When Richie got home from the airport he took a much-needed nap. When he
woke up, the guys at the house were happy to see him and asked him if
everything was all right.
"For now," Richie told them. "My, um, uncle is sick. real sick. But he's still around."
That afternoon he called Heather.
"Is everything okay?" she demanded as soon as she heard who it was.
"Yeah. uh, sorry I didn't call you. There really wasn't time. I didn't mean to just drop off the face of the earth," Richie apologized. "What do you say we go for a drive?"
Ten minutes later they were in the car heading to the park.
"I thought we could go for a walk," Richie said parking the car. Heather got out and took his hand.
"So what happened?" Heather asked after they had been walking for a few minutes.
Richie took a deep breath. "Do you want the truth or what I'm telling everyone else?"
Heather stopped and looked at him. "Both."
"Well, the story is that my uncle is sick and we thought he was dying."
"And the truth?"
Richie took another deep breath and squeezed her hand. "I was kidnapped."
"What!?" Heather demanded. "Richie Ryan, I swear if you're trying to be funny."
"It's the truth," he assured her. "I promise."
"Why? I mean no offence but what good would you do for someone? Were they a Sooner's fan?"
Richie smiled faintly. "No. They were a money fan. Mac's money specifically."
"What did they do to you?" she asked on the verge of tears.
"Nothing. I'm fine, really. I was just a little dehydrated, that's all."
"Are you sure? You must have been so scared."
"I knew I was going to be okay," Richie told her taking her other hand. "Mac would never let anything happen to me."
"But what if it had been one of those maniacs? The ones that kill people just for the fun of it?"
"It wasn't. They just wanted some fast cash. And they didn't get it."
"But."
"What? Do you want me dismembered?" Richie asked. "What happened happened. That's all there is to it."
"I'm glad you're okay," Heather whispered squeezing him tightly.
"Me too," he smiled into her hair. "One more thing."
"What?" she asked pulling away.
"You have to swear you won't tell anyone. This can't get out."
"I promise."
. . . . . .
Richie stood uncomfortably in front of Coach Roberts' desk Monday after practice.
"Sit down, Ryan."
"Thank you," Richie answered taking a seat. Duncan had drilled him on the story they had come up with for Richie having a sword; but that didn't keep him from being nervous beyond all belief.
"Do you want to explain this?" Roberts asked getting Richie's sword out of the locker.
"Mac gave it to me."
"Why?"
"I made a fencing team back home. It was a present."
"And why was this present in the team house?"
"I had just gotten it that day. The delivery guy woke me up. I was gonna take it to my dad's house, Coach, I swear. I just never got the chance."
"You swear?"
"Yes, sir," Richie immediately answered.
"Then I will take it to Greg's house myself. I don't want weapons near my team. I can control what you do at school; what you do at home is your business."
"Thank you."
"Now, on to more important matters. Are you alright, son?"
"I'm fine."
"What I mean is, do you think you're going to have any. difficulties either in class, on the job, or on the court because of this?"
"What kind of difficulties?"
"Hard time concentrating, paranoia, anything we should look out for."
"I don't think so. The whole thing sounds traumatic but it wasn't that bad," Richie told him. "Just more obnoxious than anything."
"Okay, I believe you. But if this thing starts to sneak up on you, you just tell me and we'll see what we can do."
"Yes, sir."
"Are you sure you're alright, son?" Roberts asked, looking at Richie closely.
Richie swallowed. "I'm fine. Just trying to keep my stories straight."
"The boys will leave you alone soon enough."
"I know. I just don't like having to lie. but I don't want to tell everyone the truth."
"Fair enough. This will all blow over soon enough. Unless you have anything you'd like to talk about, you may leave."
"Actually, how are you feeling, Coach?"
"As well as can be expected. I just got the official word that we made the Big Twelve. I'll be telling the boys next Friday."
"I hope you don't mind, but I told Rabbi Gilman. I just needed someone to talk to about it."
"Rabbi? I thought you and Greg were atheist?" Coach Roberts asked with the faintest hint of a smile.
"Dad's atheist; I'm Jewish. Nice combination, huh?"
"I don't mind that your Rabbi knows. I just wanted the team to be the first to know."
"Coach, I'm so sorry. I wish there was something I could do to help. is there?"
