Chapter 15

Kirsten was right behind Seth when he burst through the front door and ran toward the street, winding between the cars stacked in the driveway. A police car was parked at an angle in the street, blocking the driveway, its lights cutting through the darkness. Kirsten stopped when she reached the sidewalk and spotted Ryan a few feet away, a cop leading him toward the police car. In flashes of red and blue Kirsten saw the familiar faces of her neighbors, gathered in the street. Three boys sat on the curb to her left, where a second officer was crouched low and talking quietly to them.

"What's going on here?" Kirsten said.

The cop holding Ryan stopped, and Ryan glanced her way. She saw that his face was bloodied. His suit was crumpled and dirty, the tie loose around his neck and blood staining the collar of his dress shirt. His hands were behind his back; they'd handcuffed him. They were going to take him away.

"Is this your house, ma'am?"

The question came from the cop on her left, a large man with a thick mustache. He stood up and walked over to her.

"Yes. Can you please tell me what's happening?"

"I'm Officer Drake," the cop said, nodding his head to her. "Are you Ryan Atwood's guardian?"

"Yes." Kirsten looked quickly over her shoulder, toward the house, hoping that Sandy might show up and fix everything, send the cops home with a smile and a handshake. But he didn't know, and he wasn't coming.

"Then you know that he's not allowed to leave your property," Drake said. "We found him in the middle of the street, fighting."

"Mom, those guys started it," Seth said, touching her arm urgently.

"Seth," Kirsten warned. She didn't need him here, making matters worse. "Get your father."

"But-"

"Now, Seth."

The other cop, a short man with close-cropped hair, started leading Ryan forward again, and Kirsten rounded the car, blocking their path.

"Ma'am, please get out of the way."

"I'm not moving until someone tells me exactly what's going on here," Kirsten said. "Ryan? What happened?"

But Ryan wasn't looking at her anymore, and she saw immediately that he was in bad shape, and not just from the fight. He stared at his feet as though determined to ignore everything that was happening around him. To him. He was defeated. He was tired and he was done.

Kirsten would have to do his fighting for him.

The cop gripped Ryan's elbow and moved toward the car again, and Kirsten put her hand up.

"Hold on a minute," she said. "My son says these boys started a fight with Ryan, and you're going to arrest him?"

"Ryan was beating the crap out of this kid—pardon the language, ma'am—when we got here," said the cop with Ryan.

Kirsten didn't budge. "I am not going to let you ruin Ryan's future because someone picked a fight with him."

Officer Drake sighed deeply.

"Ma'am, please, don't make this more difficult," he said. "If Ryan had just wandered too far from the house it'd be one thing. We could let him off with a warning. But we've got him on assault too. We've got to take him in. We don't have a choice."

"Like hell you don't," Kirsten said, and Ryan's head finally lifted at that. The side of his face was already swelling, she could see that even in the faint light from the car. His eyes were shining, and Kirsten thought he looked close to tears. He was terrified. She felt her resolve building.

"We can talk about this at the station, after we've contacted his probation officer," Officer Drake said.

"No way," Kirsten said. "We'll talk about this now, after you've taken off those handcuffs, and after you've arrested those boys for assault."

The cop with Ryan let out an exaggerated sigh. "Come on, ma'am."

"They came on my property and attacked my family," Kirsten said. "I'd call that assault. I know my husband would call that assault. You know who he is, right? Sandy Cohen?"

"Mrs. Cohen," one of the boys, she thought his name was Chip, spoke up behind her. His voice was high and he sounded panicked.

"Kirsten, it's okay," Ryan whispered.

"No, Ryan, it's not okay. Not at all."

"We're just doing our job," said the cop holding Ryan.

"Then finish your job, and arrest these other kids too."

"Mrs. Cohen, please," Officer Drake said. "I know you're upset, but don't be unreasonable. Ryan is on electronic monitoring for a reason. These other kids have clean records, and we're not going to arrest them for a fistfight."

"A fistfight? That's what you call this?" Kirsten felt the blood rush to her cheeks, and she clenched her hands into fists at her sides. "Look at Ryan's face. Look at what they did to him. You're telling me that these kids can come to my home, beat up my kid, and you're going to arrest him for defending himself and straying 10 feet too far from the house? This is outrageous. And this is not happening."

