Author's notes:
Crashcmb—Thank you for your very thoughtful review. I was worried when I started this story that a lot of people would be put off by the suicide aspect of it, and while I'm sure there are still some that are, I really appreciate your taking the time to read and review my work. I'm very flattered!
Christina—Thanks for reviewing. I hope you like this next chapter.
Elzed—I think Ryan is a little happier in this chapter. The requisite dose of angst is there, of course, actually, there's quite a bit of angst but I like to think that he's in a better place when it's all over. Loved your Chinos Redux and Chino Drean updates!
60schic—You're the one who wrote all those great Ryan/Hailey stories, aren't you? So very flattered that someone so talented is reading my story.
Coolio02—Thanks. I like Ryan/Kirsten bonding too.
Melanie39—Dissertation is moving along. Had to write another six pages worth for this week. One interesting moment was when I found a very insightful article written by a Sanford Katz, J.D. Not quite the same, but reading an article by a Jewish lawyer named Sanford felt a bit odd to me.
Silverweaver—I'm a fan of Sandy/Seth interaction as well. I'll try to work some in during the upcoming chapters.
HateToSayIToldYouSo—So glad to hear you liked my last chapter! Speaking of which, any chance of getting a Don't Let Go update soon? I feel like I'm going through withdrawl!
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"God, Ryan, will you just leave me alone?" Marissa complained, not bothering to hide her irritation as Ryan followed her out to her car. "You don't have to worry about me. I'm fine."
"Marissa, you've had at least ten drinks since you got here," Ryan argued. "I wouldn't define that as fine."
"Lighten up." Marissa rolled her eyes. "Everyone gets smashed after graduation. It's not a big deal."
"Fine," Ryan agreed. "Just give me your keys and I'll take you home."
"No!" Marissa insisted. "I don't need you babying me or worrying about me. I'll drive myself."
"No you aren't," Ryan insisted, feeling his irritation rise. "I'm not going to be responsible for you getting hurt, or worse, hurting someone else. You can destroy your life as much as you want, but it's just selfish to destroy someone else in the process."
"Oh, please," Marissa groaned. "You take this hero business far too seriously. Get over it, Ryan. You can't save me, and even if you could, you wouldn't want to."
"Hate me as much as you want, just give me the keys," Ryan snapped, trying hard to hold onto his temper. "Next fall we'll go off to separate colleges and you'll never have to see me again."
"I can't wait." Marissa moved to unlock her car door, and Ryan reached in and snatched them away from her. "Give them back!"
"No," Ryan insisted. "Go around to the passengers side and I'll let you in."
"Ryan, give me the fucking keys," Marissa shouted. In the pale glow of the streetlights, her face looked hollow and tired. Her hair hung in limp clumps, and Ryan had a hard time believing that he had ever thought her beautiful. He had seen what alcohol had done to his mother, and now it had claimed Marissa too.
"I said give me my keys!" Marissa repeated, her voice growing continually louder.
Ryan shook his head. "No."
Marissa slapped him with a strength that he hadn't been aware that she had. "Give them to me, you filthy Chino trash!"
"Fine!" Ryan snapped, throwing the keys at her feet. "Go get yourself killed for all I care! I'm through!"
He whirled around and stormed off back toward the house. When he entered the front door, everything was silent and the lights were off. "Hello?" he called into the darkness. "Is anyone here?"
There was no reply. His footsteps echoed loudly in his ears as he tried to make his way in the pitch blackness that surrounded him. He heard a creak behind him, and quickly whirled around, his heart pounding. "Who's there?"
No reply. Ryan reached out tentatively and felt the wall beneath his fingers. He breathed a small sigh of relief and began making his way across the room. After about ten steps his hand brushed against a light switch, and he flipped it on, praying that it would work.
A small crack of light appeared in the wall, outlining a door. Ryan slowly reached for the handle and turned it, then swung the door open.
Marissa's bloody, lifeless body stared out at him from the closet.
Ryan bolted awake. He wanted to scream, but remembered in time that Sandy and Kirsten were asleep down the hall. If he woke them, they would want to know what was wrong, and he couldn't bear the thought of telling them about his dream, about how he had thrown Marissa's keys at her and told her to go ahead and kill herself.
Julie Cooper was right. Marissa's death was his fault.
Ryan got out of bed and switched on the lamp by his bed. Reaching beneath the bed, he pulled out a comic book of Seth's that he'd borrowed, and settled in to do some reading. It wasn't until the sun came up two hours later that he was finally able to fall back asleep.
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Kirsten had long since left for work by the time Ryan came downstairs at ten thirty. Sandy was on the Playstation attempting to master one of Seth's ninja games, and Ryan watched in amusement as his foster father was thoroughly thrashed by the animated warriors.