"No, Richie," Roberts smiled. "You're a sweet boy to offer. I have to face this alone and there's nothing you can do. mortal or immortal." Richie tried very hard to hide the shocked expression on his face. "Yes, I know your secret," he added. "Greg told me a little while ago."
"So why did you drill me about my sword?"
"You're not supposed to know that I know."
"When did Dad tell you?"
"Just after you were kidnapped. He came up here with that MacLeod fellow and gave me the story. A couple days later he came back and told me the truth. He said MacLeod didn't know so he couldn't say anything in front of him."
"Oh." Richie didn't say anything else.
"Richie, if my opinion matters for anything. you might want to stay with your own kind."
"Are you kicking me off the team?" Richie asked confusedly.
"Richie Ryan, would I do that to you?"
"Then what do you mean, stay with my own kind?"
"You can't stay with mortals for too long without having to tell them, you might want to rethink how close you are getting with MacLeod."
"Coach, there's more to this than you know. I understand what you're saying. but sometimes. sometimes you just have to do something. I'm not leaving Mac behind just because we might be a little different. He's done a lot for me."
"Would he have done all he has if he knew who you really were?"
"I know for a fact he would, because he knows me. How long I live doesn't matter. He's my best friend and has been for a long time. Since we met he's known. That's not an issue. And I'm not going to choose between them, either."
"No one says you have to. Just remember that some things are going to be hard to deal with. Do what's best for you."
"I will. And Coach, don't believe everything Dad tells you. He hates Mac and he's mad at me."
"Then do what you can to eliminate those problems."
"You mean apologize?" Richie asked. "I don't really think I did anything wrong."
"Then tell him that. Work it out. You two shouldn't be fighting; he's my replacement coach if things don't go well."
"You mean he's the new coach?"
"Just a fill in, if I get too sick this season. The actual new coach hasn't been decided on yet."
"Oh. I guess we'd better work things out before this gets too complicated."
. . . . . .
Thursday after dinner, Richie went over to Greg's house. He opened the door and walked into the empty house. Taking a deep breath he settled on the couch. He was going to get all this settled before he left if he had to stay all night. A little over an hour later the garage door opened.
"It's me!" Richie called when he heard Greg enter the house.
"What are you doing here?" Greg asked, entering the living room.
"I just talked with Coach. He told me lots of interesting things. Like he knows about immortals, but apparently Mac doesn't."
"Richie, I just needed to tell him the truth."
"Then you should have told him about you. What did you tell him about Miller? He was using me to get to Mac's money and your quickening?"
"Pretty much."
"Then you didn't tell him the truth. Where do you get off telling people my secret?" Richie asked, standing up and going toe to toe with Greg.
"It's our secret."
"It's none of my business who you tell about you. And it's none of your business telling people about me."
"Richie, I just thought he should know. I didn't think you'd mind!" Greg defended.
"I don't mind that he knows. I mind that I didn't have a say in it!" Richie told him. "What's next? You tell Heather?"
"She's your girlfriend."
"And he's my coach! You should have left immortals out of it! You should have let him keep the sword. I can always get a new one."
"You mean you can always ask MacLeod."
"That's what this is about," Richie realized. "You figured if one more person pushed the idea of you being better for me I'd cave. Dad, this isn't a contest! You're my father; he's my friend. That's the way it's always been. The way it always will be. Besides he has more money. You still need to save."
"So you turn to him with all your problems?"
"That's not what I meant," Richie insisted. "I just mean. Mac's been around for four hundred years. You've barely been around for fifty. Who has the money to throw away on me?"
"Paying for your education is not throwing money away. Making sure you have the means to protect yourself is not throwing money away," Greg told him.
"You want to make sure I have the means. Don't you care if I have the skill?"
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"You rely on people like Mac and Miller to teach me. In the past three years we've spared twice, who do you expect me to go to when I have a problem?"
"Your father!"
"A father would care a little more," Richie shot back before he could stop himself. "All you care about is if I can play ball or not!" He had already gotten in above his head. he might as well go for drowning. "I can play, you know that. You taught me! If I had any problems there I would have no problem coming to you for that. But Mac taught me about immortals. He taught me to fight. He taught me to protect myself. If I have a problem with that, I'm gonna go to him. He's had more experience than you."