She was breathing hard now, glaring at Officer Drake. She stood her ground. For a long moment no one said anything and all Kirsten could hear was her own breathing and the faint bubble of conversation from the party still going on in her house.

"Look, if we let him go you're still going to have to deal with his probation officer," Officer Drake said.

Kirsten recognized the surrender, and she kept herself from smiling.

"I know that," she said.

Officer Drake studied her, and finally sighed and gestured to his partner.

"Let him go."

The cop holding Ryan raised an eyebrow at Officer Drake, but then he reached into a pocket for keys and quickly released Ryan from the handcuffs. Ryan immediately stepped to the side, away from the cop and the car, and brought his hands in front of him. Kirsten waved him toward her.

"Come on, Ryan, go back inside. Let's get you cleaned up."

He didn't move at first, and Kirsten was afraid he was going to do something stupid—run away, or jump the other boys, or even ask the cops to take him back to juvie because he didn't want to live in her house anymore—but then he shuffled by her without a word.

"All right, boys, go on home," said the cop who had been holding Ryan. Kirsten didn't wait for everyone to leave.

She felt suddenly deflated. She desperately needed to sit down and drink some water. Or better yet, a glass of wine. She needed Sandy. She followed Ryan to the house, catching up to him just as he reached the front door. He paused there, his hand on the doorknob.

"Thank you," he said quietly, staring straight ahead.

She reached up to pat him on the shoulder, but stopped just short when she was overcome with the uncertainty again, the same doubt that struck her so often when she was alone with him. She fought it this time, and she squeezed his arm.

"It's okay, Ryan," she said. "Let's go inside."

Inside the house, Kirsten ignored the stares and guided Ryan up the steps to her bedroom, where at least they'd have privacy. She sat him down on the bench at the end of the bed and went to the bathroom, grabbing a washcloth and running it under warm water.

Ryan looked up when she approached and lifted his hand as though to take the washcloth from her, but she ignored him and dabbed at his face. He flinched slightly when the cloth touched his skin, but he didn't move away. In addition to his bloody nose he had a cut lip, and his cheek was swelling. She swiped gently at his upper lip and when she glanced up she caught him looking at her. His face–dazed and hurt and ashamed–reminded her of Seth's face when, not so many years ago, she had done this for him when the other boys caught up with him after school. Seth had cried then, a couple of tears tracking clean lines through the blood and grime on his face. But she had never seen Ryan cry.

She remembered hugging Seth, too, even though he held rigid and wouldn't hug back. She could still recall the feeling of wishing she could take his pain, absorbing it into her skin so he wouldn't have to carry it anymore. She wanted to hug Ryan, too, even though she knew better than to believe he could shed his pain so easily. She wanted to grip his arm and ruffle his hair and remind herself that she hadn't lost him yet, that he was there and whole and safe. But she couldn't. She hadn't earned it, and she could see from his face that too much kindness might be the thing that finally made him break down. So she contented herself with only the most practical contact, and finished cleaning his face.

When Kirsten let her arm drop to her side, Ryan looked up at her and took a deep breath.

"You didn't have to do that," he said, his voice a little hoarse.

She sat down beside him on the bench.

"Ryan," she said, and then he looked up at her again. The combination of hope and fear in his face made her want to cry, and she reached for him automatically. She couldn't hold his hand; it would have seemed too intimate. Instead she put a hand on his wrist.

"I missed you last week," she said. "I still miss you. You're not really here, are you?"

Kirsten felt a little ridiculous talking that way to a 16-year-old kid, but Ryan shook his head and she knew he understood.

"So now I know what it's like to lose you," she said. "And I don't want to lose you again."

"My mom said that," Ryan said, shifting on the bench. "Before she left."

He wasn't looking at her now, and she wondered if he knew just how much that hurt. She took her hand away from his wrist and he turned his body to face her, his eyes widening just a bit.

"My mom never would have done what you did," he said, and reached a hand in her direction, though he stopped before he ever touched her. "Not that she wouldn't have wanted to. She just–she was too scared. All the time."

Kirsten nodded and took a deep breath.

"Ryan, I've been terrified every day for the past two weeks. You have no idea."

He shrugged one shoulder. He didn't believe her, she could tell.

"That night, in the police station–"

Now he looked up, watching her warily.

