. For some inexplicable reason, those were the times he just couldn't keep himself from speaking.

More and more, AJ'd been having that effect on him. He'd been getting under Ryan's skin and Ryan'd been mouthing back--despite the obvious and automatic consequences.

As he continued pedaling, he swore that he'd try to do a better job at monitoring his backtalk. But, even as he made the promise to himself, he knew he wouldn't keep it. There was just something about AJ that kicked his sense of self-preservation to the back-burner. It might have something to do with his mother and the fact that so many of his clashes with her boyfriend started over AJ's treatment of her. Or the fact that AJ'd been a presence in the house for months now--or that there was no sense that he was leaving anytime soon.

AJ had completely taken over their house. His big white pickup always seemed to be parked in the carport. His body occupying the overstuffed chair in front of the television. And there were the rough looking guys who stopped by the house at all hours of the day and night. Some who were looking to buy coke. Some who were looking to sell it. And others--others who were just there to use.

Ryan'd even come home to the house full of strangers more than a few times. His mother and AJ nowhere in sight, a party in full swing, unknown couples pairing off and disappearing into his mother's room. Himself, scared shitless and unsure of what to do, besides locking himself in his bedroom and waiting for his mother's return. On those rare occasions, he'd smoked cigarette after cigarette, staring out his open window, ignoring the intermittent attempts at his doorknob and keeping an eye on those leaving, wondering what--if anything--he would do if he saw anyone attempt to boost the Atwoods' meager possessions.

He'd been lucky that he'd never been forced to make that decision, since calling the cops wasn't really an option. Not with his mother's name on the lease and the amount of drugs and weapons he knew to be secreted around the house.

It angered Ryan that the little house in Chino in which he had grown up was no longer his. It was no longer the Atwood home. It no longer belonged to his mother--to him--to Trey. It was AJ's house now. It was AJ's house, even though AJ had done nothing tangible to make it that way. AJ didn't pay the bills or fill the refrigerator or even fix the fucking pipe that was busted under the vanity in the bathroom. In fact, there was no reason why the house should feel like it belonged to AJ--except he had become an all-encompassing force that dominated the home.

Actually, the more Ryan thought about it, the more he equated AJ to a black-hole, sucking all of the energy out of the house. Ryan couldn't remember a time that his home had been filled with more tension, less humor, less of a sense of--of "family"--for lack of a better word.

Sure, life in the Atwood home had never been easy. Especially after his dad had been arrested and his mother had moved them from Fresno.

But, before AJ, at least there were cycles. His mother would go through her bouts of sobriety and her struggles with the bottle. Jobs were lost and found again. Times were sometimes tough and sometimes surprisingly easy. Boyfriends were lousy or pretty okay. But, everything went in a cycle. As lousy as the present might seem, if he held on persistently enough, an upswing was bound to come. His mother would sober up. She'd manage to keep a job for more than a few months. The bills would be paid on time. The refrigerator would contain at least the essentials. She'd date someone who didn't totally suck.

But, after his mother met AJ, it was like someone jammed a stick between the spokes on the front wheel of the bike that was Ryan's life. He'd been ejected from the seat and he'd landed in a mess of brambles--the bike lying next to him in a pile of ruin. The wheel that he had always counted on to keep turning had become a jumbled and broken mess that he just couldn't reattach--no matter how hard he worked at fixing it. His mother couldn't keep a job for more than a few weeks at a time. She hadn't been sober a full day since the day the motherfucker moved in. The phone had been cut off months ago. The electricity had been reconnected twice.

The once familiar cycle that Ryan had so steadfastly relied upon had been replaced with another circular motion--a funnel. Ryan could feel his life spin out of control--the rotations getting tighter and tighter--closing in on himself--as he--and his mother--were getting sucked closer and closer to the drain that would eventually pull them in and suffocate them forever. AJ'd been there longer than any boyfriend Ryan could recollect, and he didn't seem to have any intention of leaving.

Trey'd preceded them into the abyss years before. His brother had been busted twice as a minor for possession and already once, as an adult, for simple assault. He'd dropped out of high school in the 11th grade--he'd left the house shortly after AJ moved in, and had spent his time since crashing with friends. Hopping from apartment to apartment and supporting himself selling weed and jacking cars. It was only a matter of time before Trey collected a felony bust and was rewarded with state time. Not that Ryan could blame Trey's descent on AJ. Trey'd been a lost cause long before AJ'd entered the picture.

