So this is one of my favorite chapters. But I'm slightly nervous posting it, because public opinion could go multiple ways. I wonder whether people will hate Taylor, Ryan, Kirsten, or Sandy the most… they're all a little too… human in this chapter.

By the way, I mention Taylor and Ryan's downstairs neighbor in this, and I'm just wondering if anyone will catch where the name is from. Especially if you combine it with Ms. Casetti…

Enjoy

Music: I know you tried, I know you're cursed, I know your best was still your worst

I grin out at the road, ignoring Summer's eye rolls and Kaitlin's muttering. They're both so crabby. Well, Summer's pregnant, and Kaitlin's… Kaitlin, so I really shouldn't be surprised. But they should be happy! I am.

I get to see Ryan today.

And not just today – in approximately twenty minutes. Fifteen, if I push the speed limit. Which I might actually do.

I can't believe how much I want to see him. I probably shouldn't want to see him this much, but I can't help it. I love him. God, I love him so much. And I have such great news to tell him! I can't wait to tell him all about Trey; that he's coming, that he's excited to come. That he's actually doing really well in his life. I know Ryan worries about him. He never talks about Trey, but I know he worries. Like sometimes, when Franks says something about his childhood? Ryan twitches a little and starts to brood, and I know it has nothing to do with the past haunting him. He's wondering how Trey is.

And now I get to tell him that Trey has a good job. Trey's in love. I mean, I'm assuming he is. He didn't say anything, and Jess didn't say anything, but I think I can read Atwoods pretty well, and I'm sure he's in love.

My only worry is how Ryan'll take the news at first. I mean, he may worry about Trey, and Trey may be doing really well, but that doesn't mean he'll be overjoyed Trey's actually coming to the wedding. But I have my plan in my head. It includes a lot of pouty lips, hopeful eyes and a whole mess of guilt. And, if none of those work, I'll resort to the orgasm theory. A blowjob is a small price to pay for him agreeing to be reunited with his brother.

Five minutes.

Ok, so maybe I broke the speed limit a little. And maybe the sound barrier. I just can't wait to see him.

I make the quick stop at Summer's apartment, where she and Kaitlin get out – Kaitlin's car is here, and she's going to help pregnant Summer carry her bags up the stairs. I wave perkily at them – they scowl – before pulling out. It doesn't take me long to drive – speed – to my apartment.

I park, almost hitting our downstairs neighbor Mrs. Ratchett in the process. She yells something at me and I apologize, but it doesn't work too well, because I'm grinning. She shakes her head at me and I bound up the steps, taking them two at a time. There's a breathless pause as I slide the key into the lock and open the door.

I hear the vague sounds of video games going in the next room, and it makes me smile more. I love that he plays video games. Summer hates that Seth still does – she tells him its juvenile – but I don't mind Ryan doing it. I know he didn't have a proper childhood.

"Ryan?" Oh, I suck horribly at trying to hide my excitement. I walk down the short hallway until it opens up into the living area, and my eyes go to the shaggy blonde head staring at the TV screen.

Except it's not Ryan's shaggy blonde head. The game pauses and the head turns toward me and I just stare at the boy. He's just a kid – no more than thirteen, at most – and he looks just as surprised as I am to be here.

"Taylor." I look up and Ryan comes out from the kitchen area – I hadn't even seen him there. He looks a little worried and caught off guard. Looks like I came home earlier than he expected.

How rude of me.

He reaches the living area and pauses. The kid stares at me and I stare at him and Ryan stares at me and then the kid turns to look at Ryan and I'm really confused, but somehow I'm not talking and neither is Ryan - which isn't so much of a surprise - and I'm not sure the kid dares to speak, but I kind of wish he would, because I want to know what's going on.

"Taylor," Ryan starts, swallowing thickly and stepping toward me like he thinks I'm going to run, "this is Cody."

"Hi," the boy waves at me, ducking his head when I turn to him. Oh God. "Thanks for letting me stay here," he continues politely. I shut my eyes.

