Author's notes: I have absolutely nothing snarky or glib or charming to say. I am ashamed that this update took so long. Once upon a time I had this story more or less done. Then my mind said, "Maybe you could just........" I know in the end it will be a better story but sorry for the delays.
Thanks everyone for your patience and sticking by me.
Everyone thank crashcmb for bugging me. Hi crashcmb.
On with the drama.........................
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Best of Intentions
Chapter Twenty
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As soon as the front door closes, the three Cohens turn on each other in a frenzy of accusations.
"What? He just gets to leave?" Seth protests. "If I acted like that I'd be chained to my room on bread and water."
Sandy ignores his son, says to Kirsten, "I thought you said Ryan was acting normally on the drive home."
"He was," Kirsten shakes her head, "I mean I thought he was. No, I know he was fine. He was even joking with me."
Seth holds out a finger, waves it at his mother. "Ok, hello? I'm sorry. Ryan joking is... acting normal to you? Huh. Because I think, to a rational person, that might be a big red flag."
He practically shouts big, spreads out his hands in unison with the word.
Kirsten flinches at the stinging sarcasm.
"Cool it Seth," Sandy admonishes.
"Oh yes, I should just cool it because, clearly, I'm the only problem here. Let's see. Who was with Ryan all day? Oh, yeah, that's right, that would be you two. No, wait, I stand corrected. That would be Mom and that family that you guys forced him to see. Did it ever occur to you two that maybe something happened at the Carden family reunion?"
Seth turns to his mother, "Did you have time to mention to Dad that little incident in which Ryan was attacked by the ten year-old? Or better yet, how about the guest appearance by long lost daddy dearest? You remember him Dad, right? The guy that you were talking about getting a restraining order against?"
Seth nods furiously, "Yep. He pretty much showed up. If I'm following Ryan's lack of information flow correctly, the guy walked right up to him and started chatting away."
Seth stops talking long enough to catch his breath. Grimace. Struggle with a swallow.
"How am I doing Mom? Am I batting a thousand in the summary department? You might want to jump in and help me out. Ryan isn't exactly a bastion of information."
"Go upstairs Seth," Sandy's voice is its' version of ominous. "You're done talking."
"Oh yeah, bully the sick one around Dad. What a challenge. I'm so impressed."
"Seth," Kirsten says sharply. "What is wrong with you?"
"What is wrong with me?" Seth says disbelievingly. "Gee, I don't know mom. How about mono or this freaking temperature or my sore throat or my sto..." Seth stalls his sentence momentarily but then regains his composure, "or the fact that Ryan just basically walked out of this house when you guys should have made him stay."
Kirsten's shoulders sag with Seth's synopsis of his illness. "Honey, I know you don't feel well and I'm sure that you're disappointed that Ryan left instead of staying with you tonight but..."
"This isn't about Ryan watching a stupid movie with me," Seth interrupts his mother, points towards the front door. "There is something seriously wrong with him." He shakes his head in disgust, starts heading for the stairs, throws up his arms. "I give up."
"Seth," his mother calls after him.
"Kirsten," Sandy interjects, "let him go honey. He's tired. He's sick. He's been stuck in bed for days. Let him calm down. We'll go up in a few minutes, together."
Kirsten nods and Sandy can see that she is struggling to hold back tears. He feels like a bastard for asking but he has to know.
"Kirsten, honey, catch me up with what's going on here. What's Seth was talking about? Ryan saw Ed this afternoon?"
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Ryan climbs into Marissa's truck.
She leans over to kiss him and gasps, "What happened to your eye?"
"Sandy hit me," Ryan scoffs.
"What?" Marissa asks, mouth wide-open, eyes as big as Oreos.
"Nothing," Ryan laughs at his private joke. "Sorry, bad joke. Um, soccer practice. It's no big deal."
"Does it hurt?" Marissa asks, lightly brushing the corner of his eye.
Her finger sends a bolt of electricity up his thigh. He reaches out tentatively for her, but then gains confidence and pulls her close, gives her a long, drawn out kiss.
"I don't want to talk about my eye," he states teasingly as he slowly releases her.
Marissa lingers in his personal space a few seconds, smiles coyly.
"My dad won't be home until late."
She puts the truck in reverse, backs up, begins chattering about how she and Summer spent the day.
Ryan's mind wanders.
He catches every other word.
Sale, clothes, nails, her mom...such a bitch.
