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: Originally, I was going to post the letter from Ryan separately, but it seemed to fit better tucked inside this chapter…

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Time: Afternoon of Day Four

Sandy sat in the visitor's chair, watching the young man sleep. He looked fragile lying there, hooked up to an IV, with bandages around his upper torso, and purple bruises across his face. Sandy thought of the similar bruises Ryan wore, and cringed. He'd been the catalyst that drew the brothers together, forcing their interaction, setting things in motion and then ignoring the maelstroms that had formed. Dumping Trey with all his past and present complications onto Ryan's teenage shoulders.

Ryan hadn't wanted to bring Trey home. But rather than pressing for the reasons behind the boy's resistance, Sandy had pressed Ryan to capitulate. Now he wished with all his heart that he had heeded Ryan's wishes, and left Trey outside their world.

But he had failed his foster-son, the cost of his mistakes measured in currency more precious than bruised faces and broken bodies. Brothers and brotherhood, ripped and torn asunder. Hearts broken. Souls pierced with pain and doubt.

Sandy's bleak thoughts were interrupted, as Trey stirred, and groaned. His eyelids fluttered, as he tried to focus.

"How are you feeling?" Sandy asked, as Trey's eyes found him.

"Like someone shot me," the young man answered, a pain-laced smirk upon his features. He stirred a little, as his hand found the control for the bed, and he punched the button to raise its head. "Can you give me a hand?" he asked, as he fumbled with his pillows.

"Sure. You want the nurse?" Sandy rose and rearranged the pillows behind Trey so the young man was more comfortable.

"Nah, I'm good."

"You look better today. Your color looks better," Sandy offered, returning to his seat, but pulling the chair up closer to the bed.

Trey shrugged, and then smiled with something akin to gratitude. "Thanks for coming. It's good to have a visitor…"

Sandy noted Trey had no problem making eye contact, or holding it. His open face suggested honesty, but Sandy knew too well the duplicity that lurked behind the young man's smile. "We agreed we'd talk again," Sandy said neutrally, some small part of him hoping that Trey would have had a change of heart.

"So we did," the older Atwood brother said, as he fingered his wristband with his other hand. The corners of his mouth twitched, but Sandy couldn't tell whether the young man fought a smile or a frown. Trey finally continued, keeping his voice low, "What have you got for me?" His tone was edgy, as he spiced his words with warning.

Sandy drew in his breath, still finding Trey's threats appalling. How could Trey play so uncaringly with his brother's future? What was this young man capable of? And why hadn't he seen behind the façade before? Because he hadn't bothered to look… he told himself, knowing it was true.

He forced himself back into the moment, and kept his voice low as well, reminding himself to focus on his goal. "I talked to the police, Trey. And to your PO, off the record. I don't know what you were thinking, with the gun and the drugs. You knew the terms of your parole – and the consequences of violating it. You're gonna' have to serve the rest of your sentence on the stolen car. You know that, right?"

Trey's eyes narrowed. "I don't hear anything coming out of your mouth that's gonna' help me, Mr. Cohen. Maybe you didn't understand what I said before?" He let his words hang in the air between them.

Frowning, Sandy replied. "I understood you perfectly, Trey. The lies and half-truths you'll tell the police, strung together to blame Ryan for what happened."

Sandy sucked in a loud breath as he contemplated what a conviction could mean for his foster-son. As he thought what prison life would be for the youth -- how his slight stature and blond good looks would play in lock-up. A hell the young man lying there should know about far too well.

Shaking his head in revulsion, Sandy asked, "I'd just like to understand. How could you do this to your own brother?"

Trey glared coldly. "The way I see it, you're the one about to screw my little brother, if you don't come through with something for me. Something interesting enough to keep me from telling the police the story just like I told you…"

"The lies?"

Trey shrugged. "Does it matter? Truth is a pretty fluid concept, anyway – so much depends on who's doing the talking. And in case you haven't figured it out, I'm a lot more talkative than Ry." He folded his arms across his chest, and continued, "So I gotta' ask again, what have you got for me?"