Dear God.

"I get it Ryan, I do," she steps forward, placing her hands on my chest and looking up at me sympathetically. I hate sympathy. "I'm not stupid. And I know I didn't know you back then, and you don't talk about it a lot, but I get it." Her hands tighten, gripping my t-shirt, and she looks almost desperate, "but taking a kid in? Ryan, he's not your responsibility, and did you even think of me in this?"

"I can't just kick him out," I protest lamely. I don't know how I'm supposed to make her understand this.

"So find his parents!" she begs, which makes me feel like shit. I hate making her upset.

"His dad's dead and his mom hits him," I tell her, because she needs to know. She needs to know Cody has no one. "I'm not saying we adopt him, but we have to help. Like Sandy and Kirsten…" I can't finish the sentence. I know why I'm fighting so hard for this – hell, she knows why I'm fighting so hard for this – but I can't admit it out loud. I can't be that pathetic. I don't want to be.

"We're not Sandy and Kirsten," she whispers, but her voice is edged with panic, hands white-knuckled on my shirt. "They were married for sixteen years and financially stable when they took you in. Did you think of that, Ryan? We're not even married yet. Did you think of our children?"

"We don't have children." I regret the words immediately, because she flinches back slightly, eyes starting to water. Shit, she must be more worried than I thought she was. She never cries.

"That's not the point, Ryan," she whispers, "someday we will. What of them? And if that doesn't bother you, then the money issue should." She's right, of course. We aren't hurting for anything, but a kid? Especially a fully fledged thirteen year old that would require clothes, food, schooling. A college fund.

"The Cohens-" I start, but she tugs harshly on my shirt, letting out a strangled sound of protest.

"We're not the Cohens!" She finally lets go of me and steps back. "And I'm sorry, Ryan, but Sandy bringing you home without asking Kirsten first? It was wrong."

"It wasn't wrong," I hear myself say, but it's suddenly like I'm completely detached. I know she's right. Sandy never should've brought in a stray kid without consulting his wife. But knowing it and hearing your fiancée say it are two different things and… well, it fucking hurts.

"It was," she says softly, shaking her head. "I'm sorry, but we can't do this. We can't keep him. He's not a stray puppy." I look up at her dully, because this conversation is way too familiar. Except the last time I heard those words, I was hiding behind a corner in the Cohen's kitchen. "He can sleep here tonight, but tomorrow we have to give him back to his mom or… give him to Child Services or something."

"Fine," I grit out, feeling the familiar heat of anger flood through me. "Then go tell him that."

"That's not fair," she shoots back, looking horrified. "You brought him in…"

"And you're kicking him out," I growl, and she actually takes a step back. Somewhere, distantly, in the back of my head, I know I shouldn't be this angry. I can't help it though. Hearing it all – stray puppy, Child Services – I'm so angry. And what's worse, the fact that she doesn't get it makes me love her a little less. I'm supposed to be marrying this girl soon, and right now…

Right now I hate her.

"You're just like your mother."

There's dead silence in the room.

Fuck.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

"Right," she whispers, hand drifting up to her chest and she unconsciously clenches it into a fist over her heart. Fuck. Shit. Shit.

Shit.

"Taylor." Shit. She ignores my apology, because that's what it was: an apology. I suck. I can't even apologize right. Either way, she ignores the attempted apology and moves past me towards the bed, where her half-unpacked luggage sits.

I'm vaguely aware of her moving around the room, gathering clothes, but I can't stop staring at that fucking luggage. It's the same ones she used when she went to Paris. I hate that luggage. It keeps taking her away from me. It's only when I hear the sound of the zipper closing that I snap out of it. She pulls the thing off the bed and heads for the door, but I grab her arm. She pauses – lets me stop her – but she doesn't look at me, opting instead to stare at my chest. I don't say anything.

"I think I'm going to stay at Summer's for a while." Her voice is low, but in the silence of the room I can hear it fine.