Marissa concentrates on driving and talking, doesn't notice his attention is fixed out the window and not on her.
Doesn't notice that Ryan keeps staring out into the setting sun, until he can no longer see the Cohens' house.
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Brad's not sure what's going on but he knows damn well when to keep his mouth shut. His dad and Aunt Carol and Josh are in his aunt's hotel room. They told him to stay put; they would be back in a few minutes. Brad's learned, in the six months since his mother's death, how to become a part of the furniture. He sits quietly at the small table in his father's hotel room drawing a picture of waves, with surfboards and a big yellow sun and Ryan and him, playing in the ocean.
Sketching.
That's what his art teacher, Mr. Dobbs, calls it. Before his mom died, Brad drew all the time. Now he does just enough to keep Mr. Dobbs off his back. If Aunt Carol wants a picture, he'll make one for her. Anything just to keep the adults from thinking that he's some crazy person, like Janet Sims when her dad died of a heart attack. All of the teachers hugging her and letting her cry constantly and getting in her face all the time. "Janet honey, are you ok? Do you need to see the counselor?"
Brad's memorized what to tell people if they ask how he is doing. "I'm ok. I know my mom is in a better place." If the adult is a real pain in the ass about it and asks if he is really, really all right, and bugging him to 'open up and talk about it', Brad might add, "And she's with God now."
That shuts them down every time.
Whatever.
Brad gets it.
His mom was in a car that got hit by a big truck and now she's dead.
Crying and being a jerk isn't going to bring her back, so why Josh bothers to spend time on either activity is a mystery to Brad. Might as well keep Dad and the other grown-ups happy.
Behave, smile, and throw in an occasional hug.
What's so hard about that?
Brad puts the finishing touches on the picture, smudges a little black under Ryan's eye.
Ryan's the first person Brad has ever met who has had a black eye.
He wishes his friends could meet Ryan.
In the far corner Brad adds her, his mom, watching. He always includes her, in every single picture that he's drawn since she died. He never gives her a face, sometimes barely gives her a body. But he always makes sure she's there, somewhere, observing. No one's ever noticed.
Maybe once he draws her, she becomes invisible to everyone but him.
Brad scrutinizes the drawing.
Studies it, remembers what's missing.
He pencils in a small Josh, alone, watching from the shore.
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Carol stands in the corner, allows Ed to converse with his son under the semblance of privacy. She was going to stay with Brad, but Ed asked her to come along. Since arriving in California, she's been unsure of what her brother wants from her. One minute he's requesting to have her and her opinions around, the next second he's basically telling her to keep her nose out of anything involving him and his relationship with his sons.
Sons.
Three now, no longer just two.
Carol still can't believe her baby brother has a sixteen-year-old. God, Ed can barely manage a ten-year-old. How in the hell does he plan on providing guidance to an almost grown young man?
Thank heavens for the Cohens.
If Kirsten Cohen is for real, her family at least seems to have a handle on Ryan and is providing him with a decent home.
Thank God the teenager is no longer with Dawn and Russell. It would kill her brother to leave California knowing that a child of his was living under those conditions.
She watches as Josh accepts a tissue from his father.
Ed pats Josh's back and stands up. He walks over to Carol and whispers, "I'm going to go get Josh a juice, call Gina Kirkpatrick. She never called me back from this morning and she'll want to know what happened," he pauses, runs his finger through his hair, "today."
Carol nods. She feels numb, confused. What the hell did happen today? She's still not sure and she was there. She worried about Josh's mental stability, thankful that Ed seems to be taking today's outburst seriously enough to contact the boy's therapist. Carol puts a hand on one of Ed's shoulders, gives him a small smile. He puts his hand over hers, returns a sad smile.
"I love you Josh. I'll be right back Son," Ed says quietly before leaving the hotel room.
When the door shuts, Josh drops his head, shakes it back and forth, begins crying again.
"I'm sorry," he says softly, "Please don't hate me."
Carol is on the bed, next to Josh, before her mind even registers that she has moved.
"Shhh," she tells him. "No one hates you Josh. Not your father and not me and not Brad. We all love you."
Josh gains some control, slows his breathing, and wipes his eyes with the back of his arm.
Sits as still as a skyscraper.
"Who are those people?" he asks Carol, his voice cracking, barely above a whisper. "Who are that lady and that boy?"
"I'm not stupid," he adds, and she stares at him, shocked, speechless.
Josh gazes out the balcony door, "I'm not stupid."
