Ok, this chapter almost went into overdrive. I wrote all the Ryan parts first, and realized it was damn near the whole chapter. So Taylor actually doesn't have much face time in this one, but it's a build-up for something to come…

Dun dun duuunnnn…. (btw, that was 'impending doom' music, in case you were wondering)

Music: but my dreams, they aren't as empty as my conscience seems to be

"You want me to what?" I whisper, trying to control the volume of my voice. He looks at me sternly, but I see the vague fear in his eyes.

"Just… take him out, ok?" he puts his hands on my shoulders and bites his lip a little. Ok, he needs to not do that. "Get to know him."

"I don't think I'm ready for that," I tell him, feeling the fear rise in my throat. "What if he hates me? Ryan, I'm weird. I think I should be chaperoned – at least for a little while. I mean, what if I take him out and I lose him? What if he runs away? What if I say something wrong? Can't he spend the day with you? You don't have to work today, right? He's bonded with you – and Seth! Give him to Seth…"

"Taylor," he interrupts. "I… if I'm gonna adopt him," he almost trips on the words, the idea, "then he'll be your son too."

Son.

Oh my God, I'm not ready for this.

"He's not gonna be just my kid. He'll be yours too. We'll be his parents."

Jesus, I can't handle this.

"I want him to love you like I love Kirsten." The last part is whispered, but he forces himself not to look away from me. And it's that admission that makes me nod. Because even though I know he loves Kirsten – and Kirsten knows he loves her – he doesn't say it. I'm not sure he's ever said it – to her or to Sandy. Or even Seth. If he has, I wasn't around for it.

"But what if he doesn't…" I protest lamely, even though I know I'm done for. I can't say no to him when he's being all sincere.

"He will," he insists, smiling a little. "How can he not?"

Well, now I'm really screwed.

He came over twenty minutes ago and apart from the tension-filled greetings, we've said nothing. I guess I should start this.

"Maybe it's better if we don't talk about… back then," I tell him as we stand awkwardly in the kitchen. He nods, but I'm not sure what he's agreeing to. To be honest, I'm not sure what I meant. Back then as in the whole Marissa episode, or back then as in our childhood. I can't decide which I want to talk about less.

"I just… I kinda have to know," he starts warily – still a little nervous about asking something from me. "Why did you help me… back then?" He means the shooting thing this time, and I shrug.

"I felt guilty. I mean… we both stole the car," even if it was his idea, "and you spent almost two years in jail while I got…"

"A cabana mansion?" he smiles a little, but it drops when I don't smile back.

"I got a future." It's almost painful – the silence – as we both stand there. He looks guilty, and I watch his mouth start to open and I just know he's going to say something like you deserved it more than I did. I know I did. But I don't want to hear it. "So I wanted to help you. Give you a chance at a future. You fucked it up."

"Yeah, I know."

Shit, is this what I do to people? This perpetually sullen guilt thing? It's… well, it's kind of annoying, because I don't want to feel bad for him. I like my righteous anger, and right now he's making me feel guilty again. I wish he wouldn't keep agreeing with me – trying so hard to make this right. Mom did it. Dad did it. What is it about me that makes them try so fucking hard to win me back? Mom and dad didn't go try to find Trey, they found me. Trey didn't go looking for them, he didn't call them when he got out of jail. He called me.

"So can I ask why you're giving me another chance?"

I sigh, turning to grab the pot of coffee and pouring myself another cup. I think Taylor's right; I'm addicted. He waits while I do this, and I know he's not going to talk again until I answer. The funny thing is, I know the answer. I know why I'm letting him come to my wedding, why I'm trusting him not to fuck it up this time around.

And it's not because of Taylor.

It's not because of Taylor's need for me to have as much family as possible, it's not because mom cried over the phone when I told her Trey'd be at the wedding too, it's not because dad looked so proud when he saw Trey again for the first time in twenty years – God, that had been the most awkward dinner I've ever been at. All three of us guilty and nonverbal? It was horrible.

I turn back to him, taking a deep breath, because I'd never meant to tell him this – to tell anyone this.