"Taylor, I'm sorry." I shift my grip, placing my hands on her shoulders and turning her to face me. "I didn't mean it."

She looks up at me with a small smile, eyes still watery, but her expression… fuck. It makes me feel like absolute shit. She loves me, even though I'm a fucking moron. She places a hand on my cheek and leans up, pressing a chaste kiss on my lips. It makes me relax a little, because she's not angry – she's scary when she's angry. But she's not angry, and even though I know it'll take a little for her to- "I'll call you in the morning."

Wait, what?

She kisses me again, lightly, before stepping out of my grip and picking up her bag. She stops at the door, looking over her shoulder at me and taking in a shaky breath before giving me what I assume is supposed to be a smile.

Then she leaves.

The kid – Jesus, I can't even call him by his name – watches me leave, looking confused. I don't look at him. I keep my eyes on the floor as I grip my overnight bag tightly and leave the apartment. Ryan doesn't follow.

He never does.

I don't go to Summer's. I meant to, but somehow I end up at the Cohens, knocking softly on the door – almost like I don't want them to hear. Obviously they do, because Sandy opens it a minute later, recognition sparking in his eyes as he takes in the suitcase and the tears blurring my vision. I'm not crying – not yet – but I'm almost there.

He steps aside and motions for me to come in, shutting the door behind us when I'm through. "I take it you want to talk to Kirsten," he puts his hand on my back, leading me towards the kitchen. I nod, not willing to talk just in case it triggers the crying. I hate crying.

"Taylor," she sounds surprised, looking up from the table and her food. Sophie squeals and jumps up, running to hug me. I place my hand on her blonde head and try to smile as she looks up at me.

"Taylor!" she backs away slightly, taking my hand and pulling me toward the table. "Mommy and daddy are being boring. Come play with me."

"I think Taylor and mom need to have some girl time," Sandy smiles, somehow detaching the little girl's hand from mine. Kirsten frowns slightly – she must not know about the kid. Sandy does – it was obvious from the look of resignation on his face when he opened the door. "Why don't we go upstairs and I'll read you some Nancy Drew?" Which normally would have me giggling, just picturing Sandy reading Nancy Drew to his daughter – mimicking all the voices, getting really into it. But right now all I can manage is a smile and a sniffle.

Sophie puts her hands on her hips, sticking her bottom lip out – a move I know well from Seth. "I'm a girl," she reminds her father.

"Sophie," I cut in, swallowing to control the waver to my voice. "Why don't you go upstairs with your dad while your mom and I have boring girl talk, and then after, I'll come up and you can show me how pretty your flower girl dress is?" Her eyes widen and she runs up the stairs, calling for Sandy to come after her.

He hesitates, placing a hand on my shoulder before following. "What's going on?" Kirsten remains at the table and I go over to sit next to her.

"Ryan…" I swallow hard again. "He took a kid in." She looks confused, because I'm not explaining this right. "He told me the kid was all alone, and he took him home." My voice cracks a little, but I manage to go on, "he let him sleep in the guest room, Kirsten. He's been here for days."

"Wait," Kirsten cuts in, speaking slowly. "He took a kid in, as in took a kid in?" I nod, waiting for her to tell me it's a good thing. I could see it in Sandy's eyes – the almost disappointment that I didn't 'get' it. It was stronger in Ryan's eyes. "I see."

"Kirsten," I beg, "just… what am I supposed to do?"

"What do you want to do?" she asks, always the mediator. I just want her to tell me the solution. I want her to tell me how she dealt with this.

"I don't think I can do it," I whisper. "I just… I want Ryan to myself." My head drops and I watch as I pick the cuticles around my nails. "How horrible is that?" I laugh, but it turns into a sob halfway through. "I want Ryan to myself – just for a little while. It's all part of the plan... God, he's right," I break down, tears falling slowly onto my hands below me.

"How is he right?" she asks calmly, not making any move to comfort me.

"That I'm like my mother."

