Disclaimer: The OC and its characters belong to someone with much more
money than me.
Author's note: See, next chapter. I bet some of you doubted me. A few of you, let's see a show of hands. I thought so.
My beta Liz went beta happy so we have a steady supply of updates all week. Thank you Liz. And I added a few lines after she sent this back to me, so hopefully I didn't screw it up too much. I know the chapters are short but I end them where it feels right. So use this story as an appetizer before you settle down with the other fic.
Anyway, the reviews are a blast. I really appreciate the feedback, all of it. It makes me think, which is a good thing. Thanks for taking the time.
------------------------------------------
Thursday Afternoon
Chapter Seven
------------------------------------------
Ed Carden sits in his rental car in the hotel parking garage. He has the Cohen's address. That was the easy part. Now he has to decide what to do. Ed's been military for more than seventeen years. He understands the purpose and significance of sound order and self-control. He should chill out, go back to his hotel room, think things through, and not make any rash decisions.
But his wife's sudden death has taken Ed's world order, put it in a cement mixer and shaken the hell out of everything.
He didn't create this situation, Dawn did. He could die on the flight home, Ryan would never even know he existed, continue to believe that Russell was his father.
All right, so, chances are the plane wasn't going to crash.
But reality speaking, he has less than forty-eight hours in California, maybe a few more if he changes his plane ticket. His leave is up. He's due back to work Monday. The United States Air Force is a bit of a stickler for promptness. His boys miss him. He owes them stability.
Sandy Cohen seems like a genuine person. Ryan is being cared for.
The irony of the timing of Dawn's desertion of her son isn't lost on Ed. If he would have come to California sooner after Sara's death, he might very well have three boys at home instead of two.
Shit! What is he thinking? This kid might not even be his; hell, they hadn't even met yet. If he keeps talking like this, Ryan will probably dismiss him as a psycho.
Paternity isn't proven based on gut instinct. Ed's more rational side knows he has to slow down, get the test, spend time coursing a logical plan, allow the Cohens to have input on how to proceed.
Carden taps his fingers on the dashboard of the rental.
The kid looks just like Brad.
Ed starts his car, digs the Mapquest directions out of his briefcase and pulls out of the parking garage.
-------------------------------------------------
Sandy watches the clock above Seth's hospital bed. Over an hour has lapsed since Kirsten said the lumbar puncture had been completed.
Seth is still asleep.
Parked in a chair next to Seth's bed, Sandy's arm feels the cold of the metal railing it is lying on. The chill is slowly ebbing its way through the lawyer's body.
A nurse comes in, checks Seth, offers to turn on the television set. Sandy declines. As bizarre as it sounds, he feels that this time with Seth is a gift, an Alpha wake-up call. Work, the office, petty family dramas, traffic, and side-projects: when the hell did his priorities become so twisted? How ridiculous and insignificant are the things you consider important when they can all be thrown aside the minute a doctor says to you, 'Let's sit down and talk, Mr. Cohen.'
Seth's temperature is still going up. Sandy heard the nurse page Doctor Holbrith, 104.5. Kirsten is in the waiting room. It's killing her to see her son like this. They take turns sitting with Seth, telling each other that the room is small and that there isn't enough space for the both of them. But the truth is it feels less nerve-wracking with just one of them in here at a time.
Kirsten is mad at him; Sandy can sense it. He just can't apply any energy to solve that problem until the doctor tells him what in the hell is going on with his son. When he knows Seth is okay, Sandy will start to clear away the debris of the day.
Seth begins struggling his way into consciousness, moving his head side to side on the pillow. His black hair is glossy with sweat, erratic curls semi-glued to the sides of his face.
"Seth?" Sandy calls his son's name, trying to help the boy wake up. "Seth, it's dad."
Seth opens his eyes cautiously, squints and focuses in on his father to the best of his abilities.
A quiet, confused question, "Dad? Did we paint my room?"
Despite the seriousness of the situation, Sandy laughs out loud. Leave it to Seth. God he loves this kid so much.
"No Seth, you're in the hospital, not at home. Remember?"
Seth raises his IV free arm and lowers it over his eyes.
"They stuck a big Q-Tip up my nose dad."
Sandy nods, "I know. I'm sorry about that."
"And a massive needle in my back."
Again Sandy nods, he commiserates, "That was very mean of them Seth, but I assure you their intentions were pure."
Seth returns his arm to his side. His eyes are closed. "I think I scared Mom."
Sandy puts a hand on top of Seth's forehead; his thumb rubs in small circles. "I've been doing that for years kid."
Seth opens his eyes a bit and looks curiously at Sandy. "Why are you wearing an ugly yellow dress and a Michael Jackson mask?"
Sandy sighs, "Because you, my friend, are most likely contagious."
"Oh," Seth mouths. "I'm thirsty, can I have a drink?"
"Not just yet," Sandy answers. He's not sure if he's allowed to give his son anything and there's no water anywhere in sight. Seth's voice is raspy. Sandy doesn't remember Seth's voice ever being this soft.
"I'm going back to Tahiti now," Seth says dreamily and drifts off to sleep.
Sandy sits motionless, his hand still on his son's forehead. A nurse comes to the door and tells him that Doctor Holbrith would like to see him. Sandy stands up and follows her out of the room.