"You were nineteen." He jerks his head up to look at me sharply – confused – but I stare down at my coffee mug. "You were nineteen – you could've gotten out of there." I watch the surface of the liquid move, and I'm only dimly aware that my hands are shaking. It happens whenever I have to talk about… it.

"I didn't have the money," he protests, voice low and a little scratchy, and I'm relieved I don't have to explain it to him.

"You had friends," I press on, not looking at him, "you had girlfriends, you had a million people you could've crashed with. It's not the money thing – I know it's not. Because it wouldn't've stopped me. I knew the day I turned eighteen – the minute the system couldn't do anything about it – I'd leave. I'd get the hell out of there. You were nineteen and you stayed."

When I finally look up at him, I find him staring at the floor. God, we suck at sharing our feelings. No wonder the Cohens are constantly frustrated with me – why Taylor's always saying I should open up more. I didn't think I was this bad.

"You needed me." He finally looks up and for the first time we lock eyes. He's not bragging, he's not trying to make me sound pathetic, he's not making stuff up.

He's damn right.

I needed him. Without him, it would've been me, mom, and AJ. It would've been me getting the shit beat out of me every night.

And it never hit me till now that that's why Trey used to say stupid shit to AJ – or whatever random boyfriend mom had. He'd say stupid shit to them, so they'd get angry at him. So they'd take it out on him.

So they wouldn't take it out on me.

Trey was an awful role-model. Most of the time, he was an awful older brother. He got me into more trouble than I would've gotten into on my own. He gave me my first cigarette, my first drink, my first hit. He took me to parties and tried to get me high and laid. He taught me how to steal cars. He got me arrested. He was pretty much the shittiest role-model a fifteen year-old could have, but he was my brother. He didn't let anyone fuck with me. When guys called me a queer for scoring well on tests and actually going to school, he'd beat the shit out of them. Of course, he'd go get me laid after that – just to make sure I wasn't. And he stayed in the house with mom and her angry boyfriends longer than he had to, to make sure I was ok.

"This is me saying thanks," I break the silence finally, looking down at my coffee mug again. "So don't fuck it up this time, because you don't have any other good deeds to warrant a third chance." I sense him nod, and it depresses me a little that I know him so well. Even after eight years apart, I still know what he'll do.

"Are we supposed to hug or something?" He sounds hesitant, and I can't help but laugh. The Cohens hug out their problems. The Atwoods do not. He laughs too, sounding relieved, and I'm pretty sure we both feel a little lightheaded from the release of tension.

"So," I start awkwardly. "What would you like to do?" He shrugs, head ducked to the floor, and I think Seth may be right about the whole DeLorean theory. "I'm not good with children," I blurt out and way to go, me. He looks up.

"Sorry."

"It's not your fault," I sigh, shoulders dropping. "I just never know what to say. Or do. What do teenagers like to do?" I never got to do the whole teenager thing, considering I hadn't had any friends or a life or freedom at the time. He shrugs again. Crap. Ok… common ground. Find common ground.

"Want to see where Ryan works?"

"So Jess Sathers, huh?" I change the topic, finally able to look at him for longer than five seconds.

"Yeah, she followed me to Vegas," he grins, eyes going a little hazy and I'm assuming he's thinking about it. "She dropped out of high school and came to find me. I put her up for a while. But I told her she needed to get a job, cause I could barely take care of myself then. I couldn't handle taking care of her, too." I nod, because I know that feeling. Sometimes I wonder what would've happened if Marissa hadn't been so dependent. In high school, I couldn't take care of myself, how was I supposed to take care of her, too?

It's why Taylor and I work. It's why we worked when I was being a recluse after Marissa died. Yeah, Taylor had problems, but she took care of herself and she took care of me. She let me take care of myself, and she let me take care of her. It was the first relationship I'd ever been in where it was mutual. It wasn't me taking care of her – Marissa, Lindsay – and it wasn't her taking care of me – Theresa, Sadie.