"He said that?" I can hear the Newport seep into her voice – the cold politeness. I can only nod, hoping she'll notice the slight movement of my head, because I still can't look at her. She lets out a heavy sigh and I hear her shift. "When we took Ryan in," she starts warily, slowly, like she's debating the right thing to say, "I was angry. That Sandy would give the boy false hopes, that he'd put our family in danger, that Seth would be jealous, that he'd turn out to be some psychotic. Sandy was… I think he was disappointed in me, for not understanding his motive."

"But you did understand his motive," I whisper, getting the courage to look up. "I get Ryan's."

She nods again, "I got his motive, but I didn't have the emotional attachment. Ryan and Sandy? They grew up in poor neighborhoods, with unavailable, abusive parents. They both feel some sort of obligation to make it better for others."

"My mother wasn't so great," I remind her, voice dull. I've stopped crying now. "It's not like I wouldn't have been grateful to be adopted. But I can't help thinking that this is bad – that we can't do this. Just… tell me, when did you 'understand'?" I spit out the word, because to be honest, I'm a little resentful. That Ryan expects me to just understand everything he does. Like he and Summer expect me to understand about Trey.

"When I saw him in prison." It's a definite answer; she doesn't have to think about it. "I couldn't leave him in there and after I took him home, I couldn't force him out again. But Taylor," she reaches forward – finally – to take my hand, "even then I wasn't completely sure. I still had my doubts." She hesitates a second, "even years later I had my doubts." The last part is whispered and her eyes flick to the doorway – like she's making sure Sandy isn't there. "When he ran away and Seth ran away? I wished I hadn't ever taken him in. I loved him, Taylor, but he took my son away. And I know it wasn't his fault, I know it was Seth's choice, but…"

"You can't help how you feel," I answer, giving her hand a squeeze to reassure her – partly that what she felt is ok, partly to let her know I'll never tell Ryan or Sandy.

"It went away slowly – the regret. It popped up every time he got in trouble, it got worse when I was… drinking. I think the first time I didn't regret taking him in when something bad happened was after Marissa died. After Sandy and I went down to Mexico to find them. I remember seeing him and the first thing I felt was relief."

I don't say anything and we sit in silence for what seems like ages. It's all well and good – that she loves Ryan. How can she not? And maybe I'd grow to love the kid – Cody, I force myself to say - but I don't know if I'm capable of doing it. I don't know if I can be what he needs.

You're just like your mother.

"Taylor!" Sophie calls loudly from the stairs, sounding impatient.

I wipe my eyes and paste a smile on my face, getting up and leaving the kitchen. Sandy passes me on the way, looking from Kirsten to me – Kirsten looking serene and me looking… well, looking like I've been crying. His face falls, and I see the disappointment come back.

"Taylor, come on!"

It takes me a while, but eventually I leave the bedroom. Cody's still sitting on the couch, but he hasn't unpaused the game. He looks guilty and it makes my heart squeeze painfully. He has no reason to feel guilty. This isn't his fault.

And it hurts, because I recognize the self-blame.

"You've been real nice," he starts, standing up and moving toward the door, "but I should go. I didn't mean to make trouble."

"You didn't," I sigh, running my hands over my face, which probably doesn't reassure the kid. "It's my fault. I didn't handle this well."

"I'll leave," he repeats sullenly. I recognize it all – the guilt, the false nonchalance, the indifferent shrug, the buried hope that somehow he'll get to stay. That somehow I'll rescue him.

"It's getting dark," I tell him, crossing my arms and trying to look stern. Years of dealing with a quite rebellious Sophie seem to be paying off, because his head jerks up in surprise. "I'm not letting you out this late."

"I'm not a little kid," he protests, guilt and pride both fighting for dominance. "It's only eight."