"You'd go to the man that gets you kidnapped? The man who cause half your problems with immortals?"
"The man who stepped up to the plate and took me in when you weren't anywhere around? That man? Damn straight I will. I don't care how long you live, I'm gonna go to Mac first. That's just the way it is. Face it."
"I raised you!" Greg yelled. "What did he do for you?"
"About as much as you did. only better."
"How dare you!" Greg yelled hitting Richie with such force the younger man stumbled back a few paces. "I've warned you, boy," he sneered advancing on him. "I did all I could for you. I raised you, I fed you, I did everything I could to give you a father and this is how you repay me!"
"Apparently," Richie answered with a strangely satisfied smile. "And I warned you, too." He raised his fist. "You only get one shot." He pulled his fist back and plastered a hard right hook across Greg's jaw. "And I'm a lot tougher than I look."
"What the hell do you think you're doing?!" Greg demanded rubbing his jaw.
"Setting things straight. I am not a little kid anymore. You can't control me. You can't tell me what to do," Richie answered coldly, standing up as tall as he could to make the most of his five feet and eleven inches. "So here's how this is going to work. You get over your need for control. You get over your intimidation issues with Mac. You stop trying to run my life. You step back and let me be."
"Are you telling me what to do?"
"Yeah. You straighten up and then we'll talk." Richie stared Greg down for a minute. He thought he detected the slightest bit of fear in his eyes. "I grew up a long time ago. it's not my fault you weren't around to see it." He turned and walked to the door.
"You walk out now. you're not coming back," Greg told him.
"We'll see." Richie walked out the door and left.
. . . . . .
Richie felt oddly relieved as he sat through his classes the next day. He had done it; he had finally stood up to his father. He was in control of the situation. He was the alpha. He was the top dog. And to add to his elation there was a four-day weekend in his very near future and plenty of time to do whatever he wanted. Even his biology lab wasn't as loathsome as usual with the prospect of freedom so near. He chatted happily with his lab partner from the time they cut open their fetal pig to the time they parted ways in the parking lot. He dumped his books in his car and went straight to work.
His good mood rubbed off on the customers. Nobody complained and everyone left him good tips. He left straight from work for practice. He passed his good mood onto the team and opted to play simple games they had played as children instead of running a hard practice. They started out with a team wide game of HORSE that ultimately boiled down to Monday and Richie. There was lots of laughing and joke cracking when Monday beat Richie with a simple free throw. He knew it was Richie's worse shot and decided to call him on it. His reward was no laps after practice. They played hot potato to stimulate their reflexes, a "water-balloon" tossing contest to work on passing and Monkey in the Middle to have a good laugh at the guy in the middle. Coach Roberts sat in the bleachers having a good laugh the entire time. After practice Roberts reminded him that he needed to run real practices if he wanted to make Final Four. but the games were a good change of pace.
Richie's good mood followed him home, but didn't make it into his room. His good mood ran away when it saw what had happened while he was gone. There were clothes, books, cds, and pictures piled on his bed. And perched on the very top was his sword and a note.
'Don't bother coming back. This is everything. -Greg'
. . . . . .
The little red light was flashing when Coach Roberts checked his answering machine that night. He hit play.
"You have one new message," the robotic voice told him; then, "Coach. it's me," Richie's voice played off the tape. "You know how you said if I thought I was having any problems to tell you? Well, I have a problem. I have to go home for a few days. I got people to cover for me at the Stadium. I should be back by Wednesday practice. No guarantees I'll be here Monday. I have to go home. I'll get back as soon as I can. If this doesn't work out I'll call. Sorry. Bye."
. . . . . .
Richie stood in line at the ticket counter at the airport.
"Next," an attendant called.
He took his place in front of him. "When's your next flight to Seacouver Washington?"
After Richie got his ticket he went to a payphone.
"Hey Heather, It's me. Look nothing's wrong. I'm fine. Don't worry but I'm headed to Washington. Dad and I just got in a huge fight and I need to get away to clear my head. If anyone asks; it's my uncle. Love you."
"Richie! Is there anything I could do to help?" she asked.
"Nope, I just need some time away from him. Mac should help me get some perspective. See you soon!"
"okay, I love you! Come back to me, I miss you!"
"I love you, too. Bye."