He puts his head in his hands and bawls.
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Ryan casually asks Marissa to stop at a convenience store.
He's certain she doesn't have a clue as to how tense he feels, but he's pretty sure if he doesn't get a hold of a cigarette in about thirty seconds he just might put his fist through the nearest window.
Marissa wants to go with him into the store, but Ryan's hesitant to allow her. She looks younger than him. He can't risk the clerk carding him. Newport Beach convenience store clerks actually give a shit about minors and tobacco laws. He saunters into the store, grabs a soda, mumbles his cigarette brand. The clerk asks for ID and Ryan glares up skeptically at him through shaggy bangs.
If he weren't so tired he'd go for menacing.
"Ok," the clerk sighs in resignation. "But don't come back here without ID 'cause I'm not selling to you again."
"Thanks man," Ryan mutters, grabs his smokes from the counter.
He fucking hates having to practically beg for a measly pack of cigarettes.
He more or less pleaded to leave the Cohens' tonight.
He never had to bargain for his freedoms in Chino.
Newport's not really all that perfect.
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"Ed showed up to take the boys home Sandy. The oldest one was upset and Carol didn't feel comfortable taking him back to the hotel by herself. I asked Ryan first, honey, whether or not he wanted to stay or leave before Ed Carden came. Ryan said he wanted to stay. He knew Ed was coming."
Sandy tries to keep his voice calm, collected. "Why didn't you call me?"
Kirsten flops her hands to her side, "Why? What good would that have done Sandy? You would have told me to just leave and then Ryan and I would have been abandoning Carol Carden, and I would have been ignoring Ryan's wishes."
"It's not your job or Ryan's to intercede on behalf of that family Kirsten."
She looks at him with controlled contempt. "That family is Ryan's family Sandy. If you can't bring yourself to say it, then I will for you. Like it or not, they are a part of him now and we need to make sure that Ryan feels like he can be a part of them. Ryan knew Ed was coming and he chose to stay anyway. It wasn't my decision to make Sandy, it was Ryan's. We already talked about this, didn't we? Didn't we decide to allow Ryan to share more in the decision making?"
Sandy sighs. "The boys are one thing Kirsten. But Ed Carden," Sandy shakes his head. "I still don't trust the guy Kirsten. Every time Ryan has any kind of contact with that man, he ends up a mess." Sandy looks at her, asks imploringly, "You have to see that honey, don't you? Tell me that you see what a negative impact this guy seems to have on Ryan."
Kirsten stares at her husband. "I don't know Sandy."
Sandy glances at his watch, four more hours until Ryan is due home.
His son was right. Something is definitely wrong with Ryan. Sandy wonders if he made a gigantic mistake allowing the kid to leave tonight. He wishes like hell that Kirsten had told him about Ed Carden the minute she got home instead of waiting until Ryan had already left. But he doesn't want to fight with her, or stir things up or get into another round of, 'What's best for Ryan'.
Without enthusiasm he suggests to his wife, "Let's go check on Seth."
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Marissa can sense something is wrong.
He's painfully quiet.
Quiet even for Ryan.
He's still so new to her, like a pair of jeans that looked great in the store, but aren't really that comfortable or broken in yet.
Now that she has Ryan, she's not really sure what to do with him.
Luke was easy. He never shut up. In a way, she misses his mindless banter. It was a whole lot simpler to let Luke be in charge and just dictate their social life.
"Are you sure everything's ok?" she asks timidly.
Ryan reaches out for her arm, pulls her down on the couch with him, doesn't answer her question. Finally he offers, "You look great."
Marissa smiles self-consciously in reaction to the compliment but feels an inward slap of rejection. Something is obviously wrong with him. He never confides anything in her. Ryan practically knows her whole life story and she doesn't even know when his birthday is.
She arranges herself around him, molds into his body.
They cuddle into a comfortable heap.
He feels so right.
Luke never felt this right.
"I'm so glad you called," she says softly. "I missed you."
"I missed you too," he returns the sentiment, kisses the back of her neck.
He smells a little like smoke and a lot like boy. She could never smell the real Luke. Too much damn cologne. Ryan wears just enough.
He yawns and she turns into him, kisses him, let's her tongue explore his mouth, feels him returning the gesture. She nudges his hand near her breast.
She wants this, she wants it so bad.