"I don't care how old you are," my voice gets commanding. "You're not going out." For a minute it looks like he's gonna protest – out of sheer goddamn stubbornness that I recognize all too well – but he sees that I'm not shitting him, and he relents. "Now, I want you to go take a shower, and when you get out we'll have dinner." He shrugs, but I don't miss the flash of pure relief before he ducks his head and makes for the bathroom. When I hear the water turn on I dig into my pocket for my cell phone.

I thank God and Jesus and Moses and Abraham and whoever else is listening that she answers on the third ring.

"I told you I'd call you tomorrow." She doesn't greet me at all, and her voice isn't angry or annoyed – it's just weary.

"Yeah, well I wanna talk now." Ok, I need to calm down. I'm too defensive. Because I'm scared. If she'd left in a huff – angry and cursing my name – I wouldn't be this scared. I know how to deal with angry Taylor. Usually all it takes is a well placed pout, a sincere apology, and a long, slow kiss to calm her down. I'm not sure how to deal with weary Taylor. The last time she was like this… the last time she was like this was after the earthquake. Right before she left for France.

"Look, I just think it's best if I sleep here tonight," she says, and I hear the silent plea for me to just leave it alone.

"Taylor, this is stupid. Come home."

"I can't," her voice drops low and she sounds like she's going to cry. Oh, not good. There's the anger again, the frustration.

"Cody has to stay for the night, but I'll call Child Services tomorrow," I manage to get out the words, almost choking on Child Services.

"No," she sighs and I can see her, pinching the bridge of her nose like she does when she's trying to explain something that I don't get. "You're not going to." I start to protest, because I want her back here, damnit. "You can't."

"Yeah, I can," I start, but she cuts me off.

"No," she laughs lightly, but it wavers, and I know she's on the edge of breaking, "you can't. It's not in your nature, Ryan. You're going to keep him. I can't ask you not to. I can't ask you to be someone you're not."

There's a pause as I think this through – really think this through, because I'm angry and I need to make a rational decision here. "I can," I say slowly. "If it's a decision between him and you, I choose you."

"I didn't say that," she protests. "This isn't a decision for you. You're keeping him."

"Then come home," I hear the desperation in my voice. Why is she being difficult? She's not letting me choose her and she's not letting me choose Cody. Then what's the problem here?

"Ryan, I have to make a decision."

"You can't seriously be breaking up with me over this." I'm only vaguely aware that my desperation is turning into anger again, because I can't control the situation. This is ridiculous. It's insane. It can't be fucking happening.

"I'm not ready to be a mother, Ryan," she half laughs, half sobs, and I know her control's snapped. "It wasn't in the plan yet!"

"What plan?" I growl, running a hand through my hair as I start to pace.

"My plan for us. I want to have children with you, Ryan, but… I can't handle one now. I just can't. We were supposed to get married, focus on us and our careers for a few years before we even considered kids. I can't… I can't be a mother." I hear her inhale sharply – she's trying to control herself, because she knows I can't stand when girls cry. "I love you."

"I love you, too." Thank God, something I can do. I can say that. I love you always makes things better, right?

"I'll call you tomorrow, ok?"

"Taylor." It's too late, though. She's hung up. Fuck.

"Sorry." I turn to find Cody standing in the hall, my smallest t-shirt and pair of sweats hanging off his frame.

"How long've you been there?" He shrugs, and I hope he wasn't there for the part where I told her I'd choose her. Because even though I'd say it again, because I meant it, I don't want to hurt the kid. "Come on, I'm hungry." I place my hand on his shoulder – very aware of the flinch – and lead him into the kitchen. I make him grilled cheese and he sits at the kitchen table.

He wolfs the sandwich down, just like he did the day I brought him home.

Taylor's right. She always is. It was stupid of me to bring him home. I don't have the money, I don't have the experience, I don't have the stability to take care of a teenager. Especially a teenager with issues. I've barely got my own issues dealt with. This is so wrong in so many ways. And she's right, I shouldn't have done this to her. What right did I have making this life-changing decision without consulting her first? What right did I have dangling hope in front of the kid's face without the means to back it up?

And she's right, because I'm going to keep him.

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