You'd think my butt would be getting smaller because real life keeps biting me in the ass, but it doesn't seem to be working that way. I had rewritten this chapter 4 times and guess what? This is the original draft with only one minor change. Joey 51, this is for you. Thanks for the encouragement.

Josh, pick a disclaimer from a previous chapter. They still apply.

Chapter 21

Seth sat hunched over, his elbows on his knees, his face obscured by his hands. The waiting room of Sutter Memorial Hospital was relatively empty. He had tried pacing, too nervous to sit, but that pissed off the old guy across from him.

The one who sounded like he was going to hoark up a lugie.

Or cough up a lung.

Maybe both.

He knew his parents would be here any minute. His mom had stayed on the phone while he waited for the ambulance. Per her instructions, he had grabbed a wash cloth, wet it with cold water and put it on the back of Ryan's neck. The harsh ragged breathing scared him. There was nothing more he could do to help his brother. Seth put the phone to Ryan's ear. Kirsten spoke to him, telling him to hang on. Everything was going to be alright. She coached Ryan, trying to get his breathing to slow down. Seth could hear her telling Ryan that they would be with him soon. Ryan curled tighter into a fetal position.

"Hurts..." He had whispered to Kirsten. "Hand.... Hurts..."

Seth heard the sirens. He hesitated, not wanting to leave his brother but he needed to flag the EMS down. He answered their questions as best as he could as they examined Ryan and then quickly loaded him into the ambulance. He had climbed in beside Ryan, after informing his mother that they were heading to a hospital in Sacramento.

Oh yeah. This was going to make a great "How I spent my summer vacation" essay for school." He thought. "Holy fuck..." Okay, not holy, but fuck anyway.

"Seth..."

Seth's head snapped up as he heard his mom's voice. His parents looked as disheveled as he did.

Kirsten ran her hand through her son's unruly hair. Normally Seth would have pulled back, claiming she was wrecking his hair.

Today it didn't matter. His hair wasn't working for him anyway.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Kirsten remained on the phone with Ryan as long as she could, encouraging the boy to breathe. His fractured voice telling her his hand hurt... the convulsive effort to draw in enough air... She had never felt so helpless before. Why did she let him stay in Carmichael? What the hell was she thinking?

The frantic drive to the hospital screamed with silent self-recriminations. Kirsten held the steering wheel so tight her knuckles were white. Sandy's foot pressed into the floorboards of the passenger side as if a gas pedal had magically appeared.

He was mentally beating himself up for not dragging Ryan back to Newport once he'd found him.

Progressive parenting...

What a load of crap.

The Cohen family was now officially a dictatorship.

An autocracy.

He and Kirsten would be co-despots.

Kirsten ignored Sandy's quiet admonishes to slow down. Hell, the Range Rover was still on all 4 wheels when she rounded that last corner. The Seth/Ryan world domination just fell victim to a coup.

Tyranny would now reign in her household.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Kirsten barely stopped the vehicle before she threw it into park.

Keys, seatbelt, purse, door.

Sprint to the emergency entrance.

Sandy's quick reflexes kept his head from hitting the dashboard when the Rover suddenly stopped. Definitely not the time to discuss Kirsten's driving/parking abilities.

Seatbelt, door.

½ second behind her.

Kirsten immediately saw Seth, hugging him and running her hands through his hair.

"Are you okay sweetie? Has anyone come out to talk to you?

"No... not yet... Where's Dad?"

Kirsten let go of Seth and looked around, spying her husband at the emergency receiving desk. A few moments later, Sandy joined them.

"No news yet. I let them know that Ryan's family was here. Someone will let us know what's going on..."

Ryan's family. Those 2 words hung in the air. 2 words that now flowed effortlessly.

Ryan's family.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Voices... Loud voices assaulting him. Clipped words. Phrases that made no sense.

Breathe.

He needed to breathe.

Everything hurt. Ryan tried to tell the voices to stop... To leave him alone. The chaotic noise ignored him, silencing him with a plastic muzzle.

A gentle touch on his forehead.

His name being called.

"Ryan... I need you to take deep breaths... Can you do that?"

His eyes searched for the voice. How the fuck was he supposed to answer with a mask over his nose and mouth. Didn't the voice know his hand hurt? Moron. If he could take a deep breath, he would have done so already. He felt his sweatshirt and t-shirt being cut from his body. The cool air felt good. He wanted to go to sleep, get away from the pain, but the voice kept talking to him, asking questions.

Too many questions.

Too many voices.

Too many probing hands.

"Just make the pain stop." His brain screamed. Ryan felt his stomach contract. Hands quickly removed the mask and turned him on his side...