With Luke, sex was something she more or less tried to avoid. But with Ryan, God with Ryan she wants it so bad that sometimes it hurts to be this close to him and wonder why he won't try more than he does. Is it her? Is she missing something that his old girlfriends had? He must have had girlfriends in Chino.
Ryan cups her breast and then suddenly backs off, breaks the kiss. "Is there, uh, something you want to watch?" he asks clumsily.
Marissa fakes a smile, laughs awkwardly, "Yeah, sure, anything you want."
Ryan grabs for the remote, flips through the channels, throwing her glances here and there, waiting for her to decide on something.
He yawns again.
She tells him to stop at MTV. Why not?
Marissa excuses herself to get a drink. When she comes back to the couch, Ryan's eyes are closed and she notices for the first time tonight how very tired he looks.
She stands there for a minute, unsure of what to do.
Ryan opens his eyes and smiles up at her.
But not really a smile.
He looks sad she realizes.
Ryan looks like he did that night that she and Seth left him all by himself at Kirsten's model home. He looks alone and lost and unsure and pretending to be none of those things.
"Are you sure you're ok?" Marissa asks one last time.
"Come here," he pulls her down to him, manages to once again skirt the question, resumes his protective hold on her.
He always makes her feel so safe.
After a few minutes she can feel Ryan's breathing even out, can tell that he's fallen asleep. When she tries to get up, he reflexively tightens his grip around her.
"Stay," he mutters.
And she does.
She doesn't want to be anywhere else.
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Seth takes a deep breath, blows it out and tries to bargain with his body. Something's wrong with his stomach. He knows it. But denial is such a happy little distraction from real life and he's so fucking tired and worn out that he really could care less.
Doctor said keep an eye out for sharp pains. But he doesn't have sharp pains, just a constant dull ache and a feeling that he drank most of the Pacific Ocean.
No wonder Mom is always bitching about bloating.
Seth hears his parents coming up the stairs and rolls over.
To hell with them.
Let them track down Ryan and play concerned parents. He still can't believe they let the guy walk out in a huff. His ass would be so grounded. But not Ryan. He'll come back tonight and mumble a pitiful 'sorry' and look all depressed and repentant and be back in his pool house as if nothing happened.
It's not fair.
But wait... that's not really the point.
Ryan is screwed up.
Yeah, don't forget about that, Seth reminds himself.
Don't lose focus. Have to concentrate and figure out what's up with Ryan.
Seth hears his door creak open.
He pretends to sleep when his mom softly calls his name.
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Marissa opens her eyes. The apartment is quiet. The TV is flickering weird shadows on the dark walls.
What time is it? She must have fallen asleep along with Ryan.
Ryan.
He said he had to be home by twelve.
She glances at the clock on the cable box.
11:43.
She knows she should wake him up, but he feels so good lying next to her, so warm.
So unguarded.
So hers.
Marissa closes her eyes again and wills herself back to sleep.
She doesn't want him to leave. She wants him to stay here, with her, holding her, choosing to be with her.
Besides, the Cohens are laid back.
They won't care.
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Sandy sits on the couch, his feet nestled on Kirsten's lap, and checks his watch again. He told Ryan to be home by midnight.
It's one-fifteen in the morning.
Sandy tries to decide if he's worried, or mad, or disappointed.
He rang Ryan's cell at 12:30 but no one answered.
"Do we have Jimmy's new number?" he asks Kirsten.
She nods, stands up and retrieves it from somewhere in the kitchen.
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The shrill ringing of the phone pierces Ryan's sleep. He sits up suddenly in a daze, accidentally knocking an equally confused Marissa off the couch.
Ryan stumbles over Marissa's body to get into a standing position. He reaches out a hand to help her up.
"Sorry," he stammers, scratches the top of his head, squints at the light reflecting from the television and asks, "What time is it?"
"I'm not sure," Marissa splutters, smoothes at her discombobulated clothes.
The phone rings a valiant fourth time and then gives abruptly up, intercepted by Jimmy Cooper's recorded voice requesting that the caller leave a name and number.
"Oh shit," Ryan whispers when he realizes that Sandy is questioning the answering machine as to his whereabouts.
"Sorry," Marissa apologizes, tells him. "I fell asleep too."
Ryan pats his jeans pocket for his cell phone. He shut it off earlier, intending to tune out every living person with the exception of Marissa. He returns Sandy's call, grimaces when a brisk, "Ryan? What's going on? We were expecting you at midnight," is the first thing he hears.
"I overslept," Ryan works at sounding unaffected. "We're leaving now."