"I made a mistake," she said, and the words unfurled like a flag between them, and she wanted to pull them back. But she had been doing that all along.

"I would have fought harder for Seth."

Ryan swallowed hard, and ducked his head.

"I know," he said, barely audible.

"I've been trying to protect Seth his whole life," Kirsten said. "From bruises, and bullies and – I've never been the perfect mother, but I would throw myself in traffic for him. I wouldn't even have to think about it."

Ryan's head was still down, and she thought he must be thinking about his own mother again. She touched his cheek with her fingertips so he would look at her and he did, though he couldn't quite meet her eyes.

"The thing is, I think you might do that, too," she said. "For Seth. Or someone else you care for."

He shrugged, then nodded slightly.

"We both tried to protect Seth that night. And neither of us protected you."

Now he did look her in the eye. She was close to tears, and he obviously noticed, because he looked scared.

"You couldn't do anything for me," he said.

"Maybe not," she said. "That's what I've been trying to tell myself. I was furious at you for putting Seth in danger. But it was more than that. I think a part of me has been preparing to lose you since you came to us. I've been so afraid of letting you down, and now that I have I'm afraid you'll never forgive me."

"No, I–" Ryan sneaked a glance at her face and licked his lips. "I do. Of course I do."

She nodded, feeling light-headed from the combination of relief and exhaustion.

"And I am sorry about Seth."

"Seth is fine. Maybe he even learned something," Kirsten said. "I'm worried about you."

He shrugged and opened his mouth, but the bedroom door opened and Sandy hurried in, followed by Seth. Kirsten heard the light jazz and the buzz of conversation from downstairs, and realized she had forgotten all about the party.

"What were you thinking?" Sandy said. He was practically shouting, and Ryan stood up, shifting his weight nervously. Sandy turned to Kirsten. "We couldn't find you."

"The cops were gone," Seth said, "And I didn't know – we didn't know if –"

"What did they say?" Sandy asked, and he looked so agitated that Kirsten stood up and ran her hand down his arm, squeezing his elbow. Her hand was shaking. Suddenly she wished more than anything that she and Sandy could be alone, and she could take off her dress and her ridiculous heels and stop being strong and capable and polite. She was so tired.

"We need to talk to probation," Kirsten said.

Sandy looked at his watch and scowled. "It's after 11. I'll call first thing in the morning."

Ryan scratched the back of his neck and looked at the floor.

"Damn it, Ryan," Sandy said. "You're just determined to make life difficult for yourself, aren't you?"

"Sandy," Kirsten said, because Ryan was tensing up again.

Sandy took a deep breath.

"Get to the pool house," he said, more quietly. "We'll talk about it tomorrow."

Ryan nodded and edged out of the room, his whole body stiff. He glanced at Seth when he passed him, but Seth looked away, folding his arms across his chest. They all stood still, listening to Ryan's footsteps on the stairs and the sounds of the party below.

"I tried to stop him," Seth said, his voice raspy and insistent, as though he had repeated the statement numerous times. Kirsten thought maybe he had, if only to himself. "He wouldn't listen to me."

"I know," Sandy said. He crossed to Seth and ruffled his hair, and for once Seth just stood still and allowed it.

"I thought they were going to take him away again," he said.

Sandy exhaled and said, "Seth, they still might."

"I know," Seth said softly. He and Sandy looked at each other, and Kirsten felt a sudden rush of gratitude for her family, and their amazing capacity for love.

 She said, "We should get back to the party."

They gave her identical mutinous looks.

"I know," she said. "But we have to. Or I have to. You can both stay up here if you want to."

"Honey, I think I might have to take you up on that offer," Sandy said.

"Me too," Seth said. He yawned, and Kirsten was pretty sure it wasn't even an act. He looked completely drained.

"All right," Kirsten said, sighing. "I'll clear them out eventually."

"Considering that there's no alcohol," Sandy said wearily, "it might be sooner than you think."

Kirsten kissed his cheek, and leaned up to kiss Seth's, too. She straightened her dress and headed down the stairs, back into the party. At the bottom of the stairs she paused and looked out across the pool just as all the lights in the pool house went out. She looked at the dark pool house for a moment, trying to push down her fear. Then she took a deep breath and plunged back into the party.