"BP is 70/30, pulse 150, respiration is 45..." Dr Becker quickly shrugged off his vomit covered lab coat, throwing it towards the linen bag in the corner of the examination room.

"Temp is 105... Severe dehydration... What are we looking at Joey?"

The medical resident examining Ryan's hand didn't look up as she continued to inspect the swollen palm.

"Possible sepsis.... Here, take a look..."

Ryan's hand and forearm were now deep shades of black and purple. The stitches strained against the swelling, pus seeped out of the inflamed wound. Dr. Becker palpated the injured hand. Ryan groaned and tried to pull his hand away.

There was no mistaking the urgency in the doctor's voice.

"We need blood, urine, CSF cultures, gasses, CBC, platelet count, clotting... Start a wide bore IV access times 2, lactated ringers, left subclavian, rapid infusion. Call x-ray... We need a chest series. Get a hold of ortho... Are his parents here?"

"On their way... His brother rode in with him. He's in the waiting room..."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The Cohens were lead into another waiting room. Moments later, Dr. Becker joined them.

"Mr. and Mrs., uh... Atwood?"

"Cohen." Sandy corrected. "How's Ryan?"

"We're still running tests, but we suspect Ryan has septecemia. When did he cut his hand?"

"Monday morning... He was using a pry bar. How did this happen? Ryan saw a doctor..."

The doctor shook his head.

"It starts with a small infection. It overwhelms the body's natural defenses and spreads..."

Kirsten paled.

"We thought it was just a cold... We should have..."

"Don't do that to yourself." Dr Becker cut in. "It's not your fault... It happens. It's a rare occurrence and we take every precaution against infection, but despite our best efforts it happens anyway..." He took a deep breath and continued. "We're taking your son to x-ray and then to surgery. We need to remove the necrotic tissue and drain the infection. We'll put a central IV line in his chest and start him on a wide spectrum of antibiotics..."

Dr. Becker's pager went off. Glancing at it, he quickly finished with the Cohens. "Ryan will be taken to ICU once he's out of surgery. I'll have someone from patient services take you there..."

The doctor quickly left the waiting room, leaving the Cohens shell shocked as they tried to process the information they'd been given.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

A third waiting room.

Uncounted hours.

Styrofoam cups of lousy coffee sat untouched on a table. Sandy, Kirsten and Seth were all engaged in an internal battle of "would have, should have, could have". Sandy allowed himself to embrace his mistress, too tired to resist, swirling into the remorse she offered him, reliving the loss of control on a night that he continued to carry with him. A night he couldn't forget. A night that had led to this.

"You put him here..." his mistress blamed. "You never believed in him... You never

accepted him... Good intentions..." his guilt purred, "The road to hell is paved with

them... You're no better than any other man who hit him... He trusted you... You

took that from him..."

Guilt coiled a tentacle around his neck, constricting. Sandy welcomed the pain. He deserved nothing less.

"Mr. and Mrs. Cohen?" Dr. Joey Fifton quietly asked as she entered the tiny room. 3 exhausted faces looked up at her. Before they could stand, she sat in a chair opposite the family.

"I'm Dr. Fifton. I assisted in Ryan's surgery. He'll be brought to ICU shortly..."

"Ryan?" Kirsten dug into her last reserves of energy. She was so tired. They all were.

"We're still trying to get him stabilized, but he's holding his own. All the tests confirmed septic shock..."

"What happens now?" Kirsten had to be the strong one, just as Sandy had been for her when her mother was sick. Her strength would see them all through this. She would be the family life line.

"We're working on lowering Ryan's temperature. We've started him on 3 different antibiotics until his blood cultures come back and then we'll change the regimen accordingly. His blood pressure is still very low and it's affecting internal organs..."

"What do you mean it's affecting his internal organs?" Sandy fought the stranglehold of guilt. He had to refocus on his son... The blond one. He reached for Kirsten's hand.

"Ryan's kidneys have shut down. We're supporting their function with dialysis. Once his blood pressure comes up, they should start working again..."

Dr. Fifton drew in a breath before continuing.

"As a precaution, we've put your son on hemodynamic monitoring. That will evaluate the pressures of his heart and lungs. You need to be prepared that respiratory and cardiac failure are a possibility with this type of infection. His chest x-ray showed no signs of pneumonia or pulmonary edema and he's still breathing on his own, so those are all really good signs..."

The Cohens sat quietly, absorbing the information they'd been given.

24 hours ago, Sandy chased after Ryan in the rain and Kirsten spoke to him on the phone.

18 hours ago, they had dinner together.

15 hours ago, Ryan zinged Sandy on his light bulb changing inability as they inflated an air mattress.

Yesterday, the first steps towards reconnecting as a family had been taken.

Time could only move in one direction. "Do overs" weren't allowed.