"No," Sandy instructs him, "I don't want you kids on the streets this late. I'm coming to get you."
Ryan starts to argue but Sandy raises his voice, competes with Ryan for the shortest sentence uttered in a single conversation. "Stay put."
Ryan snaps his phone shut and looks helplessly at Marissa. "I better wait outside" he says, and gives her one last kiss before exiting the apartment.
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Sandy pulls up to the complex, his headlights hitting Ryan in the face, causing the boy to shield his eyes from the unwelcome spotlight.
Ryan opens the car door, gets in without saying a word.
"I set a curfew tonight Ryan," Sandy says sternly. "Kirsten and I respected your wishes to go out despite the fact that we wanted you to stay home. In the future, I'd appreciate a little more responsibility on your part."
Ryan nods, looks out the window.
"You fell asleep, huh?" Sandy asks, changing his approach in an effort to get Ryan to talk.
"Yeah," Ryan answers softly.
"Do you feel alright?" Sandy inquires, reaching out a hand to Ryan's forehead. "You look wiped. Any sign of what Seth's got? Fever, sore neck, anything like that?"
"No," Ryan shakes his head, dislodging Sandy's hand. He scoots over a little more towards the window, a little farther away from Sandy.
Sandy stares at him, seemingly stunned at Ryan's unusual reaction. Ryan pretends he can't feel the burning gaze.
Sandy shakes his head and runs his fingers through his hair.
"Kirsten said Ed Carden showed up today at the beach."
Ryan ignores the bait.
Sandy casts another line.
"And you left the house more than a little agitated," Sandy shrugs, "So..."
Ryan turns his head slightly in Sandy's direction but doesn't respond.
Sandy clears his throat, uses his free hand to gesture towards Ryan, "So...Seth has this idea that maybe something happened at the beach to upset you. And I want to remind you Ryan that Kirsten and I and Seth are here for you."
Sandy hits him slightly on the side of his arm with forced playfulness.
"Ok? Anything you want to talk about kid? Anything at all?"
"Can I have a car tomorrow?" Ryan asks quietly.
The impromptu question momentarily throws Sandy. "Um, sure, why?"
"The paternity test," Ryan answers quickly, keeping his head down. "I'm taking it tomorrow."
"Well I'll drive you," Sandy automatically proposes. "That isn't something I want you doing by yourself."
"Never mind," Ryan quickly reneges on his request and Sandy's offer.
"You don't want me to go with you Ryan?" Sandy asks.
The rejection in his voice reverberates around the quiet car.
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Ryan squeezes his fists together.
He can do this.
He did it earlier at the house.
He runs through a newly rehearsed checklist in his head.
The Cohens are covering for him, constantly paying for him, and cleaning up after him. Newport's not all that great. Harbor's rules are a pain in the ass. Seth's sick, his parents don't need the added hassle of his newest crisis on top of all of the other problems he's managed to create in the last few months.
They saved him when he needed it the most. It's time to so the right thing and return the favor.
The Cohens will never cut him lose.
Kirsten has her guilt, Sandy has his moral code, and Seth has his contrived dependence.
He'll do what they can't. Ryan has too much respect for the three of them not to.
What the fuck, the fantasy was good while it lasted.
Dismal as they are, he does have options. Maybe his mom finally has her act together. Maybe Ed Carden and wherever or whatever the hell Illinois is isn't all that awful. Maybe Trey will be out soon, and they can both get jobs and move in some place together.
Maybe Marissa won't hurt as badly as he will, when he leaves without telling her goodbye.
This is right, this is right, this is right...he mantras in his head, attempting to establish courage. Pretend Sandy's a cop or an asshole teacher or that dick of a social worker that tried to help out in the fifth grade and only caused Dawn to have a semi-nervous breakdown when she assumed that he was going to be taken away.
Fuckin' just do this Ryan, he urges himself.
You can do this.
"Quit being such a little bitch."
"You don't want me to come with you Ryan?" Sandy repeats a little slower.
Ryan squeezes his fists one last time, closes his eyes, and braces himself for impact.
"Ryan?"
"No," Ryan finally answers curtly. "It's my choice, right?"
"Absolutely kid. But I just think..."
Ryan cuts him off.
"Then I don't want you there."
It's been less than one day, and he's already broken the promise he made to Sandy in the pool house.
Ryan quietly repeats his lie.
"I don't want you there."
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To be continued................................