In His Shadow: The Drive
Sandy forced himself to focus on the road, trying to keep his eyes from drifting sideways, to Ryan. A couple times he cleared his throat, issuing a subtle invitation to talk, and once he even murmured "You still with me, kid?" but the words prompted no response. Ryan remained motionless, his back rigid, jaw clenched, shuttered face fixed on a vanishing point somewhere far outside the window.
He had closed himself down, closed Sandy out entirely.
Something about Ryan's posture struck Sandy as familiar, and with a start, he recognized what it was: that very first weekend, when they had returned to his empty house, Ryan had sat the same way, silent and bereft, isolated on the distant edge of the passenger seat.
Remembering, Sandy's own body tensed with regret. All day, he recalled, the two of them had shared such an effortless trust. It had felt sure and inviolable. For the first time in so long—maybe for the first time ever--Ryan had been open, relaxed and candid and willing to connect.
Until now.
How could they have come back to this?
Sandy wondered what Ryan saw, if he even saw anything, when he stared vacantly at the passing world. Looking out the front windshield, Sandy frowned, unable to make sense of his own impressions. He had driven to Chino often before, but each time he had been mulling cases, or simply lost in other thoughts. He had never paid attention to the view. Now he tried to see it with Ryan's eyes. As he watched, color seemed to leach slowly out of the scenery. A coarse gray filter shrouded the structures they passed, leaving them murky, distorted. Everything he saw appeared half-erased, even though, logically, Sandy realized the colors outside were actually growing more garish, clashing chaotically as the buildings crowded closer.
Maybe the smudged quality of the scene outside was due to the dirt, to so much peeling paint and flaking, exposed wood. Maybe it was due to all the litter heedlessly dropped to the street and left to disintegrate under the wheels of passing cars.
Maybe it was just due to despair.
Desperate to rouse Ryan, to dispel whatever self-doubts had locked him inside himself, Sandy tapped his shoulder. He tried to ignore the fact that the boy flinched physically before turning his head.
"What did you want to ask me earlier, Ryan?"
Ryan blinked. "What?"
"Before lunch," Sandy explained. "You wanted to ask me something and then you changed your mind and just started talking about food. What was it?"
Ryan's fist closed over the strap of his seat belt, pinching it in half, his knuckles sharp with tension. "Nothing," he claimed.
"And you know what 'nothing' tells me?" Sandy countered quietly. "That there's something you want to know. Talk to me, kid."
They rode in silence for another minute. Then Ryan's gaze darted over, wary and still unwilling. "It's none of my business really," he began. His voice trailed off, and one shoulder hunched, a gesture of guilty surrender.
"Ask, Ryan. If it's really none of your business, I just won't answer."
Ryan gave the slightest of nods. His mouth moved, as though he were trying out words before he spoke. "Okay," he said diffidently. "Why did you leave the P.D.'s office, Sandy?"
Startled, Sandy's face creased in a quick, thoughtful frown. He hadn't been sure what question to expect, but the issue of his career change hadn't occurred to him at all. It had happened so long ago, and the family had suffered so much more significant upheaval since then.
Or so he had believed. But obviously something about Sandy's decision still perturbed Ryan, enough to compel him to raise the subject even after all this time.
Swallowing something that tasted like shame, Sandy gripped the steering wheel tighter. "That really bothered you, didn't it, kid?"
Ryan shrugged. He shifted in his seat, lowering his eyes back to his seat belt. "Yeah," he admitted reluctantly.
"You thought I sold out."
"What? No!" Ryan protested, his head snapping up. "I'd never think that. It's just . . . shit, Sandy, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have mentioned it."
"Hey no, don't apologize. Just talk to me," Sandy urged again. "Tell me why it upset you so much."
Ryan hesitated, chewing his bottom lip, before he answered. At last, almost inaudibly, he mumbled, "It's selfish." Sandy had to strain to hear him over the low hum of the motor. "But I keep thinking . . . if you had decided to quit a couple months earlier . . . you wouldn't have been my lawyer."
Sandy released a long breath of comprehension. He began to phrase a reply, but stopped, surprised, when Ryan continued speaking.