Without even knowing he'd been traveling in that direction, Ryan found himself outside his brother's apartment. He debated a few minutes whether to go inside. It was still early and, knowing his brother, Trey was probably asleep. But, when Ryan'd left his house, he hadn't had time to grab a jacket, so he wasn't dressed appropriately for the weather. He had on only a short-sleeved black cotton t-shirt covering a longer sleeved gray one, and it was the chilly air that bit through both layers of clothing that made the final decision for him. He ditched his bike inside the apartment building's front entrance and climbed the four flights to his brother's door.

"Hey, man. What're you doing here?"

Trey looked like shit. He was dressed in boxers, with a grungy looking comforter pulled tightly around him. His eyes were bloodshot and at half-mast, he reeked of booze and his hair was clumped into unruly tufts that stuck out in several different directions. He moved back from the entryway, leaving the door open for his brother to pass inside.

Ryan moved into the apartment and surveyed the damage from the night before. There were open pizza boxes, empty bottles of beer and some harder stuff lying haphazardly around. There was a bong in plain sight on the steamer trunk that served as a coffee table. Trey shuffled back to the couch and sat down, folding a flattened pillow in half and moving it behind him. It was obvious he'd spent the night there. Ryan grabbed a chair, pulled it over and sat on it backwards, facing his brother.

"I--uh--kind of lost my room last night."

"No shit?"

"Yeah, well, at least somebody got laid. So, where were you, little brother? I thought you were going to stop by. It was--uh--it got pretty crazy."

"Looks like," Ryan shrugged. "I dunno. Things are just so messed up at home right now. I just wasn't really up to it."

"What'd that fucker do, now?" Trey was halfway to his feet before Ryan could open his mouth to placate him.

"Nothing, Trey. It's nothing. I mean, nothing more than the usual bullshit. I was going to come--but you know AJ--it's like he's always between you and the door. I just didn't feel up to getting into anything with him. It seemed easier to stay in my room, watch TV--call it a night."

"Like you gotta explain yourself to that motherfucker?"

"I dunno," Ryan lifted a shoulder. "It's kinda like I do. I mean, it's pretty fucked up, Trey. Every time I tell Mom I'm going somewhere or doing something, she'll actually run it by him. It's like I can't leave the house until she gets his okay."

"So--what? You think she's gonna marry this motherfucker?"

"I dunno. I don't think so. I mean--she can't. At least not yet. He's still married. He's gotta wife--a couple of kids. Not that he ever sees them--"

"You ever think about Mom and Dad? You know--if they'd still be married, he didn't knock off that convenience store?"

Ryan raised an uncomfortable shoulder, surprised by his brother's question. It wasn't like Trey to bring up the past. The brothers rarely spoke of their father--or of the time before his arrest.

"I dunno--I mean--no, not really. What's the point? He did, they're not, who cares?"

"Seriously, man? You never wonder what woulda' happened if he didn't get sent up?"

"No."

"No, shit?"

"Jesus, Trey, in how many ways do I gotta say it?"

"I dunno," Trey shrugged. "Just seems weird to me, you don't ever think about shit like that."

"Shit like what?"

"Stupid shit, man. Shit like whether Mom'd be so fucked up if Dad was still around…or if Dad would still even be around if he didn't screw up that robbery. Whether we'd of been better off staying in Fresno. Or if none of it woulda' made a shit's bit of difference."

"Jesus, Trey, what the fuck were you smoking last night?"

"Nothing, man," Trey let out an exasperated sigh. "I just can't believe that you don't think about shit like this--like ever."

"Yeah, well, believe it, man. I don't. And it's a fucking waste of your time--thinking about shit like that, too."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning, what can you do about any of it, anyway? Dad isn't around. Mom's a fucking train wreck. AJ isn't exactly going anywhere anytime soon. Things are the way they are, Trey. You can't change the past. You've just gotta fucking deal with the here and now."

"Yeah right--the here and now." Trey muttered as he looked around the room. He slowly rose from the couch. He dropped the comforter behind him as he pulled on his jeans, which had been lying on the floor between the couch and the trunk. Ryan waited as his brother disappeared into the kitchen. A few minutes later, he came back with a glass of water and a trash bag. He guzzled the water and put the glass on top of the television, before beginning to shove bottles and boxes into the bag. Ryan joined him and the room looked marginally better a few minutes later.