Two hours later, Richie was on the red-eye flight home.
"For now," Richie told them. "My, um, uncle is sick. real sick. But he's still around."
That afternoon he called Heather.
"Is everything okay?" she demanded as soon as she heard who it was.
"Yeah. uh, sorry I didn't call you. There really wasn't time. I didn't mean to just drop off the face of the earth," Richie apologized. "What do you say we go for a drive?"
Ten minutes later they were in the car heading to the park.
"I thought we could go for a walk," Richie said parking the car. Heather got out and took his hand.
"So what happened?" Heather asked after they had been walking for a few minutes.
Richie took a deep breath. "Do you want the truth or what I'm telling everyone else?"
Heather stopped and looked at him. "Both."
"Well, the story is that my uncle is sick and we thought he was dying."
"And the truth?"
Richie took another deep breath and squeezed her hand. "I was kidnapped."
"What!?" Heather demanded. "Richie Ryan, I swear if you're trying to be funny."
"It's the truth," he assured her. "I promise."
"Why? I mean no offence but what good would you do for someone? Were they a Sooner's fan?"
Richie smiled faintly. "No. They were a money fan. Mac's money specifically."
"What did they do to you?" she asked on the verge of tears.
"Nothing. I'm fine, really. I was just a little dehydrated, that's all."
"Are you sure? You must have been so scared."
"I knew I was going to be okay," Richie told her taking her other hand. "Mac would never let anything happen to me."
"But what if it had been one of those maniacs? The ones that kill people just for the fun of it?"
"It wasn't. They just wanted some fast cash. And they didn't get it."
"But."
"What? Do you want me dismembered?" Richie asked. "What happened happened. That's all there is to it."
"I'm glad you're okay," Heather whispered squeezing him tightly.
"Me too," he smiled into her hair. "One more thing."
"What?" she asked pulling away.
"You have to swear you won't tell anyone. This can't get out."
"I promise."
. . . . . .
Richie stood uncomfortably in front of Coach Roberts' desk Monday after practice.
"Sit down, Ryan."
"Thank you," Richie answered taking a seat. Duncan had drilled him on the story they had come up with for Richie having a sword; but that didn't keep him from being nervous beyond all belief.
"Do you want to explain this?" Roberts asked getting Richie's sword out of the locker.
"Mac gave it to me."
"Why?"
"I made a fencing team back home. It was a present."
"And why was this present in the team house?"
"I had just gotten it that day. The delivery guy woke me up. I was gonna take it to my dad's house, Coach, I swear. I just never got the chance."
"You swear?"
"Yes, sir," Richie immediately answered.
"Then I will take it to Greg's house myself. I don't want weapons near my team. I can control what you do at school; what you do at home is your business."
"Thank you."
"Now, on to more important matters. Are you alright, son?"
"I'm fine."
"What I mean is, do you think you're going to have any. difficulties either in class, on the job, or on the court because of this?"
"What kind of difficulties?"
"Hard time concentrating, paranoia, anything we should look out for."
"I don't think so. The whole thing sounds traumatic but it wasn't that bad," Richie told him. "Just more obnoxious than anything."
"Okay, I believe you. But if this thing starts to sneak up on you, you just tell me and we'll see what we can do."
"Yes, sir."
"Are you sure you're alright, son?" Roberts asked, looking at Richie closely.
Richie swallowed. "I'm fine. Just trying to keep my stories straight."
"The boys will leave you alone soon enough."
"I know. I just don't like having to lie. but I don't want to tell everyone the truth."
"Fair enough. This will all blow over soon enough. Unless you have anything you'd like to talk about, you may leave."
"Actually, how are you feeling, Coach?"
"As well as can be expected. I just got the official word that we made the Big Twelve. I'll be telling the boys next Friday."
"I hope you don't mind, but I told Rabbi Gilman. I just needed someone to talk to about it."
"Rabbi? I thought you and Greg were atheist?" Coach Roberts asked with the faintest hint of a smile.
"Dad's atheist; I'm Jewish. Nice combination, huh?"
"I don't mind that your Rabbi knows. I just wanted the team to be the first to know."
"Coach, I'm so sorry. I wish there was something I could do to help. is there?"
