Sandy's barely holding on. Meanwhile, Kirsten writes a letter to Ryan from rehab, before she learns of the shooting and surrounding drama. There are things she needs to explain. But a shattered Ryan knows everything has changed …
Disclaimer: I own nothing. No characters, no concept, nothing. Just borrowing, for a few pages, okay?
A/N: My heartfelt thanks to my reviewers! I am indebted to you for your willingness to take the time to share your thoughts; I am delighted with your intriguing incites into the characters and situations (many of which parallel my own); and am most grateful for your encouragement and generosity, as well as your constructive eye. I am here to learn …
And to everyone who reads this – glad to have you stopping by!
A/N2: To avoid confusion on my timeline, I will use "Day Two, Day Three, etc." For reference, Day One is the day Kirsten checks into Suriak – the same day Trey is shot. (Chapter One is set on Day Two, Chapter Two is set on the morning of Day Three…)
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Time: Late Afternoon of Day Three.
Sandy was relieved to see the familiar convertible in the driveway as he pulled up to the house. Maybe Summer could get Seth out for a while, so he could talk privately with Ryan.
Try to talk with Ryan, he amended as he climbed out of the sedan. Halfway to the house conceded he'd more likely talk to Ryan. Although the boy had actually initiated a conversation this morning, he reminded himself hopefully.
Before he reached the entry the heavy door flew open, Seth and Summer pouring out. Seth was backpedaling, as the two appeared embroiled in some animated discussion.
As teen arms flailed wildly and voices tangled together, Sandy paused in amused silence, waiting for the pair to notice him.
He bit back a chuckle when he saw Summer's eyes suddenly widen, as the girl stopped mid-sentence, grabbed Seth's arm, and spun him around to face his father.
Seth's body slumped in exaggerated relief. "Glad you're back, Dad. Summer wanted to get out of the house for a little while, but I was worried about leaving Ryan…"
Sandy caught Summer's steely glare, and Seth's quickly lowered head. The girl's narrowed eyes and furrowed brow said clearly she wasn't finished with his son, but her expression softened as she turned her gaze to Sandy. The smile she offered was genuine, if perhaps uncertain.
"Hi, Mr. Cohen. I … uh, I think maybe I should just, you know, go, and let you guys talk. Or whatever …" she said, her bright brown eyes concerned.
Sandy returned her smile, thinking how perceptive the girl could be sometimes. How he had come to rely on her in these last few days to help keep Seth distracted. Not let his son sink too deeply into emptiness.
"Wait, Summer. Just give me a minute with Seth, okay?"
"Yeah, sure. I'll just wait over there, in my car," she said to Sandy, before narrowing her eyes once more at Seth.
The boy looked at her wide-eyed, hitched up his shoulders, and spread his hands, as though protesting innocence.
Sandy ducked his head to hide a grin, as he could see the girl wasn't buying whatever Seth was selling.
"Ow!" his son yelped, one hand flying to his rump as Summer slipped past the teen. "Okay, already," he muttered to Summer, watching her stride towards the convertible, heels clicking sharply.
"Something you wanna' tell me?" Sandy asked, tilting his head meaningfully in the girl's direction once he had Seth's attention.
Seth tried to hold Sandy's gaze, but failed. Scrunching up his face the boy came clean, "Actually, Summer was worried about leaving Ryan."
His voice tinged by a false note of bravado, he continued, "I tried to tell her he likes his solitude at times like these. That's not insensitive, is it? I mean, the guy likes his space – I give him space, right?"
"Cohen!" the petite brunette snapped, as she seated herself behind the wheel, crossing her arms and drawing dark eyebrows together. "Tell him!" she commanded.
"I thought you were waiting in the car," Seth returned defensively, looking past his father to his girlfriend.
"Yeah. Well, a convertible isn't exactly soundproof now, is it?" the girl responded tartly.
Sandy mimicked Seth's quick upraise of eyebrows as they looked at one another. The boy conceded, "She's got a point."
Sandy nodded. "She seems to have more than one." His stomach tightened as he watched his son's discomfort. "I'm guessing there's something more going on than simply giving Ryan space?" he probed.
Seth swallowed, and admitted. "Yeah. He's acting… I don't know. Different."
Sandy frowned. "Different how?"