"I was so damn lucky. I don't mean just because you took me in. Even before that—you cared, right from the start. I wasn't just a case file to you. And so when you quit, I couldn't help feeling. . . God, I can't explain it." Ryan's voice vibrated with frustration. "I know no matter where you work, you'll still be helping people. Like Scott, this morning. And trying to get her job back for that woman, Mrs. Zifcheck. Helping people—it's what you do. It's just . . . Not every kid gets a Sandy, you know?"
"Not every P.D. finds a Ryan either," Sandy observed gently. "I'd say we both got lucky there."
"But see, I don't get that," Ryan argued. "Everything you've done for me—and God, you've done so much—there are so many kids who deserve it more. I wasn't anybody special. Shit, I wasn't even innocent."
Sandy glanced over, his brows furrowed, and his expression pensive. Then, impulsively, he pulled into a nearby parking lot and turned off the car.
Ryan's breath hissed in alarm. "Sandy, what are you doing?" he demanded. "We can't just stop. Your appointment at the prison--"
"Relax, kid. We have plenty of time. This conversation is important. I'd like to give it my full attention."
"But we don't have to talk about any of this now," Ryan objected apprehensively. "Or, you know, here . . ."
Flushing, he indicated the nearly abandoned strip mall in front of them. An erratically flashing neon sign blinked "Tap Ho se" over the entrance of a bar with one boarded-up window. To its left, a hand-lettered placard in a storefront promised "Fast Cash Until Payday"; two doors down on the right stood a dingy pawnshop, its display a careless jumble of cameras, watches and jewelry, a threadbare fur coat and, improbably propped in the center, a child-size violin. All the other buildings appeared ramshackle, sagging against each other like famine victims struggling to stay on their feet.
"Why not here, Ryan?" Sandy asked evenly.
"I can't . . ." Ryan murmured. His gaze skidded desperately from Sandy to the hopeless view outside, and back down to his feet, "We should just go. I shouldn't have said anything. I'm sorry."
"I'm not," Sandy declared. "It's time we talked about all this. But level with me, Ryan. Do you want to know why I left the P.D.'s office, or do you want to know why I believed in you enough to bring you home with me?"
Unconsciously, Ryan reached down, touching his briefcase as if fingering a talisman. "Both?" The word was faint and uncertain.
Sandy nodded. "Okay." He blew out a heavy breath and closed his eyes, considering. "I left the P.D.'s office because I was restless," he admitted finally. "God, kid, I wish I could give you a better answer, but that's the truth. It sounds so damn shallow, but honestly, I just wanted to try something different."
Ryan averted his face. "Something more important," he concluded. His toneless voice drifted like vapor out the window.
"No." Sandy unfastened his seatbelt, angling his body so he could face Ryan. "Look at me, please," he ordered, quiet and compelling. "Ryan . . ."
Very slowly, Ryan met Sandy's eyes. His own looked trapped, like those of an injured animal unable to escape an approaching deathblow.
"No job I could ever do was more important than my work at the P.D.'s office, Ryan," Sandy maintained. "I always knew that. Leaving there—it wasn't about money, or prestige, and it certainly wasn't because I thought other cases or people mattered any more than the ones I was already handling. It's just . . . I don't know how to say this and have it make sense to you." Grimacing ruefully, Sandy admitted, "It took Kirsten to explain it to me. She was shocked too, when I accepted the job at Partridge, Savage, and Kahn, and we stayed up a long time one night discussing why I wanted to make a change. This is what we figured out, Ryan. After you joined our family, I needed to find a new direction for my career--"
"Why?" Ryan blurted, the words veering between accusation and apology. "What did I do?"
"Nothing, kid. You did nothing wrong, if that's what you mean." Sighing, Sandy raked a hand through his hair. "Let me try this again," he suggested gently. "After you joined our family, Ryan, I felt like I had accomplished all I was meant to do at the P.D.'s office. Like in some way, meeting you had been my purpose there all along, so once I had . . . well, my work there was done and that part of my life was complete. It's not rational, kid, but it's how I felt. Can you understand that at all?"
Ryan ducked his head. "I don't know," he answered haltingly. "Maybe a little?"
"Okay." Sandy risked a small smile. "You think about it, and if you want to talk more later, we can, although I don't really know what else I can tell you . . . So, that was issue number 1: Now, issue number 2."
Embarrassed, Ryan turned back to the window, staring at the bleak scenery. "You don't have to," he muttered.
"I want to," Sandy declared. "Ryan, listen. You said you weren't innocent when we met. Technically, I guess you're right about that. But you weren't guilty either. Not in any way that really counts. Trust me, I've got enough experience to know the difference. Do you?"