"What're you gonna do with that?" Ryan gestured to the bong.

Trey opened the trunk and threw it in. "There's no sense in hiding it in the floorboards or anything, cops bust this place, that's the least of what they'll find." His laugh was humorless.

"Great way to live." Ryan plopped down on the couch, away from the pillow and the grungy comforter.

"Coming from a guy living with Mom and that motherfucker?"

"I'm fifteen, Trey, it's not like I have a choice."

Trey raised an eyebrow, but didn't contradict his brother. Instead, he walked over to his bedroom door and started pounding on it. "Hey, man, I gotta take a piss. Consider this your notice. I'm evicting both of your motherfucking naked asses as of two minutes from now. Get dressed and get the fuck out."

Trey leaned over his brother and grabbed the comforter. He folded it neatly and lay it in the trunk, on top of the bong, before taking a seat next to Ryan. "I tried to go see him, you know."

"See who?"

"Dad, you dumbshit."

"Why?"

"I dunno." It was Trey's turn to raise a shoulder. He had his hands folded together and was staring down at them. He didn't look up at his brother when he started speaking again. "It's weird, but I think I'm beginning to forget what the bastard looks like. It's been--what? Four years--five years--something like that, right?" Trey continued when Ryan didn't answer. "I just--I dunno. Do you have any fucking idea how tall the guy is, even? Cause I'm having a really hard time picturing the asshole."

"He's tall, Trey. Like you are."

"You sure? Or is it just because that's the way you remember him? Cause you were like…what…ten the last time you saw him?"

"I'm sure. There're still some pictures of him around. Mom has them pretty well hidden. But, they're there. When he's with Mom, he dwarfs her--you know, like you do."

"How about his eyes, man. Do you even remember what color his eyes are?"

"Blue?" Ryan hadn't meant it to sound like a question.

"No man--they're green. You see, that, I remember. He always wanted you to look him in the eye when you fucked up. I dunno--to see if you were lying or something. And you know me, little brother, always with the fucking up. So, the eyes--his eyes--I ain't ever gonna forget his eyes. It's the rest of the asshole's face that I can't picture most of the time."

"Jesus, Trey, no shitting? You went to Corcoran?"

"Naw, man, I never got that far. I did get all the paperwork, though--you know--like you did for us when we were kids."

"And all because you can't picture his face anymore?"

"No--or--or--maybe. I dunno. Shit, some days it's like I don't know nothing anymore, little brother. Nothing, but how everything's so fucking messed up right now. I mean, you're getting the crap beat out of you all the time by Mom's fuckwad of a boyfriend--I'm living in this shithole--selling weed to 13-year-olds, for christsake--ice to crackwhores who'll send their 5-year-olds to make the exchange. I dunno. I guess, maybe, I was just looking for some answers."

"Answers to what, Trey? Life wasn't exactly a fucking picnic before Dad got sent up. You know that. You know that better than anyone."

"I know, Ryan. Jesus, I'm not a fucking moron, man. It was bad--I know it was. But, it wasn't this bad. It wasn't Mom on the hard stuff--or you--you getting your ass kicked all the fucking time. It wasn't me--it wasn't me living like fucking this, man."

Trey took a deep breath--expelled. "Ah, fuck it. Who knows? Who cares? None of it matters, anyway."

"What happened?"

"I got denied. Can you believe it? I got rubber-stamped fucking denied. They wouldn't let me see him because I got a record."

The silence between the brothers stretched for a few uncomfortable seconds, as Ryan wracked his brain for something to say. He was absolutely dumbstruck with Trey's revelation. Especially, since the most dominant memories he had of the Atwood family's time in Fresno had been the almost daily battle of wills between Trey and their father.

He couldn't remember the last time Trey had referred to their father as anything but the "asshole" or the "bastard" and, the one time the entire Atwood clan had spent a visiting day at Corcoran, Trey had done nothing but sit, surly and silent, with his arms folded tightly across his chest and a pissed off expression permanently affixed to his face, resisting any and all attempts their father had made at conversation.

Ryan was relieved of having to come up with a response when Eddie chose that moment to come out of Trey's bedroom. Kimberly Morrison was close on his heels. She looked surprised and embarrassed to see Ryan, but gave him a little wave of recognition. She was in a couple of his classes at school.

"Hey, Ryan, what're you doing here?"

