Much thanks goes out to Muchtvs, who was an enormous help with this chapter.

A Week Before Cohen

Chapter Eight

Ryan scrunched the empty cigarette package in his hand, tossing it on top of an overflowing garbage can on the corner of Trey's street.

His boiling anger had slowly evaporated, the sun had long since disappeared behind the horizon, and he was actually almost cold as he approached the old brick building that served as more of a Band-Aid than a home.

He climbed the stairs slowly, wincing as the muscles in his back protested. As the anger faded, the irritating soreness that spread throughout his body had resurfaced. He should have just gone home, seethed in his room and avoided AJ and his mother, who were probably passed out drunk by this point anyway. But the last thing he needed was for Theresa to find out, and then act on emotion. She didn't think clearly when she was emotional. And Ryan wasn't about to play with fire.

"What about your brother?"

Ryan stopped on the third step from the landing, turning an ear toward the voice.

"I don't fucking know, man…."

Ryan shivered and slowly made his way up the remaining steps, peeking around the corner, keeping his back close to the wall.

The apartment door was wide open, light streaming out into the hallway. Arturo emerged with a large box in his arms, dropping it onto the floor a few feet from Ryan, and he swore he saw a bong jump up through the open top when the box bounced against the ground.

Arturo stopped, looked Ryan up and down, and then walked back into the apartment, calling out, "He's right here. Get him to help you move that sofa outside."

When Arturo walked through the open door, a yellow piece of paper fluttered in his wake. Ryan took a few careful steps toward the apartment, glancing inside briefly to see Trey pulling articles out of the kitchen cupboards and tossing them into a beaten cardboard box. Ryan couldn't focus on that at the moment—he couldn't fight the magnetic draw of the note tacked to the door.

His chest tightened when his brain deciphered the large block writing at the top of the note.

Eviction.

He reached out and flattened the paper against the door with his fingers, squinting as he read it, not allowing any room for misinterpretation. Underneath the printed announcement, filling in the blank line at the bottom of the sheet, today's date was scrawled in messy handwriting.

He stared at the door blankly for a moment, his mind racing with the "what nows" and "what ifs" that had seemed to become his life. The list of options was short, and they raced through his head in repetition like a lightening-fast slideshow until dizziness threatened to snatch away his balance again. He closed his eyes and leaned his forehead against the door, willing it all away if only for a minute.

"Ry."

He angled his head toward the voice and cracked his eyes open. Trey appeared at his side—sideways.

"Help me with this sofa, will ya?"

Ryan lifted his head and let his shoulder lean against the door, bearing his weight while he viewed his brother skeptically. Trey looked calm. Almost mature. Unlike Trey, in many ways. Ryan had always marveled at how his brother could find the most solid ground when under the most extreme pressure. Trey would always be the one whose thoughts became clear and breaths came slower at the mere prospect of danger. Almost as if he thrived on it. Ryan wished he'd inherited that trait. In some strange way, it was like the excitement of the unknown was Trey's grounding force.

Trey broke away and moved to stand beside the sofa, waiting patiently for Ryan to join him.

"Where are you going to go?" Ryan asked, slowly making his way to the other end of the sofa.

They lifted at the same time and took slow, hindered steps toward the door. Trey managed to shrug despite the enormous weight of the piece of furniture. It was like it was made of steel.

"Don't know," he grunted. "Home seems like the best option for now." He checked behind him before backing into the hallway. "We'll work something out."

Ryan groaned involuntarily, but despite the silent protest from his muscles, he was oddly elated. He felt like his worry had been completely unwarranted. Because as soon as Trey mentioned the word "home," it was like that fading light at the end of the tunnel had just received a new dose of fuel, increasing tenfold and blinding Ryan with hope.

Trey dropped his end of the sofa without warning, nearly toppling Ryan over—the sudden weight jarring the breath from his lungs.

"Just drop it here," Trey said absently after the fact, pulling out the cigarette from behind his ear and sticking it between his lips. He flicked his lighter several times before he was able to coax out a flame.