"No, Richie," Roberts smiled. "You're a sweet boy to offer. I have to face this alone and there's nothing you can do. mortal or immortal." Richie tried very hard to hide the shocked expression on his face. "Yes, I know your secret," he added. "Greg told me a little while ago."
"So why did you drill me about my sword?"
"You're not supposed to know that I know."
"When did Dad tell you?"
"Just after you were kidnapped. He came up here with that MacLeod fellow and gave me the story. A couple days later he came back and told me the truth. He said MacLeod didn't know so he couldn't say anything in front of him."
"Oh." Richie didn't say anything else.
"Richie, if my opinion matters for anything. you might want to stay with your own kind."
"Are you kicking me off the team?" Richie asked confusedly.
"Richie Ryan, would I do that to you?"
"Then what do you mean, stay with my own kind?"
"You can't stay with mortals for too long without having to tell them, you might want to rethink how close you are getting with MacLeod."
"Coach, there's more to this than you know. I understand what you're saying. but sometimes. sometimes you just have to do something. I'm not leaving Mac behind just because we might be a little different. He's done a lot for me."
"Would he have done all he has if he knew who you really were?"
"I know for a fact he would, because he knows me. How long I live doesn't matter. He's my best friend and has been for a long time. Since we met he's known. That's not an issue. And I'm not going to choose between them, either."
"No one says you have to. Just remember that some things are going to be hard to deal with. Do what's best for you."
"I will. And Coach, don't believe everything Dad tells you. He hates Mac and he's mad at me."
"Then do what you can to eliminate those problems."
"You mean apologize?" Richie asked. "I don't really think I did anything wrong."
"Then tell him that. Work it out. You two shouldn't be fighting; he's my replacement coach if things don't go well."
"You mean he's the new coach?"
"Just a fill in, if I get too sick this season. The actual new coach hasn't been decided on yet."
"Oh. I guess we'd better work things out before this gets too complicated."
. . . . . .
Thursday after dinner, Richie went over to Greg's house. He opened the door and walked into the empty house. Taking a deep breath he settled on the couch. He was going to get all this settled before he left if he had to stay all night. A little over an hour later the garage door opened.
"It's me!" Richie called when he heard Greg enter the house.
"What are you doing here?" Greg asked, entering the living room.
"I just talked with Coach. He told me lots of interesting things. Like he knows about immortals, but apparently Mac doesn't."
"Richie, I just needed to tell him the truth."
"Then you should have told him about you. What did you tell him about Miller? He was using me to get to Mac's money and your quickening?"
"Pretty much."
"Then you didn't tell him the truth. Where do you get off telling people my secret?" Richie asked, standing up and going toe to toe with Greg.
"It's our secret."
"It's none of my business who you tell about you. And it's none of your business telling people about me."
"Richie, I just thought he should know. I didn't think you'd mind!" Greg defended.
"I don't mind that he knows. I mind that I didn't have a say in it!" Richie told him. "What's next? You tell Heather?"
"She's your girlfriend."
"And he's my coach! You should have left immortals out of it! You should have let him keep the sword. I can always get a new one."
"You mean you can always ask MacLeod."
"That's what this is about," Richie realized. "You figured if one more person pushed the idea of you being better for me I'd cave. Dad, this isn't a contest! You're my father; he's my friend. That's the way it's always been. The way it always will be. Besides he has more money. You still need to save."
"So you turn to him with all your problems?"
"That's not what I meant," Richie insisted. "I just mean. Mac's been around for four hundred years. You've barely been around for fifty. Who has the money to throw away on me?"
"Paying for your education is not throwing money away. Making sure you have the means to protect yourself is not throwing money away," Greg told him.
"You want to make sure I have the means. Don't you care if I have the skill?"
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"You rely on people like Mac and Miller to teach me. In the past three years we've spared twice, who do you expect me to go to when I have a problem?"
"Your father!"
"A father would care a little more," Richie shot back before he could stop himself. "All you care about is if I can play ball or not!" He had already gotten in above his head. he might as well go for drowning. "I can play, you know that. You taught me! If I had any problems there I would have no problem coming to you for that. But Mac taught me about immortals. He taught me to fight. He taught me to protect myself. If I have a problem with that, I'm gonna go to him. He's had more experience than you."
"You'd go to the man that gets you kidnapped? The man who cause half your problems with immortals?"