Ryan chewed his lower lip. "I'm not sure," he admitted.
"Well, then, consider this. Stealing the car wasn't your idea. You went along with it out of loyalty to Trey. You didn't want to do it, you didn't enjoy it, and you would have regretted it even if you hadn't gotten caught. True?"
"I . . . guess."
"You guess? I know," Sandy insisted.
Ryan shook his head, not convinced. "But Sandy, I never even told you all of that."
"Of course you did. Just not in words. Lawyers—the good ones anyway—they learn to hear what their clients don't say," Sandy explained. Smiling fondly, he reached over and kneaded Ryan's shoulder for a moment. "Listen, there are degrees of guilt, kid. You always assume more than you really deserve. But saying that you weren't special . . . well, you couldn't be more wrong about that. Even when we talked that first time, when you were putting up that cynical front—and I'll give you this much, you really were a smartass—I could see it." Sandy paused for a moment, remembering. "You asked about Trey," he added softly.
Shocked, Ryan spun around, swallowing convulsively. "What?"
"The first words you said to me—you wanted to know if your brother was okay. No excuses or questions about what was going to happen to you. It told me everything I needed to know, Ryan, that your first concern was for somebody else."
Ryan closed his eyes and opened them again. Just like the vista outside, they appeared colorless, desolate. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "If that's what made you think I was worth something . . . I'm sorry you were so wrong about me."
Puzzled, Sandy lowered his brows, squinting with concentration. "I don't know what you mean, Ryan. I wasn't wrong."
"Sure you weren't," Ryan scoffed. His mouth twisted sardonically as he locked his arms around his chest. Sandy could see the nails of Ryan's right hand biting deep into his bicep. "A fucking lot of good my concern did for Trey, right? Yeah, I'm such a great brother. Where would he be without me?"
"No," Sandy countered. His expression was intense and unyielding, and although Ryan squirmed slightly, he couldn't escape it. "I'm not going to let you get away with that, kid. What happened with Trey was not your fault. You played a part in it, yes. So did I. We all did. But considering how fast Trey self-destructed? Ryan, it was only a matter of time before he would up back in prison. Or worse."
"Worse? You mean like attacked in his own apartment and then shot?" Ryan retorted. His erratic breathing chopped the words into raw, bleeding pieces. "Shit, Sandy, yeah, I was concerned about Trey. As long as it didn't cost me. But the minute it did . . ."
"No," Sandy repeated more forcefully. Somehow he had lost control of the conversation, and with every word, he sensed Ryan withdrawing further into himself. "You're letting your feelings about what happened warp your memory, kid. That's not how it was--"
The blaring of his phone intruded abruptly, and Sandy broke off, frustrated. "Born to be Wild" had sounded defiant before, but now the same chords simply mocked him. Grabbing the phone, Sandy switched the control over to vibrate, and set it back down.
Ryan frowned. "Aren't you going to answer it?"
"You and I need to finish this discussion. I can check the message when we're done."
"No, answer it. Please, Sandy?" A note of desperation threaded through Ryan's voice. "You're supposed to be working. And hell, you already stopped driving so we could talk, even though it might make you late for your meeting. I don't want to fuck up your job . . . Just, please, take the call, all right?"
Sandy hesitated for a moment. Then he nodded and retrieved the phone, not even glancing at the display. His "Hello" was terse, but an instant later, he softened his tone.
"Kirsten, sweetheart . . . No, everything is fine. I didn't mean to snap at you . . . Yes, I know. I'll work on my phone manners. So what's up? . . . He is not bored . . . Honey, I promise, he hasn't fallen asleep once . . . Yes, he's right here, but I don't think . . . Kirsten . . . Okay, wait just a minute . . ." Sandy lowered the phone and turned to Ryan, his mouth crimped in apology. "Kirsten wants to speak to you. Sorry. I should have told her you weren't available."
Ryan swiped a hand across his face. "It's okay," he said, his voice faint but steady. Taking the phone, he clenched his jaw briefly, bracing himself before he spoke to Kirsten. Sandy turned away to give Ryan at least the illusion of privacy. He wished he could hear both sides of the conversation, because Ryan's fragmented responses told him nothing substantial.