He was already exhaling his first drag when Ryan released his grip, letting the sofa fall flat to the floor with a thud. He rolled his shoulders back as he slowly straightened, setting his jaw firmly and clenched his teeth to avoid any more spontaneous verbal objections from within. Superficially, Ryan could consider himself healed—the bruises having faded to barely noticeable—but his insides were still struggling to catch up.

He sat on the armrest and rubbed his hands together. "So that's it?" he asked, looking up at Trey out of the corner of his eye. "You're coming home?"

Trey flicked ashes onto the cement floor. "For now." He met Ryan's gaze. "Until I can figure something out."

Ryan nodded like he understood, refocusing on rubbing his hands together until they were hot from the friction, but, really, he had no idea how Trey ever went about figuring things out.

"AJ's gonna be pissed." Ryan wasn't quite sure why he said it, but it was the first thing to pop into his mind and his brain just wasn't sharp enough to censor tonight.

Trey snorted and walked over to the clouded window at the end of the hallway. "I don't give a fuck about AJ," he snarled, exhaling rings of smoke that matched his arrogance. "We can take him."

Ryan smiled cynically, bobbing his head up and down. "Together," he added.

"Yeah," Trey agreed immediately, and Ryan felt a hand pat his back. "I think you're pretty fucking hopeless alone."

And with that, Trey tossed his still-burning butt onto the cold cement and walked back into the apartment.

Ryan pushed himself up onto his feet and stood in the mouth of the apartment where Trey and Arturo were gathering the last of their meager belongings into tattered cardboard boxes that they probably stole from the dumpster behind a grocery store.

When they both had their backs turned, Ryan reached up and carefully peeled the yellow eviction notice off the door. He folded it in half and slid it into his back pocket. After all, that piece of paper was the best thing to happen to him all week.

"You're kidding, right?"

Trey smiled sardonically as they each dropped the last of the boxes onto the sidewalk in front of the apartment. "What? Do you have money for a cab?"

Ryan took a step back and rubbed his eyes with his palms. He couldn't even fathom walking the entire way home peeking around an armful of boxes.

"I could try calling my sister. I mean, my mom won't talk to me, but if she's asleep and Theresa answers—"

"No," Ryan interrupted Arturo sharply, blinking to clear the bright stars from his eyes and drawing curious and amused stares from the other two. "Car's dead," Ryan lied, relieved he was able to think quickly enough to stem any questions about Theresa.

Trey reached over and grabbed two of the bigger boxes in his arms. "Well then, suit up."

It took them over an hour to get the first load of boxes home. Halfway there, Arturo mumbled something about a friend who owed him money, disappearing into a darkened townhouse complex and never rejoining Ryan and Trey.

There wasn't a light on in the Atwood house; even the familiar blue glow of the television wasn't visible through the front window. They decided it would be best to only make noise entering when they were ready to stay in for the night. So Ryan tossed his backpack onto his bed through his bedroom window, and they stacked the boxes they'd carried against the back of the house, where no one would even think to look. One more trip, Ryan assured himself, and then he could curl up in his familiar bed, sleep the rest of the weekend away, and pretend this past week never happened.

Trey sat on top of one of the more sturdy boxes, pulling out a smoke and silently offering the package to Ryan.

"Keep it. I've got a new one," Trey said, patting his pocket when Ryan went to return the package.

Ryan gratefully accepted, sliding down the side of the house and onto the burnt grass, reacting just fast enough to catch the lighter that was tossed in his direction.

He lit one of the four remaining cigarettes, sucked the smoke deep into his lungs and pulled his knees into his chest. "What time is it?" he asked after an extended silence.

"Night," Trey offered.

Ryan could hear a car driving past on what must have been three blocks over, exemplifying just how quiet the streets were. It was late.

"M'tired," Ryan muttered, tilting his aching head back against the siding and closing his eyes.

He heard Trey shift beside him. "I'm sure there's something inside that you could take to give you a boost."

Ryan smiled even though he didn't find the truth in the comment even remotely funny. "Helpful, thanks."