"The man who stepped up to the plate and took me in when you weren't anywhere around? That man? Damn straight I will. I don't care how long you live, I'm gonna go to Mac first. That's just the way it is. Face it."
"I raised you!" Greg yelled. "What did he do for you?"
"About as much as you did. only better."
"How dare you!" Greg yelled hitting Richie with such force the younger man stumbled back a few paces. "I've warned you, boy," he sneered advancing on him. "I did all I could for you. I raised you, I fed you, I did everything I could to give you a father and this is how you repay me!"
"Apparently," Richie answered with a strangely satisfied smile. "And I warned you, too." He raised his fist. "You only get one shot." He pulled his fist back and plastered a hard right hook across Greg's jaw. "And I'm a lot tougher than I look."
"What the hell do you think you're doing?!" Greg demanded rubbing his jaw.
"Setting things straight. I am not a little kid anymore. You can't control me. You can't tell me what to do," Richie answered coldly, standing up as tall as he could to make the most of his five feet and eleven inches. "So here's how this is going to work. You get over your need for control. You get over your intimidation issues with Mac. You stop trying to run my life. You step back and let me be."
"Are you telling me what to do?"
"Yeah. You straighten up and then we'll talk." Richie stared Greg down for a minute. He thought he detected the slightest bit of fear in his eyes. "I grew up a long time ago. it's not my fault you weren't around to see it." He turned and walked to the door.
"You walk out now. you're not coming back," Greg told him.
"We'll see." Richie walked out the door and left.
. . . . . .
Richie felt oddly relieved as he sat through his classes the next day. He had done it; he had finally stood up to his father. He was in control of the situation. He was the alpha. He was the top dog. And to add to his elation there was a four-day weekend in his very near future and plenty of time to do whatever he wanted. Even his biology lab wasn't as loathsome as usual with the prospect of freedom so near. He chatted happily with his lab partner from the time they cut open their fetal pig to the time they parted ways in the parking lot. He dumped his books in his car and went straight to work.
His good mood rubbed off on the customers. Nobody complained and everyone left him good tips. He left straight from work for practice. He passed his good mood onto the team and opted to play simple games they had played as children instead of running a hard practice. They started out with a team wide game of HORSE that ultimately boiled down to Monday and Richie. There was lots of laughing and joke cracking when Monday beat Richie with a simple free throw. He knew it was Richie's worse shot and decided to call him on it. His reward was no laps after practice. They played hot potato to stimulate their reflexes, a "water-balloon" tossing contest to work on passing and Monkey in the Middle to have a good laugh at the guy in the middle. Coach Roberts sat in the bleachers having a good laugh the entire time. After practice Roberts reminded him that he needed to run real practices if he wanted to make Final Four. but the games were a good change of pace.
Richie's good mood followed him home, but didn't make it into his room. His good mood ran away when it saw what had happened while he was gone. There were clothes, books, cds, and pictures piled on his bed. And perched on the very top was his sword and a note.
'Don't bother coming back. This is everything. -Greg'
. . . . . .
The little red light was flashing when Coach Roberts checked his answering machine that night. He hit play.
"You have one new message," the robotic voice told him; then, "Coach. it's me," Richie's voice played off the tape. "You know how you said if I thought I was having any problems to tell you? Well, I have a problem. I have to go home for a few days. I got people to cover for me at the Stadium. I should be back by Wednesday practice. No guarantees I'll be here Monday. I have to go home. I'll get back as soon as I can. If this doesn't work out I'll call. Sorry. Bye."
. . . . . .
Richie stood in line at the ticket counter at the airport.
"Next," an attendant called.
He took his place in front of him. "When's your next flight to Seacouver Washington?"
After Richie got his ticket he went to a payphone.
"Hey Heather, It's me. Look nothing's wrong. I'm fine. Don't worry but I'm headed to Washington. Dad and I just got in a huge fight and I need to get away to clear my head. If anyone asks; it's my uncle. Love you."
"Richie! Is there anything I could do to help?" she asked.
"Nope, I just need some time away from him. Mac should help me get some perspective. See you soon!"
"okay, I love you! Come back to me, I miss you!"
"I love you, too. Bye."
Two hours later, Richie was on the red-eye flight home.