Fighting the urge to crush the young man, both literally and figuratively, Sandy closed his eyes and counted to ten. Opening his eyes, he said, "This much I can offer. If you cooperate with the police, and help them make a case against your supplier, they'll reduce the drug charges to a misdemeanor. Otherwise, you're facing felony possession, and maybe more. The police like you for dealing, Trey. And I understand the ADA who caught your case from Marissa's party is anxious to get another shot at prosecuting you..."

Trey raised his eyebrows. "That's better. And hell, I'll be happy to turn Jess over. This was that little skank's fault anyway. It was her stupid gun." He bit his lip, and frowned once more. "But I just don't think that's gonna' be enough…"

Sandy could feel his temper rising, as he stood up and looked down at the older Atwood. His voice took on a deadly tenor as he spoke. "Then try this on for size. If you say one false word about what happened between you and Ryan… if you unfairly implicate your brother in any way, I will make sure that you regret it. And in addition to the parole violation and felony drug charges that you currently face, we'll add assault and attempted rape!"

Trey's eyes widened, as he pushed back in his bed, putting a few more inches between himself and Sandy. "That's not… I don't believe you. The ADA would use it against Marissa. Say that's why she shot me… not because of Ry. She wouldn't dare say anything…"

Trey's comments surprised him. In truth, he'd never ask Marissa to follow through, but he'd not counted on Trey realizing the danger she might face. He had merely sought her permission to lodge the threat, and to play along if necessary. He donned a mask of utter confidence, keeping his voice even, as he bluffed. "She's willing to take that risk. And frankly, if a jury hears her story, I don't think they'll have any trouble sorting out who's at fault. Do you?"

Trey breathed deeply in the silence that permeated the room. Finally, one side of his mouth turned up into a reluctant smile. "But the drug charges… you'll help with getting them knocked down?"

"You'll stick to the truth?" Sandy asked sternly, fighting to stay focused as relief flooded through him.

"The whole truth, and nothing but the truth…" Trey answered, sighing. He rested his head back against the pillow, and closed his eyes.

As Sandy debated leaving, Trey stirred again. He looked across at Sandy, his expression turned wistful, and his eyes cloudy. "You know, I was laying here earlier, wondering what might have happened if you'd been my PD the first time I got into trouble. If things would have worked out differently, I mean…"

Shocked at this unexpected statement, Sandy dropped back into his seat. He chose to misunderstand the young man's direction, steering a different course. "You got probation, right? For your first offense?"

Trey shook his head.

"I couldn't have done any better than that, if I'd caught the case back then." Sandy raised his eyebrows and hitched his shoulders in resignation. There wasn't much more he could say.

The young man frowned, and looked away. When he looked back, his face seemed younger, and his demeanor more vulnerable. "That's not what I meant," Trey clarified. "I mean, I was the same as Ryan back then. Same fucked-up family background. You might have taken me in, like you did my little brother."

Sandy tried not to stare gape-mouthed at Ryan's sibling as he tried to imagine a younger Trey. But no youthful Trey he could conjure even remotely resembled Ryan. He said evenly, "I've had hundreds of clients, Trey. Ryan's the only one I ever brought home…"

"Yeah, I know. He won the jackpot. Got the big house, the cars, the clothes, the lifestyle… I'm just saying, what if it had been me? What if I were the one you'd picked? That you'd given everything to? My life would have turned out different, if I'd had that kind of chance…" He met Sandy's steady gaze without blinking, the longing visible in his eyes.

Sandy shook his head slowly, as he asked, "You think it's about the things, Trey?"

"Things? Nah." Trey cocked his head, as though about to share a secret. "The truth is, it's all about the money." He raised his eyebrows to punctuate his statement. "Out there, it's the only thing that counts. If you've got it, you've got the world. If not, the world's got you…"

When Sandy frowned, Trey shifted his position, and spoke again. "Why did you take Ryan in, anyway? I mean, what did you see in him? What made him so special?" He ground his jaws together, and continued, "Was it because he's so damned smart?"