Seth ducked his head as he seemed to fight for control of his face. Raising his head once again, he brought the knuckles of one hand up against his mouth, tapping softly as though in thought.
He stopped, lowered his loose fist, and spread his palm face up, fingers splayed. The hand moved expressively, as it seemed to punctuate his words.
"It's not just that he threw me out. Well, not threw me out exactly, because that would entail moving. More like 'froze' me out, I guess. Ignored that I existed." The boy paused, frowning. Finished "You get the picture…"
Sandy got it, but was still at a loss. He took a moment to formulate his next question.
As though anticipating, Seth held up his hand to stop Sandy's interruption. "But that's not what I'm talking about." Frowned, distracted for an instant "Although it is unsettling."
Instantly refocused and continued, "It's just, there's something more. Today, after school, it was like 'Ryan, Intensified'. With all the silence and brooding he's been into lately suddenly super-sized. And so not in a good way…"
Sandy moved a step closer to his son, laying one hand soothingly upon his shoulder.
The boy opened his mouth, as if to speak again, but this time no words formed.
Seth looked down, and quickly back, and tried once more. "The thing is …it's not just that he's not talking. It's that … I dunno, it's like he's just checked out … And I keep waiting for him to come back, and be Ryan again, and he doesn't. And it's like…"
The words stopped, as the corners of his mouth contorted. Liquid brown eyes now betrayed his fear, as he finished softly, "… I don't know if he can."
Sandy's shoulders slumped a little as he let out a sigh. He gathered Seth into a one-armed hug and squeezed gently. He felt Seth's weight as the boy shifted slightly, pressing against him as though searching for support. Sandy braced himself, and squeezed tighter.
Seth looked sideways at his father, and strangled out a question. "What can I do, Dad? What does he need?"
Sandy summoned a mask of confidence, to reassure his child.
"Son, the best thing you can do for Ryan is simply be here for him. He needs to realize you're not going anywhere, no matter how hard he pushes you away. Or how long he isolates himself."
Seth blinked and nodded. "Don't worry. I got that covered."
Sandy smiled, and ruffled Seth's dark curls as he released his grip on the boy's shoulders. 'I know you do. And I'll take care of parenting, okay?"
The lanky teenager gave him a tilted half-smile. "Glad to have you back on the job."
Sandy's eyes sought his son's and held them. "Count on it. Count on me."
Seeing his son's silent acknowledgement at last reflected on his face, Sandy nodded toward where Summer waited. "But for right now, you can 'be here' best by leaving – let me talk alone with Ryan."
Seth smiled gratefully, before summoning his own game face. Patting Sandy on the shoulder, he mocked lightly "Good luck with that, Yoda. And may the force be with you…"
"One meeting with George Lucas, and he goes all Star Wars…" Summer groaned from behind the wheel, even as she smiled. Her taunting a device. Another distraction. Making this easier for Seth …
Sandy thought again how much he liked this girl. He smiled his silent thanks, and saw her quick shrugged 'no problem', as Seth approached her car.
"So I'm assuming Ryan's in the pool house?"
"Yep. Now officially the Fortress of Solitude," Seth warned as he folded himself into the convertible. Sandy heard him add to Summer "which is so not a Star Wars reference." Saw Summer roll her eyes as she backed away.
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Sandy walked through the house, stopping to pick up two bottles of juice from the refrigerator. He thought about the brief exchange with Ryan this morning. When again, the teen had waited until Seth's departure to venture into the kitchen.
Ryan hesitating with his coffee. Not fleeing straight away, but standing uncomfortably for a long moment before speaking.
"Have you heard anything more about Marissa?" Blue eyes cloudy. Body tense.
Sandy nodding. "Jimmy called. They're staying over, just outside the clinic where they took Marissa. Seems she's doing better than her mother."
Ryan clutching the coffee mug so tightly it might break, saying "Julie's really angry." Then staring at the floor before looking up through blond bangs at Sandy. "I don't blame her. After everything that happened…"
Sandy setting down his own cup, and moving toward the boy. "Ryan, don't worry about Julie. Leave her to me, okay?"
Seeing the skeptical frown as their eyes locked. Watching the eyes drop down noncommittally.
Saying gently "Marissa's afraid you won't want to see her when she comes home."
Ryan's eyes flying up, surprised. "Why would she think that?"