"That's what I'm here for," Trey said quietly.

And for once, Ryan believed him, because finally things were falling into place. They weren't perfect, but he took comfort in knowing that perfection was just an abstract concept anyway.

Ryan was sure the walk back to the apartment was slower than the walk over. He was dragging his feet, and finding it increasingly difficult to keep his eyes open for any period of time. Trey must have noticed, because every few minutes, he'd do something weird, like pick up a bunch of rocks and start throwing them at random objects, keeping track of hits and misses. At one point, he body-checked Ryan into a hedge and then fled, running backwards and taunting Ryan into a chase.

Ryan half-heartedly played along, but his body was simply checking out.

He stifled a yawn and wrapped his jacket tightly around him as they cut through a dark park; the complete lack of artificial light only intensified his fatigue.

"We desperately need wheels," Trey said; his random conversation starters were becoming more frequent as Ryan grew more silent.

Ryan nodded. "Like a bike?" he asked.

Trey scoffed, dismissing the notion, and after a second, added, "Where is your bike, by the way?"

"Chain keeps falling off."

"It won't if you always start in the lowest gear."

Ryan eyed his brother suspiciously out of the corner of his eye.

"What?" Trey held up his hands defensively. "I might have borrowed it a few times…."

"Yeah," Ryan mumbled back. "Borrowing seems to be your forte lately."

Trey marched up in front of Ryan, walking backwards so that they were face to face. "No, surviving is my forte."

Ryan shook his head incredulously. "Sure. You're a hero."

"No, no, hear me out," Trey continued, almost excitedly. "How do you think all those big-shots in LA and New York make it to the top?"

Ryan sighed. He really wasn't interested in the lecture of illogic he was about to receive. But he couldn't help but concede to Trey's enthusiasm. "How?"

"White collar crimes, Ryan."

Ryan lifted is eyebrows and did his best not to roll his eyes. He didn't need Trey to get all defensive and start waking up the entire neighborhood with one of his rants.

"Seriously!"

"Uh huh."

"But here's the thing," Trey spun around, walking forward again as they stepped out onto the street, maintaining a faster pace than Ryan could even fathom keeping up with at the moment. "We live here." He held his arms up and then let them fall to his sides with a slap. "There are no white collars here. Which, really, just means no ones going to pay our bail. But," Trey said, glancing over his shoulder and pointing a finger at Ryan, "we still have to survive, right?"

Ryan nodded, even though he stopped paying attention shortly after the mention of "white collars." Trey was notorious for his uneducated and irrational rants about class separation.

"So we just have to be more careful. We have to be smarter. And, lucky for you, you have me as a big brother to pass on all of my priceless knowledge."

Ryan nearly burst out laughing at the sheer insanity of Trey's argument, but really, he didn't have the energy. At least the sound of his brother's voice was keeping him awake.

He looked up just in time to avoid running into Trey's backside, backing off a step to see him pick something up off the sidewalk. Trey appraised the object carefully, flipping it over in his palms several times. Ryan stared at the iron rod for a few seconds, trying to see why his brother was so mesmerized by the simple item. After a few futile seconds of brainstorming, he looked up to meet Trey's gaze, but his brother turned away swiftly and continued down the road, walking at a significantly slower pace than before.

Ryan wasn't sure why, but his stomach twisted into a knot so tight, that it nearly caused him to double over. He watched Trey closely as he examined the lone beat-up old car on the street. Ryan briefly wondered if there was something interesting written on the license plate, but abandoned that theory after a closer look revealed a typical California plate.

Trey stopped as they rounded the front of the car, and Ryan's breaths were no longer coming without effort. He glanced through driver's side window, searching for the reason this vehicle, like the iron rod, had so effectively captured Trey's attention—any answer to the question he couldn't draw the breath to ask.

But when Ryan found the courage to look into his brother's eyes, the answer was suddenly so apparent.

Survival.

"I'm your big brother. If I don't teach you this, who will?"

Epilogue to follow. If you're reading, thank you, and I would love to hear from you.