"Hey, Kirsten . . . It's been great . . . No, no show tunes yet . . . Yeah, I got to sit in on a couple of meetings . . . Really interesting. I learned a lot . . . He is not making me say that . . . The country club . . . I know. And he made me go to the putting green too . . . No, Kirsten, honestly? Sandy's been—he's been amazing . . . He is not making me say that either, I swear." Gradually, Ryan's measured tone eased into a more natural cadence, even hinted at amusement. To Sandy's relief, he could sense the boy begin to relax slightly beside him. "I don't know. Maybe Italian? . . . Yeah, that would be great . . . Me too . . . Kirsten? Thanks. Thank you for calling."
For a moment, Sandy thought he heard "Thank you for caring." Maybe the words really meant the same thing.
Ryan clicked the "end" button, but he didn't put away the phone. Instead he held it, his thumb absently outlining the different controls. "We should really get going now, Sandy," he observed quietly.
"I guess you're right," Sandy agreed. He inclined his head, flashing one last anxious glance at Ryan, then turned on the ignition and backed out of his parking place. For a moment he considered resuming their discussion, but Sandy didn't want to risk agitating Ryan again. Instead he asked mildly, "So . . . Kirsten checking to make sure that I'm treating you right?"
"Yeah," Ryan murmured. "Something like that . . . Sandy, is it okay if I make a call?"
"Of course. Go ahead, use my phone." Deliberately, Sandy kept his tone casual, and his eyes fixed on the road. "Do you mind me overhearing you, though?"
"No. It's not a big deal. I'm just calling Seth."
"Seth?" Sandy echoed, confused. "Really? Why?"
Ryan's brow creased, as if he shared the same question. "I just," he began uncertainly. His voice wavered, and he shrugged, swallowing, before he concluded, "I want to apologize for . . . well, whatever I said that made him stop speaking to me." His lips attempted a distorted smile. "I suppose it might help if I could remember what it was, but anyway . . . And then, you know, tricking him when he called before . . ."
"Ryan, you know Seth's not really upset about any of that, right?" Surprise sharpened his tone more than Sandy intended and he modified it hastily. "This is fun for him, kid. It's all a game—the injured party act, the threats, the one-upmanship. Seth thrives on this stuff."
"Maybe," Ryan conceded dubiously. "But I just want to be sure his feelings weren't hurt."
Sandy scanned Ryan's profile. His eyes narrowed, trying to read the boy's mood, to understand how the conversation had ricocheted so wildly from Sandy's career to Ryan joining the Cohen family to Trey and now to Seth. Somehow, he sensed, in some convoluted way, it all connected significantly, at least to Ryan himself.
And then, in a rush, Sandy realized: Ryan believed he had lost one brother, through his own fault.
He didn't want to risk losing another. Not even in play.
"Okay. Call Seth," Sandy urged. "Wait. He's not in class now, is he?"
Ryan checked his watch. "No. It's activities period. He'll be at a comic book club meeting, I think."
"Well, I think he can spare a few minutes from that. If it's all right, though, Ryan, would you put the phone on speaker so I can hear? After all, I was part of the evil Pretend-Father plot." Sandy grinned, hoping to elicit an answering smile, but Ryan's distant expression didn't change. A muscle in his jaw continued to throb, and his eyes remained hooded.
Simultaneously Ryan turned on the speaker and pressed Seth's speed dial number. After three rings, a wary voice demanded, "Yeah? Hello?"
Ryan took a deep breath, released it. "Hey, Seth."
"Hmm," Seth murmured suspiciously. "And you would be?"
"Come on, man. It's Ryan. I called to apologize."
"Ah, of course you did. Ryan." Seth stressed the name, adding sarcastically, "Or should I say, Dad?"
"No games this time, really Seth," Ryan promised. "I just wanted to--"
Seth broke in, indignant. "You two think you can fool me again? Oh no, and in case you missed the point, let me repeat: no, no, and a melodramatic thousand times no. By the way, Dad, a little advice? When you want to impersonate Ryan, it's so not smart to use your own phone. Details count, you know. Or maybe that's neatness. Anyway, I am totally on to you both. This little trick is only adding fuel to my righteous fury."
"Seth," Ryan persisted patiently, "it's Ryan. Really. No trick. And I'm sorry about before. It was just a joke."