Sandy laying a hand on the teenager's shoulder, as the boy answered his own question. "Trey."
Ryan shaking his head in disbelief. Finally saying "She saved my life, Sandy."
As if that were all that mattered.
Sandy thinking he was right.
Although the teen had exited abruptly, claiming he had assignments due that day, Sandy had been encouraged. Had hoped the Ryan-driven exchange signaled a greater willingness to talk.
He drew in a deep breath, and shook his head. What could have changed since morning?
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Sandy knocked on the door of Ryan's sanctuary and was rewarded with silence. When a second knock produced the same silence, he opened the door and stuck his head in.
The blinds were still pulled most of the way down, shielding the interior of the pool house from the bright afternoon sun. Clothes were scattered about, with sweat pants hanging across the back of one chair, and a wifebeater crumpled in the middle of the floor. Ryan's grey hoodie looked like it had been bundled, and thrown into a corner.
The bedcovers were haphazardly strewn across the bed, covering what in the darkness appeared to be a large lump somewhere near the middle. Pillows were tossed about in no semblance of order, although a couple seemed to cover the top-most section of the lump.
Sandy grimaced. Ryan normally kept the pool house immaculate. Almost antiseptic. This disarray was reminiscent of the Oliver days. Or the post-Lindsay days. A tell-tale sign that Ryan's coping mechanisms were being outpaced by the problems he faced…
He cleared his throat, and whispered "Ryan?"
The lump moved, and snarled before squeezing out a few words that sounded like they came through gritted teeth, "Seth, get lost!"
Sandy stepped into the pool house, and busied himself opening some of the blinds. "Love what you've done with the place."
The lump groaned, and rearranged itself, dragging the pillows tighter against the offending sunlight.
Sandy moved to the bed, and sat down. "Seth's out with Summer. I thought we could use this time to talk."
One pillow moved slightly, revealing a blue eye and some very messy blond hair. "Later?" came a barely audible plea from a still-hidden mouth.
"It is later, Ryan. We can't keep putting this off." The pillow snapped back over the blue eye in response.
Sandy sat patiently for several minutes, hoping his foster son would get the silent message.
Was finally rewarded.
"You're not leaving, are you?" The voice was muffled by the bedcovers.
"Nope. Not in this lifetime." Hoping Ryan heard him.
A groan of resignation seeped out of the bedclothes. The lump stirred, and sat up. Blond hair pointed in all directions as the teenager rubbed the heels of his hands against his squinting eyes. One grey-sweat-pant-covered leg stuck out of the mass of covers.
After a moment, the boy struggled to unwrap himself from the sheets, finally working his way to the edge of the bed. He eyed Sandy guardedly, and pointed in the direction of the bath, "Give me a minute, okay?"
Sandy looked at the teenager appraisingly, and raised his eyebrows. "Take as long as you need."
Ryan frowned. "You mean take a shower, don't you?"
Sandy smiled. "Now that you mention it…"
"Whatever," the boy grumbled, standing up.
"I'll be here."
Sandy saw a flash of something pass across the teen's face, but then the boy bit his lip and turned away, head down.
Ryan tugged at his t-shirt, pulling it carefully up over his head and tossing it on the floor as he walked across the room. He stopped long enough to grab clean clothes before disappearing into the bathroom.
Sandy relocated to the nearby chair, allowing it to cradle his back and support his arms. He was worried, on a multitude of levels. But also relieved, as Ryan had been more responsive than he'd feared.
As the shower was running, Sandy mentally listed the topics he wanted to talk through with Ryan. He had just finished his list as the water stopped.
A few minutes later the door opened and the teenager stepped out, drying off his hair. He was wearing navy sweats, with a maroon t-shirt. His feet were bare.
The boy hesitated before finally dropping the wet towel in an empty laundry basket. His quick glance around the room ended in a set of apologetically raised eyebrows. "Not exactly ready for company. Sorry."
Sandy waved a hand dismissively. "Let's not worry about housekeeping right now."
Ryan pulled his mouth taut, and took a deep breath. "So, do we do this here, or inside?" he asked, motioning with his head as he fastened his watch around his wrist.
"Where would you prefer?"
Ryan shrugged. "Here, I guess."
"Juice?" Sandy asked, holding out one of the bottles he had brought from the house.