"C'mon, Kim, you know Trey and Ryan are brothers."

"Yeah, right." She said the words, but Ryan could tell that she hadn't known that Trey and he were related by the uncertainty of her tone and the way she glanced from Trey to him and back to his brother again, a quizzical expression on her face.

"Shit, I'd better get out of here. My stepdad's really gonna kill me this time." Kim stole a quick glance at her watch and raised up on her tiptoes to give Eddie a peck on the cheek.

"Call me?"

"Yeah--uh--sure. You--you need a ride or anything?"

"No way. My stepdad's probably got the gun out by now, sitting on the porch, boots up on the railing, barrel aimed down the sidewalk, just waiting to use it." Kim's giggle sounded forced as she beat a hasty exit out the door.

Ryan waited until he couldn't hear her footsteps anymore before speaking, "I thought you were dating Theresa."

"I am."

"Kimberly know that?"

"C'mon, man, don't say anything to her--to Theresa--okay? We're actually getting along pretty good right now."

"Looks like." Ryan pulled the corners of his mouth down and gave Eddie a sidelong look, without turning in his chair.

"I'm serious, man, you know Theresa, she'll run me up a flagpole by my nuts, she finds out I fucked around on her."

"Whatever--Eddie, it's none of my business."

"Seriously, man?"

"Dude, it's a non-issue. It's not like she's even talking to me right now, anyway."

"You two ain't getting along?"

"Not so much--uh--no."

"I call your bullshit."

"It's not bullshit, Eddie. Ask her about me--the words she'll use--let's just say they're not gonna be the kind you'll want your gram to hear."

"So, if she thinks you're such a fuckweed, why's she got your picture plastered all over her refrigerator?"

"Oh, c'mon, Eddie, her mom put that up. I don't think she's ever gonna let me live that stupid Snoopy thing down. It's from like the 8th grade."

"Snoopy--the what?" Eddie seemed genuinely confused.

"Nothing. What picture are you talking about?"

"The picture of you guys at the winter dance. It's up on her refrigerator. Like you're the fucking king and queen of the prom. What the fuck is the 'Snoopy thing?' "

"Nothing."

Trey's mouth was half-open, but he closed it quickly, after seeing his brother's sharp look.

Eddie looked from Trey to Ryan. Seemed to be contemplating something. Finally offered, "Say nothing to Theresa about Kimberly and I won't ask any more questions about Snoopy."

"Yeah, sure--done." Ryan quickly accepted Eddie's offer.

Trey opened his arms, palms up. "This is between the two of you and Theresa. I'm out of it. Except if 'Turo finds out I let you use my room. That happens and I'll fucking kill you, Eddie."

"You won't need to. Arturo'll take care of killing Eddie right after he kills you," Ryan offered.

"I ain't kidding." Trey ignored his brother's comment.

"Dude, I get it." Eddie sounded sincere. Which was really no surprise, considering Arturo was not one to mess with, especially if he found out that Eddie was fucking around on his little sister. "Anyway, guys, it's been real. Thanks for letting me crash in your room, Trey." Eddie offered his fist to Trey, then to Ryan, "I told my grams I'd be home before noon, so I'd better get going."

As he opened the door, Eddie looked back into the room, "Hey, Ryan, I know I said I wouldn't ask about it, but I am so totally going to find that picture the next time I'm at Theresa's."

Ryan picked up the closest cushion from the couch and chucked it at Eddie. It hit the door as it was closing and he was left with nothing but the sound of Eddie's laughter and his rapidly receding footsteps as they raced down the stairs.

"You mind if I clean up--take a shower?" Trey asked.

"No, man. Please."

"Paulo's still here--in his room--at least I think he is--shit--I don't even know anymore--he may have left while I was still asleep."

"No problem." Ryan grabbed for the remote control and flipped on the television. It was tuned to ESPN and he left it there. Trey disappeared into his room. Ryan briefly considered, and then rejected, spending his time better by cleaning up the living room. But, it wasn't his apartment, he hadn't even attended the party, and he knew that most of the mess wasn't even Trey's.

From fourteen years of sharing a room with his brother, he knew Trey's own personal space would be as neat as an army barracks. The fact that the common area usually resembled a pigpen had more to do with his brother's unfortunate selection of roommates than his own general slovenliness. Atwoods were clean creatures by nature. Their father had painfully instilled that particular trait in them at an early age and it had carried over. Even the present Atwood home was kept surprisingly clean, despite AJ, his friends and the partying that occurred on a weekly basis. If there was a mess left over in the morning that Dawn didn't get to, Ryan did. The Atwood residence in no way resembled the lifestyle of its occupants.