The ninja died with a piercing wail, and Sandy tossed down his controller onto the sofa in mock frustration. "Crap."
"Don't say crap, Sandy," Ryan admonished him, unable to keep from laughing.
Sandy shook his head. "You've been around Kirsten too much. You're starting to sound exactly like her."
"It could be worse," Ryan suggested. "I could sound just like Seth."
Sandy laughed. "Go on and get some cereal. I've got big plans for us today."
"Not golfing," Ryan complained. "Golfing and me are not a good combination."
"No need to fear, we aren't going golfing," Sandy assured him. "We're going surfing instead."
"Is that safe?" Ryan asked in concern. "I won't break my arm or anything, will I?"
"Highly unlikely," Sandy answered. "We'll start out on smaller waves. You can use Seth's board."
"But what if I lose it?" Ryan continued. He realized he sounded like a scared little boy, but he'd never been surfing a day in his life and some of those waves by Newport got pretty big. Ryan wasn't afraid of water, but being held under ten feet of water didn't sound like much fun to him.
Sandy noticed the uneasiness on the boy's face. "I was scared the first time too," he tried to assure Ryan. "I got over it, and I really think you'd like it if you gave it a chance."
Ryan knew that Sandy wouldn't be upset if he said that he'd rather hang out at home and play the Playstation instead, but he remembered waking up in the hospital with Sandy sitting beside his bed, and how tired and distraught he had looked. Sandy had been to hell and back in the last couple of weeks, and the least Ryan could do was spend a couple hours surfing with him. "Okay. I'll go change."
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"Come on in, the water's great!" Sandy shouted to Ryan. He had sensed that the boy had only agreed to come surfing with him in order to please him, but he had sensed little glimpses of excitement from him on the ride to the beach as he regaled Ryan with his (okay, exaggerated) exploits in the thirteen years he and Kirsten had lived in Newport. But Ryan was hesitant again, still standing in shallow water as his surfboard bobbed around his knees.
Sandy grabbed his board and waded back to shore. "Are you okay, Ryan?"
Ryan gave him a helpless look. "I don't know if I can do this."
"Are you afraid of water?" Sandy asked. "If so, I'm so sorry for suggesting this."
Ryan shook his head. "No, I'm not afraid of water."
"I'll talk you through it," Sandy promised. "Okay?"
"Okay," Ryan agreed.
Sandy smiled. "That's more like it. I'll hold onto your board while you go toss your shirt back with the rest of our stuff."
Ryan shrank back, and a look of pure panic came into his eyes. "I can't."
"You can't?" Sandy repeated, confused. Then it hit him, the reason why Ryan always wore long sleeved shirts now. "Oh, Ryan. I'm sorry."
"They're so ugly," Ryan muttered. "Signs to the world of how badly I fucked up."
"Ryan, I don't want you talking about yourself like that," Sandy told him. "You're starting to worry me."
"I'm sorry," Ryan apologized. "I'm still getting used to everything."
"It's okay," Sandy assured him.
"Can you still teach me to surf?" Ryan asked. "Because I'd really like to learn."
"Of course," Sandy agreed. "And keep your shirt on if you want. It won't hurt it."
"Thanks," Ryan said, relieved.
"Besides," Sandy added. "No one at a Newport beach notices anything besides the pretty girls in bikinis. I went surfing once in my boxers when I forgot my swimsuit and didn't have time to go home and get it. No one said anything."
Ryan snorted. "Does Kirsten know about this?"
Sandy shook his head. "You wouldn't."
"Maybe not," Ryan teased. "Maybe so."
Sandy sighed. "Come on, kid. Let's go ride some waves."
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Kirsten was already home by the time Ryan and Sandy made it back. They had surfed for the better part of three hours, and while Ryan was still a beginner, he had managed to catch a few small waves and one or two larger ones and ride them in to shore. Sandy was right: surfing was fun.
"Hey, guys," she greeted them as they marched through the kitchen, carrying their surfboards, their hair still damp from the water. "I see Sandy talked you into trying surfing, Ryan."
"The kid's a natural," Sandy announced, throwing his arm around Ryan's shoulders. "You should have seen him, hon. He was holding his own out there."
"Sandy's a good teacher," Ryan insisted. "I was scared to death at first."
Kirsten smiled. Ryan looked stronger and tanner than she could remember seeing him in months. Happier, too. "It looks like we've got two surfers in the family now."
"Yes we do," Sandy crowed. "You, my dear, are now outnumbered."
All in all, Ryan thought, it had been a pretty good day.