Sandy leaned forward in his seat, unprepared for the question. He'd asked himself the same thing a thousand times, and come up with a variety of answers. None complete, none exactly right, but all true… He asked instead, "Do you know what the first thing Ryan said to me was, when I met him that day in juvie?"

Trey's eyebrows crinkled, as he seemed puzzled by the question. He shrugged. "I don't know. He probably wanted to know how much trouble he was in – what might happen to him."

"He wanted to know where you were."

"Yeah?" the young man seemed startled. "Really?"

"Really." Sandy drew his lips together as he thought back. Then he looked at Trey, and said, "I remember being struck by this kid, first time he'd been arrested, first time in juvie – I knew he had to be scared to death, but his first question wasn't about his own problems. He wanted to know about his older brother."

Trey's jaw muscle twitched slightly, as he drew in a labored breath. "He never told me that," he said softly.

Sandy shook his head, "He wouldn't."

Trey grimaced. He closed his eyes as though in pain.

"Do you need something? Some medication?" Sandy asked. "I can call the nurse."

Trey's eyes reopened, as the young man shook his head 'no'. "I don't need medicine, Mr. Cohen." His eyes narrowed, as he seemed to funnel strength from somewhere deep inside. His voice took on a tortured edge, "I need a life."

Inexplicably, Sandy found himself moved to offer comfort. "It's not too late, Trey. You're young – you can still have a life. But you've got to start making better choices. Choices that respect other people. Choices that allow you to respect yourself."

Sandy stopped talking, as he sensed Trey had stopped listening. What had he been thinking, anyway? Ryan might care about his opinion, but there was no reason to think that Trey did.

Trey snorted bitterly. "God. I see why Ry is so taken by you. 'Cause what you just said? He thinks that's all true – he's never figured out it's all just crap."

Sandy blinked, surprised by the words. "What do you mean?"

The young man flung his head back against the pillows, and let out one harsh chortle, before straightening back up, and glaring at Sandy. He turned his head, and drew his eyebrows together to emphasize what he would say, as he continued angrily, "I mean -- take Ry, thinking all those years if he just did the right stuff, made the right choices, it'd make a difference. Like mom would stop drinking, or dad would turn into someone who gave a fuck about him… about anybody. Ry fuckin' lived in a fantasy world, where he actually thought if he was just good enough, smart enough -- that things would be better."

Trey smirked as he continued. "But you know what? They weren't. No matter how hard he tried – and believe me, Mr. Cohen, he tried – nothing changed. I used to try to explain to him that he was wastin' his time, but my freakin' genius of a brother – Ryeinstein – just kept trying. And you what? He still got the shit beat out of him, mom just drank more, and got higher, and dad got replaced by a whole string of bastards that got their kicks outta' kicking mom and us around."

"Trey," Sandy started, disturbed by this glimpse into the Atwood world.

Trey sliced into Sandy's response, "So I'm thinking maybe Ry's not so smart after all. 'Cause where we're from, all that shit about respecting people and making choices isn't worth crap. He needed me to ground him. Help him face facts, and forget all his freakin' dreams. I taught him reality, man. Fuck, or get fucked."

Sandy found himself staring, as Trey's face contorted, and the young man continued, "Do you know how hard it is to live with someone like him? God, I hated him sometimes… I mean, so what if he's always 'the smart one', or 'the good one'? He needed to understand that he wasn't better than anybody else." Trey fought to keep from breaking down completely, as he spat out, "Not better than me!"

Listening to the young man's anger and frustration, Sandy ached to think of the lessons drilled into Ryan's head as a child. That Ryan had survived and had become the amazing kid he was, despite the darkness that had surrounded him, spoke volumes. But still, the lessons that Ryan needed to learn, and unlearn…

Trey was staring at him, seeming more collected. His brows were furrowed. Sandy cleared his throat, and said, "You asked before why I brought Ryan into our home. You asked if it was because he was smart. I'll admit, that was a part of it. But Trey, that's not why I brought him home. It was more to do with what I saw inside -- a kid who had a wealth of integrity, even if he'd just taken part in something he clearly understood was wrong …"

"How did you get that? He'd just gone with me to steal a fuckin' car. Where's the wealth of integrity in that?"