"Thanks." Ryan twisted the top off and downed half the contents before making a face and looking at the label. "Watermelon Kiwi? You have something against OJ? Or cranberry?"
Sandy took a much smaller sip, before making his own face. He laughed. "Fine. So next time, you pick out the juice."
This seems so normal, Sandy thought, this tiny interlude. God, he missed normal.
Ryan ducked his head, staring at the floor. "Sure, next time," he answered too quietly.
The interlude was over.
Sandy watched as the teenager sat down on the edge of the bed gingerly, mindful of his bruised body.
The kid's words and actions directed attention squarely to the elephant in the room with them.
They both knew the facts. Ryan's record. His history of fighting. The charges dropped last year in the Trask affair. Facts the police would have at their disposal.
Facts the police didn't have. Like Ryan's tormented statement to Seth, as yet unknown to the authorities – "I'm going to settle this with Trey … once and for all" Damning evidence of intent, twisted in the hands of an able prosecutor.
The initial altercation with his brother, only witnessed by the two.
Trey's disregard for truth so easily turned upon his younger sibling.
Statements he might be induced to make – "He confronted me. Pushed into my apartment. He was talking crazy. Wouldn't listen, wouldn't back down. I feared for my life, that's why I pointed the gun. Asked him to leave. Thought he was going, and lowered it, relieved. That's when he turned. Rushed at me. Assaulted me. Beat me. Kicked me. I was fighting for my life …"
A story told in deadly half-truths, to save himself from harsher prosecution. Sandy knew the danger. Had heard it from Trey's lips this morning.
"I haven't told them yet," the young man had stated. "I said my memory was blurry. But, Mr. Cohen, know this – I will remember clearly, if you don't help me."
Sandy would keep that memory to himself for now …
With or without Trey's duplicity, from the outset Sandy realized assault charges loomed as a potential threat. Alone, perhaps not so dangerous. A plea down to a misdemeanor likely.
But Ryan was on probation. And nearly an adult in the eyes of the California legal system.
And a conviction could mean time inside a prison …
Sandy took a deep breath, and said as calmly as he could, "About that. I'm meeting with the ADA day after tomorrow, to see where she stands on this thing. And then I'm scheduled to call your PO."
"Day after tomorrow?" Surprise evident in the voice.
"The ADA set the time," Sandy explained.
Ryan groaned.
"It's not bad news, Ryan," Sandy soothed. "I know that must sound like a long time away, but it's really not. I'd actually be more worried if she wanted to see me right away."
Ryan looked straight at Sandy for several seconds, his face and body stiffly composed. "What do you think they'll do?"
I wish I knew, he thought, amazed that the teenager had maintained eye contact this long. The boy's eyes were a huge key to reading his underlying feelings, and right now they betrayed his fear. As if on cue, Ryan ducked his head again.
Sandy cleared his throat. "This much I know. One of my friends on the police force talked to the investigating officers from the other night."
Ryan wrapped his arms around his waist, as though bracing himself for bad news. He glanced up, waiting for Sandy to continue.
"My friend said his colleagues were ready to believe Marissa Cooper's version of events. That your story and hers matched with respect to the shooting."
"So, that's good, right? For Marissa?"
"I think so, Ryan. But the ADA will make the final call."
The boy looked at him and nodded, as he unwrapped his arms. Noticing a couple of crumpled sheets of paper peeking out from underneath a pillow, the teenager quickly snatched them up, stuffing them into his pocket.
"What have you got there?" Sandy asked, distracted from his train of thought.
Ryan shrugged. "Nothing. Homework." Staring at the floor, keeping his face hidden. Rewrapping his arms around his mid-section.
"Learning through osmosis?"
Another shrug.
Sandy watched the boy intently, while searching quickly for his place in their interrupted conversation. He was surprised when Ryan spoke.
"How's Kirsten? I mean, have they talked to you since yesterday?"
Sandy shook his head. "I spoke with Dr. Woodruff, and he says she's doing well. Hanging in there."
"You'll see her tomorrow?" Ryan seemed anxious, as he peered up through his still-wet fringe.
"Tomorrow afternoon," Sandy confirmed.
"And you'll tell her about everything then?" Ryan asked, seeking reassurance.
Sandy nodded solemnly. He slid forward in his seat, reaching across the distance to put his hand on Ryan's knee. "Trust her to understand, okay?"