After a few minutes, Trey came out, hair slicked down, fully dressed and carrying an unopened bottle of Jack Daniels. He held it up briefly for his brother's inspection, before twisting off the cap, taking a swig and attempting to pass it along. Ryan shook his head and Trey took another long pull at the bottle.

"Eddie must have left this in there. His fucking loss. It'll just about make up for kicking me out of my room last night and the cost for washing those nasty-assed sheets."

"Isn't it a little early to start drinking?"

"You know what Mom says--it's always happy hour somewhere."

"Yeah, well, it's not even noon here."

"You on my case now, too, man?"

"Naw, Trey. Listen, I'm just beat. I'm gonna jet. Go home. See what's going on with Mom and AJ." Ryan got up and started to head for the door.

"Yeah, okay. You bring a jacket or anything? It's cold as a titches' wit in here, it must be fucking freezing out there."

"I was in kind of a hurry--when I took off, I mean."

"What, because of that motherfucker?"

"Isn't it always?"

"You okay, man? I mean--going back there? You need me to go along with you?"

"No--no--no--honestly, Trey, I'm fine. Seriously--I said something stupid as I was leaving that I probably shouldn't have. It's no big deal--but, it's probably just better if I go home now--apologize or whatever the fucker wants me to do. I wait much longer and the two of them will be wasted and the whole thing may be blown out of proportion."

"Hey, wait a sec." Trey disappeared back into his bedroom. He returned in a couple of seconds with a black imitation leather jacket, a gray hoodie sweatshirt attached to the inside.

"I'm okay. I'm just riding home," Ryan insisted. "It's what--all of five miles--maybe?"

"It's no biggie, man. I've got another coat."

"Yeah, okay. Thanks, man." Ryan took the jacket and put it on. It was loose, but warm. And, as much as he wasn't going to admit it to his brother, he had been dreading the ride home with the wind ripping through the thin cotton of his shirts.

"Hey," Trey called out, just as Ryan opened the apartment door. He stopped and looked back at his brother. "It's probably a good thing they denied me--the prison, I mean. If I'd gone to see Dad, I'd probably have gone for the asshole's throat, just thinking about how badly he fucked things up for you and Mom."

Ryan thought carefully before responding, "Yeah, but Dad didn't bring AJ or any of those other guys into the house, Trey. Mom's made her own shitty decisions--decisions that have nothing to do with Dad. She can't keep blaming him. At some point, she's gotta take responsibility for her own life--her own choices."

He waited with his hand on the door, looking at his brother. Trey took another swig from the bottle--held it against the side of his body--looked agitated as he tapped it a few times against his leg. After a few seconds, Ryan finally broke the silence.

"Hey--so--I'm gonna jet."

"Yeah," his brother said, quietly. "Uh, here, take this." He reached into his pocket, pulled out a bunch of bills--held out a twenty.

"Naw, Trey, I can't."

"C'mon, Ryan…I know you got nothing. Just let me do this." Ryan was torn. He knew where the money'd come from, but he also didn't want to disappoint his brother. After a long pause, he finally reached out and accepted the gift.

"Thanks, man."

"No problem."

Ryan offered his right hand, and Trey reciprocated, pulling him into a half-hug, half-embrace. Ryan gave Trey a quick pat on the back, before he pulled away, turned and started to shut the door behind him

"Hey--Ryan?"

Ryan turned again, remained standing halfway out of the apartment. "Yeah?"

"Merry Christmas, man."

He met Trey's eyes, blinked and replied, "You, too, Trey. Take care, man."

Slowly, he turned once more and closed the door. Pausing, he took a deep breath, ran a quick hand through his hair, and began the descent to the entrance of the building.

Ryan grabbed his bike from where he'd dropped it at the bottom of the steps. He took his time on the ride from Trey's apartment to his own home. When he finally pulled up to his house, he was disappointed to see that the front blinds were drawn.

He hesitated a minute outside the door, his ears straining to hear something--anything--coming from inside, but there was nothing. No laughter, no angry words, nothing to tip him off as to the demeanor of its occupants. There wasn't much he could do, but take a deep breath, open the door, walk through it and take his chances.

TBC…