Sandy smiled, remembering his first encounter with a smart-mouthed, but obviously very smart Ryan Atwood. "Intuition? Gut reaction? I can tell you this… he didn't lie to me. He admitted what he'd done, and he accepted full responsibility for his actions. You'd be surprised how rarely that happened, when I was a PD." Sandy shrugged, "You've worked with kids as long as I have, you get a feeling. With Ryan, I just knew."

Trey shook his head, "So you're saying the fact that he had his head up his ass is what won him the lotto? If we were all like Ry, then maybe we'd all win?" Trey closed his eyes, and laughed to himself.

Sandy started to respond, but Trey shook him off. "That's bullshit, man, and you know it. 'Cause one day, when you guys are tired of your Chino charity case, and he's back on the streets, he's gonna' find out that being good or being smart doesn't pay the rent, or buy food, or get you the stuff you need. That life with you guys was some fantastic dream. And the world out here? Where I am? Where he belongs? Is nothing but a fucking nightmare!"

"Trey, I understand your life has been difficult. You've faced stuff no kid should every have to live through, and I'm sorry. But you've got to see that your choices and Ryan's have been vastly different, with very different consequences. And know this – despite what you may think, Ryan's not some charity case. He's a part of our family, in every way that really matters."

The older Atwood brother curled his lips as he rocked his head back and forth infinitesimally. "Yeah? Well, I've got to tell you something. That's not what it looked like to me. I mean, yeah, he's got the stuff, but hell, Mr. Cohen, you guys don't even have him living inside your house! He explained why, when I asked, in typical Ry fashion -- always giving people the benefit of the doubt. But I know my brother, and if you don't believe he's thought a lot about why he's still outside – what that means – you don't know Ryan nearly as well as you think you do."

"Ryan could move into the house anytime he wants to – but he's always liked his privacy." Sandy countered.

"You're talking to the wrong Atwood, Mr. Cohen. Ever discussed it with him? Or while you're at it, did you ever discuss why you call him 'kid' all the time? I guess it's better than 'kiddo', but it's damned impersonal. Ya' oughta' think about changing it up sometimes. Use 'bud', or 'pal', or maybe 'ace'. Or hey, here's one – how about 'son'? You know, in the generic sense."

"Why? Did he say that bothered him?" Sandy's eyes had widened in surprise. He'd never thought Ryan had an issue with being called 'kid'. And saying 'son' seemed somehow too presumptuous. Although he'd slipped at least once in the last couple of days. If it were up to him, he'd use the term often … it described how he thought of the teenager. And not in any generic sense…

Trey smiled coldly, "As you said before – he wouldn't." The smile faded, as the young man continued, "And I never saw you hug him. I thought that's what families did, man. The ones that worked…" He paused, and shrugged. "But then, what the hell do I know?"

"He's not too big on being touched," Sandy answered, feeling a bit defensive.

"Says who? He's a kid. Kids need to be hugged, before it's too late." Trey bit his lip, as he said, "He deserves it, Mr. Cohen."

Sandy nodded, thinking he had been wrong before. There was some similarity between the Atwood brothers after all.

Trey swallowed hard, as he grimaced. "What I said before? About what was important, and stuff? I wasn't wrong, you know. Except about one thing… Ry is better than me."

The statement hovered in the room, as Sandy tried to come up with a response that sounded right. He settled for something true. "Everyone is wired differently, Trey. And everyone makes mistakes. That's just life. But what comes next determines who we are. What we learn from the mistakes, how we change… And despite how it might feel sometimes, in the end what matters most are the people in your life – not the things. Fix the people part, and I think you'll like yourself a lot better."

Trey snorted. "Thank you, Dr. Phil. God, the more you talk, the more I see why my brother idolizes you. He's like some rat to your pied piper… Just do me a favor, and don't let him drown."

Sandy raised his eyebrows, torn between surprise and consternation. "Idolizes?"

"I watched him around you, and heard him quoting stuff you'd told him. He looks up to you, man. That's big, 'cause Ry's real careful about who he trusts."