Ryan forced his head up, as blue eyes met blue. "She needs to know," he said simply.
"She will." Sandy assured him, sitting back into his chair.
The boy unwrapped his arms and sighed. He grabbed a pillow, and began picking at one corner as he asked softly, "And Trey? Did your friend say anything about him?"
Sandy was surprised at the question. Ryan had steadfastly refused to talk about his brother since the incident. Sandy leaned forward, and spread his hands.
"That's a big part of what I wanted to tell you, Ryan. I've got good news, and bad news. First, according to Manny – and this is great news for all of us if the ADA goes along – is that there doesn't seem to be a lot of impetus at this moment to charge either of you with assault for the initial fight. They have focused on the escalation – the introduction of the gun, and Marissa's actions to stop Trey…"
Sandy stopped, not wanting to say 'from murdering his younger brother'.
Not wanting to explain Manny's stark assessment that police had little sympathy for an ex-con, with several strikes already against him. With a father in prison. Who had barely escaped a drug charge earlier this year. Who was caught this time with drugs and a gun in his apartment. Who damn near killed his brother.
Their words: Punk. User. Probably dealer. Nothing but white trash. Who cared if he got the shit beat out of him? Probably deserved it, fucker. To bad the girl didn't blow his ass away.
Not things he wanted Ryan to hear said about his brother. Knowing that Ryan would allow their brush to paint too broadly. Allow it to paint himself.
Knowing these were the same biases and prejudices he had fought against as a PD, when they were used against his former clients. Attitudes he hated.
But now. Those very biases could pave a way to freedom. Save Ryan from legal prosecution, if handled correctly. And if Trey could be contained…
Sandy felt a little dirty, not for the first time, as he fought for his family.
Decided he could live with that.
Far easier than he could ever live without them…
Sandy's attention was refocused as Ryan prompted, "And the bad news?"
"I'm afraid Trey's in a lot of trouble this time. He's going to be charged with parole violation for possession of the handgun. They're pretty adamant that there's no way around that. And then there's the matter of the drugs they found in his stuff. Particularly after the whole drug thing at Marissa's party. I'll be honest, Ryan. It's not looking good for your brother."
Ryan's eyes went dark, as he threw the pillow aside, shoved his feet into sandals, and stood up. He walked to the door, and stared outside, his back to Sandy. "I don't have a brother," he said flatly. "Not anymore."
Sandy cringed inside, wondering how much of this was his own fault for forcing things with Trey in the first place, and then compounding the situation by not paying nearly enough attention.
Knowing the answer to his question -- pretty much all of it.
He rose, and moved to stand behind Ryan. He placed an arm on the boy's back, as he said "I'm sorry, Ryan. If I hadn't insisted that we bring Trey home..."
"He would have just figured out some other way to ruin things," Ryan cut him off, clearly not interested in hearing Sandy out on this subject.
Before Sandy could respond, Ryan twisted away, and grabbed the door handle, looking back at Sandy. "I'd like to walk down to the beach, clear my head. Please? If we're done?"
"I could come with you," Sandy offered, knowing they were far from done.
Ryan stiffened, and drew in a loud breath, as his free hand wrapped itself around the crumpled pages he carried inside his pocket.
"Or not…" Sandy said slowly, deciding he might win more trust through trusting.
The teenager relaxed, and let his breath out slowly. "Thanks," he said softly, before moving with surprising speed out the door and towards the pathway that led down to the Pacific.
"Be back for dinner," Sandy called. Ryan did not turn around, but raised his hand in a brief acknowledgement before disappearing from view.
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Sandy walked back into the empty kitchen. Where once again Kirsten's absence almost overpowered him. Forced him to retreat further back, into his office.
Sitting down at his desk, he skimmed through his email.
And saw his note from Kirsten.
He read it slowly, savoring each word. Wanting to hear her speak them. Wanting to reach through the electronic screen, and be connected to his wife.
He printed a copy of the email, just to hold it in his hands. To have something tangible of Kirsten.
After reading and re-reading the pages at least a dozen times, he folded the letter carefully and slid it into his pocket.
Stopped suddenly, remembering. Realizing what Ryan had clutched so tightly…
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tbc
a/n3: next chapter will take a little time …