------------------------------------------
To Be Continued
Author's note: See, next chapter. I bet some of you doubted me. A few of you, let's see a show of hands. I thought so.
My beta Liz went beta happy so we have a steady supply of updates all week. Thank you Liz. And I added a few lines after she sent this back to me, so hopefully I didn't screw it up too much. I know the chapters are short but I end them where it feels right. So use this story as an appetizer before you settle down with the other fic.
Anyway, the reviews are a blast. I really appreciate the feedback, all of it. It makes me think, which is a good thing. Thanks for taking the time.
------------------------------------------
Thursday Afternoon
Chapter Seven
------------------------------------------
Ed Carden sits in his rental car in the hotel parking garage. He has the Cohen's address. That was the easy part. Now he has to decide what to do. Ed's been military for more than seventeen years. He understands the purpose and significance of sound order and self-control. He should chill out, go back to his hotel room, think things through, and not make any rash decisions.
But his wife's sudden death has taken Ed's world order, put it in a cement mixer and shaken the hell out of everything.
He didn't create this situation, Dawn did. He could die on the flight home, Ryan would never even know he existed, continue to believe that Russell was his father.
All right, so, chances are the plane wasn't going to crash.
But reality speaking, he has less than forty-eight hours in California, maybe a few more if he changes his plane ticket. His leave is up. He's due back to work Monday. The United States Air Force is a bit of a stickler for promptness. His boys miss him. He owes them stability.
Sandy Cohen seems like a genuine person. Ryan is being cared for.
The irony of the timing of Dawn's desertion of her son isn't lost on Ed. If he would have come to California sooner after Sara's death, he might very well have three boys at home instead of two.
Shit! What is he thinking? This kid might not even be his; hell, they hadn't even met yet. If he keeps talking like this, Ryan will probably dismiss him as a psycho.
Paternity isn't proven based on gut instinct. Ed's more rational side knows he has to slow down, get the test, spend time coursing a logical plan, allow the Cohens to have input on how to proceed.
Carden taps his fingers on the dashboard of the rental.
The kid looks just like Brad.
Ed starts his car, digs the Mapquest directions out of his briefcase and pulls out of the parking garage.
-------------------------------------------------
Sandy watches the clock above Seth's hospital bed. Over an hour has lapsed since Kirsten said the lumbar puncture had been completed.
Seth is still asleep.
Parked in a chair next to Seth's bed, Sandy's arm feels the cold of the metal railing it is lying on. The chill is slowly ebbing its way through the lawyer's body.
A nurse comes in, checks Seth, offers to turn on the television set. Sandy declines. As bizarre as it sounds, he feels that this time with Seth is a gift, an Alpha wake-up call. Work, the office, petty family dramas, traffic, and side-projects: when the hell did his priorities become so twisted? How ridiculous and insignificant are the things you consider important when they can all be thrown aside the minute a doctor says to you, 'Let's sit down and talk, Mr. Cohen.'
Seth's temperature is still going up. Sandy heard the nurse page Doctor Holbrith, 104.5. Kirsten is in the waiting room. It's killing her to see her son like this. They take turns sitting with Seth, telling each other that the room is small and that there isn't enough space for the both of them. But the truth is it feels less nerve-wracking with just one of them in here at a time.
Kirsten is mad at him; Sandy can sense it. He just can't apply any energy to solve that problem until the doctor tells him what in the hell is going on with his son. When he knows Seth is okay, Sandy will start to clear away the debris of the day.
Seth begins struggling his way into consciousness, moving his head side to side on the pillow. His black hair is glossy with sweat, erratic curls semi-glued to the sides of his face.
"Seth?" Sandy calls his son's name, trying to help the boy wake up. "Seth, it's dad."
Seth opens his eyes cautiously, squints and focuses in on his father to the best of his abilities.
A quiet, confused question, "Dad? Did we paint my room?"
Despite the seriousness of the situation, Sandy laughs out loud. Leave it to Seth. God he loves this kid so much.
"No Seth, you're in the hospital, not at home. Remember?"
Seth raises his IV free arm and lowers it over his eyes.
"They stuck a big Q-Tip up my nose dad."
Sandy nods, "I know. I'm sorry about that."
"And a massive needle in my back."
Again Sandy nods, he commiserates, "That was very mean of them Seth, but I assure you their intentions were pure."
Seth returns his arm to his side. His eyes are closed. "I think I scared Mom."
Sandy puts a hand on top of Seth's forehead; his thumb rubs in small circles. "I've been doing that for years kid."
Seth opens his eyes a bit and looks curiously at Sandy. "Why are you wearing an ugly yellow dress and a Michael Jackson mask?"
Sandy sighs, "Because you, my friend, are most likely contagious."
"Oh," Seth mouths. "I'm thirsty, can I have a drink?"
"Not just yet," Sandy answers. He's not sure if he's allowed to give his son anything and there's no water anywhere in sight. Seth's voice is raspy. Sandy doesn't remember Seth's voice ever being this soft.
"I'm going back to Tahiti now," Seth says dreamily and drifts off to sleep.
Sandy sits motionless, his hand still on his son's forehead. A nurse comes to the door and tells him that Doctor Holbrith would like to see him. Sandy stands up and follows her out of the room.
------------------------------------------
To Be Continued