It was hard to tell if Trey's words were spiteful, or protective. Sandy chose to think the latter. "This much I know, Trey. I love Ryan like my own son, and I'll do everything in my power to keep him happy, and healthy, and safe. That much I promise."

Trey nodded, and closed his eyes.

Sandy tried to sort through the twisted path their discussion had taken. Through threats and anger and frustration and pain, to bittersweet protectiveness and mangled love. Nothing about this brother was a straightforward as he had assumed. And going one step further, how much more complex was Ryan? He twisted in his chair, unsettled.

As Sandy stirred, Trey turned to him and asked softly, "I guess he's not coming to see me?"

Taking in a long breath, Sandy shook his head from side to side. "I don't think that's going to happen, Trey. Not now, anyway. And in the future, I want any contact with Ryan to come through me." His voice was gentle, but very firm.

Trey nodded his acquiescence, before adding, "That's what I figured. Expected."

Sandy stood up, preparing to leave. "You need your rest. I'll check in tomorrow…" he surprised himself by saying, as he headed toward the door.

"Wait!" Trey called out.

Sandy turned, eyebrows arched in a question.

"Look in the drawer," the young man said, nodding to his nightstand.

Sandy crossed the room, and pulled the drawer out. The only thing in the drawer was a stapled document. He glanced at Trey, who shook his head, indicating Sandy should read it.

His heart beat faster as he realized he was reading a copy of Trey's signed statement to the police, made earlier this morning. Sandy raced through the words, until he reached the end, and his eyes met Trey's. "You said you provoked Ryan's actions. That the fight was your fault."

Trey smiled reluctantly, "Yeah. Police said they were gonna' issue the warrant for parole violation sometime today or tomorrow. They're still thinking through the rest of it."

Sandy knew 'the rest of it' could include attempted manslaughter, based on the statement he'd just read, together with Marissa's and Ryan's earlier statements. Trey didn't exactly confess, but he'd opened up a door if the ADA wanted to prosecute. He wondered if Trey realized how serious the consequences could become.

"Don't worry, Mr. Cohen," Trey's voice brought Sandy back to the present. "I talked to my PD. I understand what this might mean…"

"Then, what was all this, today?"

The young man shrugged. "I play poker, too, Mr. Cohen." He let the statement hang for an instant, before asking, "So, is there still a deal, on the drug thing?"

Sandy nodded yes, but thought about his bluff, thinking maybe he had not been as effective as he'd thought.

He pressed for one more answer, "Why'd you really make this statement?"

Trey sighed, and raised his eyebrows. "I asked myself the same thing, and you know what? Ryan just rubs off sometimes…"

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Time: Evening of Day Four

Sandy gripped the wheel of his BMW tightly, replaying scenes from his visit with Kirsten. He smiled as he remembered how beautiful she looked, and how her face lit up when she saw him. Struggling, yes… but fighting back with purpose. Loving arms, reaching out for him… Those first minutes so tender, as they touched gently, each so eager, and yet so very careful of one another.

A fingertip, a brush of hand, warm breath against bare skin… each nerve dancing, marvelously alive. His lips finding her hair, her neck, her eyelids … and finally her lips. So soft. Like pressing against warm velvet. His kiss becoming deeper, harder, longer, as she responded to his touch. Losing himself inside her arms, becoming for those moments separate from the world…

The world that too soon cried to be acknowledged, with its newest tribulations for their family. Sandy chewed the inside of his cheek, as he thought about the meeting with Dr. Woodruff and the other counselor. Kirsten sitting beside him on the loveseat. The square cocktail table separating them from the counselors, in their upholstered chairs.

Where Sandy had held Kirsten's hand in his, as he explained about the shooting. About Ryan's fears. About what he'd done so far. About what remained. All while Kirsten sat frozen, her only sign of understanding the tears threatening to spill from her blue eyes.

What happened next was not what he'd imagined. And yet, so very Kirsten.

He could see it all unfold, as he had finished speaking.

Kirsten blinking, as she tried to assimilate everything she'd heard. Her face draining itself of color, as she looked from him to the counselors.