"Ha!" Seth exclaimed. Then he scrambled to clarify, "By the way, that? Was a sneering 'ha', and not laughter of any kind because nothing about that bogus act was remotely amusing. But if you want to claim that you're Ryan, just go ahead, Dad. Prove it."
"What?"
"Prove to me that I'm really talking to Ryan Atwood."
Ryan said nothing. The heavy silence lasted almost thirty seconds. Then Seth gave a weak laugh. "Oh . . . kay, Ryan Atwood, it is. Dad could never keep quiet that long."
"Hey!" Sandy objected. "I heard that, son."
"Yes! I knew you'd be part of this one way or another!" Seth declared triumphantly. "Don't think I've forgotten that you sided against me before, mon père. I'm adding it to the list, right after the time you elbowed me in the face fighting for a fly ball. Which wouldn't have been so bad, but let's not overlook that it was injury added to the insult of forcing me to go to a baseball game in the first place--"
"Seth, don't blame your dad," Ryan interjected. "Pretending to be him when you called was all my idea."
"Ah, yes, but there was collusion involved, and the Seth will remember when he has his revenge. So what's the joke this time, Ryan? Warp speed, if you don't mind. The comic book club is about to deconstruct the latest Legion."
"No joke," Ryan insisted. He spoke earnestly, and Sandy held his breath, wondering how Seth would react. "I told you, Seth, I just want to apologize. For tricking you into speaking to me earlier, and for . . . well, whatever I said this morning that upset you in the first place. I'm sorry."
Seth's voice seemed to deflate. "Yeah?" he stammered in surprise. "Oh, well . . . okay, then, I guess. I mean, if you're sorry . . . Dude, I don't get this. Why are you sorry? Is there something wrong? Are you okay?"
Sandy raised his eyebrows, silently asking the same question.
"I'm fine," Ryan claimed.
"Right. Fine," Seth echoed dubiously. "And I totally believe you except, yeah, not so much. Maybe . . .?" He began to whisper, "You've heard one 'heretofore' too many, and your eyes are starting to glaze over, right? Dude, I warned you that you'd get bored. Okay, if you've had as much legalese as you can stand and you want me to dream up some excuse so you can leave, cough once. If you want me just to pick you up, cough twice."
Rolling his eyes, Sandy leaned close to the phone. "I'm here, Seth, remember?" he called. "I think I can crack that code."
"Shit. Okay, Ryan, new plan--"
"Thanks, Seth, but honestly I'm not bored," Ryan said hastily. "I just wanted to make sure you weren't really mad. So you're not? We're okay?"
Clearly confused, Seth stuttered, "Yeah . . . I mean, no I'm not mad, and yeah, we're okay. But hey, bro, come on. This whole conversation is, I gotta say, a few miles beyond weird. Something's up with you. What is it, dude?"
Sandy noticed Ryan's eyes flicker evasively, even though Seth couldn't see him.
"Look, Seth, I've got to go. We'll talk later, all right?"
"Right," Seth agreed, still sounding puzzled. "Okay, then. Later."
Exhaling deeply, Ryan put away the phone and tilted his head against the seat back, closing his eyes.
Sandy stopped the car at a red light, taking advantage of the opportunity to study Ryan's profile and his body language. "You feel better now?" he asked quietly.
Ryan nodded. "I don't know why exactly," he admitted. "But yeah, I do."
"Good. Listen, kid, I know this trip to Chino is hard for you. It's stirred up a lot of feelings, probably just when you thought you had them all under control. So why don't I just drop you somewhere and pick you up after my meeting," Sandy suggested. "Just give me a place. The library, maybe, or you could take in a movie--"
Ryan's eyes snapped open and he shook his head.
"No! I want to see him," he blurted. "When we get to the prison, I want to see Trey. You can make that happen, can't you, Sandy?"
A car horn blared behind them, and someone shouted, "You blind? The light's green! Move it, dumbass!" Automatically, Sandy shifted into gear and began driving again.
"Sandy?" Ryan prompted, his voice frayed with desperation.
"I'll see what I can do," Sandy replied slowly. "But Ryan, if you visit Trey—if you're sure that you want to see him—you're not doing it alone. I'm going with you."
TBC
I've read a couple stories recently that also had Sandy reference Ryan's concern for Trey during their first meeting, so if that part of their conversation sounds familiar—well, it probably is. But since it's based on canon, I'm assuming we were all similarly inspired. Anyway, no plagiarism was intended!