Desperately whispering "Why didn't you tell me?"

His looking to the counselors for their support. Their explanations concerning detox and her not needing to confront new issues set forth eloquently. Convincingly.

Except that Kirsten was not convinced.

Kirsten speaking once again, her voice strangled with pain, "Sandy, how could you let them keep this from me?"

Raising her hand to his lips. His answer, inadequate, "I'm so sorry, honey."

Her face slowly regaining color, and her breath becoming louder.

Dr. Woodruff stepping in, "Kirsten, the decision to withhold information wasn't Sandy's – it was mine." Then the counselors asking how she was feeling, saying they needed to discuss the way forward…

His wife glaring at the counselors, her face flushing. Her fingernails digging into his hand, as she addressed them, her tone biting, "You want to know my feelings? Ryan's hurting, and he doesn't even know if I want him in our lives? You've made him wait for days, not knowing? How the hell do you think I'm feeling?"

Saying softly, "Kirsten, honey…" Stopping, feeling her hand clutch his leg, as she suddenly shoved herself to her feet.

Kirsten looking first at him, and then at the counselors, her face livid. Her angry words, coated thick with pain, "You had no right to keep this from me!"

Her next words reverberating in the newborn silence.

"He's. My. Child!"

Kirsten holding out her hand to him, looking for support. Rising to hold her. Feeling her body tremble, and then grow still, as she gathered herself together and stepped away.

Watching as she silently turned to leave, and then suddenly turned back, resolved.

His wife standing before them, head high, eyes snapping… imperious. Her voice like newly forged steel, as she commanded, "As to how we move forward? I'll tell you!"

"Ryan. Here. Tomorrow."

Her eyes daring anyone to object.

The door slamming on her way out.

Dr. Woodruff looking wide-eyed across at him, "I think I've just encountered Caleb Nichol's daughter."

His smiling as he replied, "Not even close. That, my friend, was Ryan Atwood's mother."

Before he left Suriak, they had debated other, swifter options – like a telephone call that evening. But even an anxious Kirsten allowed that meeting in person would create fewer opportunities for miscommunication. In the meantime, Sandy could tell Ryan about today's meeting. Tomorrow, Kirsten would speak for Kirsten.

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Time: Same time in the evening of Day Four

Ryan sat at his desk, staring at his PC. He knew Sandy was on his way home, and that he'd told Kirsten about Trey. And that Kirsten had gotten angry that the counselors at Suriak hadn't told her anything. Sandy said she'd made it clear she wanted him to stay. That they'd talk more when he got home…

So why wasn't he more relieved? That's what he'd wanted, wasn't it?

Except, they still didn't get it. And that was the thing he had to make them see. Had to make Kirsten see, even if Sandy couldn't. Sandy, who was trying so hard to comfort him, and to make him feel wanted, now and into the future. But who sometimes had a blind spot for things about Ryan that he didn't want to see.

He'd wanted to explain to Sandy, but couldn't find the courage or the words. Speaking wasn't easy in his world. He'd learned so early the price of words. Never knowing which ones would be accepted, and which ones would bring him pain, he had found silence his friend and best defense. He was still more comfortable there, but his comfort was not important. He owed it to the Cohens to be honest with them.

And if he couldn't say the words to Sandy, maybe he could write them to Kirsten. He trusted her to see the truth.

He started typing, editing as he went. He tried to be open in what he wrote, but he left some things out. Like, he couldn't talk about his fear of prison. Kirsten didn't need to hear about his nightmares. He'd heard enough to know the hell he'd face inside…

Sometimes he cringed as he reread paragraphs he'd written, and at the end he was more than a little tempted to delete everything. But something held him back. Something Kirsten said about important things …

Finally, his heart beating fiercely, he made himself press 'send'.

>>>>>>>

Dear Kirsten,

The first thing I want to tell you is that your email was the nicest thing anyone has ever written to me. I would have written back earlier, but Sandy said you'd only get to receive email after he met with you.

I've been thinking about you, too. Sandy keeps us up to date with any news, but it's not nearly the same as having you with us. We – I – miss you, too.

But I'm just putting off what I really need to say, so here goes…

I know Sandy told you about Trey. You can't know how sorry I am, because my actions have hurt your family, and Marissa, and have taken up time and energy and resources that should be spent on more important things.

I'm not sure what Sandy said to you, because I haven't really been able to explain things to him. It's not that I don't want to – more like I'm not entirely sure myself. I do know that I never meant for things to get so out of control. Somehow, it was like something just snapped, and everything spilled out, and I couldn't stop it.

I know it's my fault, and that I deserve whatever consequences come my way. If I had just let Trey leave without going over there to confront him, or if I had left his apartment when he gave me the option, none of this would have happened. Marissa wouldn't have shot Trey, and Trey wouldn't be going back to prison…

And in the midst of all this, I get this amazing letter from you, which I know that I really don't deserve, because you didn't know what I'd done – what I'm capable of doing – before you wrote it. Now, you've got to wonder if I might not do something like this again, and the fact is, I can't come up with any answer I can trust.

So, everything has changed now, hasn't it?

Because you have to know now that I'm not the Ryan you wrote to – that he doesn't exist. And I can't pretend anymore. I can't ignore all the stuff that happened before, because it's just too big.

Bottom line is this – even though I wanted to be different, to be like everyone wanted me to be, it turns out I'm still an Atwood underneath.

And the whole time, you're thinking I don't lie to you. But the fact is, my whole life here is a lie – especially this last year. And the truth is something that you guys should never have to face. It's ugly, and it's mine.

I just keep thinking that you probably had it right that first night Sandy brought me to your house. I don't belong in Newport. I really don't deserve to be in your home, with your family. No matter how hard I try, I screw things up. It's what I do… So I want you to know that I'll understand if you guys want me to leave. I'll be eighteen soon, with options that I didn't have before, when you took me in.

And I wouldn't want you to feel bad. I mean, why would anyone open up their home to someone who's so messed up? Who needs that kind of burden, right?

And then I think about what you said in your letter, and hope maybe I did one good thing, if anything I said really did make a difference in your decision to get help. You and Sandy and Seth are the best people I know, Kirsten.

I'm not a wordsmith like your real son, so I probably can't explain how much you have meant to me over these last two years. But I'll try, because like you said, we shouldn't leave important things unsaid …

I've always had a hard time trusting people. I normally try not to let myself get close to anyone, because it's too hard when I lose them.

I guess you know I lost my mom to alcohol a long time ago. A long time before she left me with you guys. The thing is, I never expected another chance at having a real mom, but you changed that, Kirsten.

I know, like me, you don't let people into your life easily, but I don't think that's such a bad thing. Because when you do allow someone in, it's special – it means something. Like I could look at the whole world, and know that of all the people in it, you once chose to let me inside your family. I guess the fact is, you made me feel special, Kirsten.

You don't know how much that matters, unless you've never felt it.

You make a difference in people's lives. I see it in Sandy and Seth, too. That's why it's so important that you get better. And you can do that, Kirsten. You're in a very different place from my mom. You're one of the brightest, strongest people that I've ever met. And you've got the best support system in the world in Sandy and Seth. They're awesome.

And you've got me – if you still want that once you understand I'm not who you signed up for. Or, I guess, kind of regardless… I promise you – and I don't make promises lightly – I'll always be here for you. (Even if 'here' is not in Newport…)

Because one of the few things about me that I know is real is how I feel about you.

You'll always be special to me. And I'll always love you.

And I don't want you to worry – there's nothing you said to me that needs forgiving. I've heard a lot worse, believe me.

After all, you did let me into your home… that's just the truth.

It was the best thing that ever happened to me.

Always,

Ryan

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Sandy answered his cell phone on the second ring. He was startled to hear her voice. Her words. He turned the car around, and headed back to Suriak. The stakes for tomorrow had just become a lot clearer, and they had work to do …

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tbc

A/N2: Reviews appreciated – it's one small way to connect writer and reader, but it means so much... Again, thanks to those of you who have been so faithful with your words – I truly am grateful for the time you spend, and love to read your comments.