"So she got a job," he continues, not seeing my little thought tangent. "And eventually she got her GED – made me get mine, too." Which startles me, and I look up at him. He'd dropped out of high school in tenth, mom had let him because she didn't feel like fighting with him about it. I can't help but smile at him, and he realizes I didn't know that about him and he blushes a little. He still seems embarrassed about being… successful. Maybe he thinks I'll treat him like the guys in Chino would've – making fun of him for thinking he could go somewhere. "She works at a bar," he goes on, pretending like he doesn't notice me being proud of him, "she's in a manager training program there. I… um, I still deal – cards," he amends quickly, "I still deal cards, but I'm… um, I'm taking some classes at the local community college…"

He stops there, waiting for me to either tell him I'm proud of him, or tell him he's an idiot for thinking he can do college. I think he's dreading either one, so I take another route. "Mom'll freak when she finds out," I grin at him, and he looks startled for a second, before grinning back and thank God. I can handle that grin. I can handle I don't give a fuck Trey. I can't handle new and improved Trey just yet. It's all a little overwhelming. "She'll probably go out and buy you a cake or something."

"Jesus it'll be weird seeing her again," he shakes his head, as if it's finally hitting him.

"Like it wasn't weird seeing dad?"

"Fuck," he breathes, rubbing his hand on the back of his neck in wonder. "Who would've thought, huh? But I guess if anyone could bring the family back together, it'd be you. You always were the golden boy," he explains and I'm relieved there's no anger or jealousy in his voice. Because truthfully, mom never really hid the fact that she liked me better. But maybe he's not jealous because the only reason she liked me better when we were kids is because I was her best chance at getting money. She always said I'd be 'something' – I was never quite sure what something meant, probably a manager at McDonalds. She saw me as future money.

"It wasn't me," I shrug it off, trying to make the situation light again. "I mean, the whole mom thing was. She came to find me. But dad? The only reason he's here is because the Cohens and Taylor and Julie pushed me into seeing him. Oh, then Julie got knocked up, which didn't help. And the only reason you're here is cause of Taylor…"

"Fuck, I can't believe I have a little brother," he doesn't react to my admission that I hadn't wanted him here. "I mean," he backtracks, looking guilty, "another little brother."

"Yeah. If it makes you feel any better, I went from having one brother, to having three brothers and a sister in the span of four years."

He laughs at that, loudly, and I feel myself start to grin.

"Miss Townsend!" I start to grin when Branson sees me. Cody and I just came in the lobby, and he happened to be standing there. He says something to the man he'd been talking to and makes his way over. "Although I guess I should get used to calling you Mrs. Atwood, huh?" He grabs me into an enthusiastic hug and I start to giggle – partly because the man's such a bundle of energy and partly because he said Mrs. Atwood. "Who's this?" he pulls back and looks at Cody.

"This is Cody," I introduce warily.

"Hey," he greets, barely meeting Branson's eyes and shifting uncomfortably. He must know that I don't know how to properly introduce him. And I don't. What am I supposed to say? This is some random kid Ryan decided to take care of? He shakes Branson's hand nervously, shooting a quick does she approve? look at me before looking at the ground again.

"He's my… son." I don't know why I said it, but I did and Cody snaps his head up to look at me and even Branson looks startled – he must've done the math in his head. "We adopted him. Or, we're going to adopt him, once we're married and get the paperwork filled out."

To my surprise, Branson grins, shaking his head. "Go figure," he mutters, starting to chuckle. "Go figure Atwood would pile more onto his plate."

"What do you mean?" I can't help but start to giggle, because the man's just so… charming.

"The wedding, that Casetti woman, a kid…" he shakes his head.

"What?" I ask, because Ryan's never mentioned her.

"Oh," he shakes his head, closing his eyes for a second. "I feel bad giving the project to him," he continues regretfully, "I mean, I had no idea she'd run him this ragged."

What? Run him ragged? Why haven't I heard of her? Cody must sense my confusion, because he looks between me and Branson. Who, apparently, has no idea I don't know about the woman. "She is horrible, isn't she?" I lie, like Ryan's told me all about her.

"I just hope she gets tired of jerking the poor boy around – changing her mind all the time, asking for impossible things. I mean, the honeymoon's the most important part of the wedding." The seeming topic change throws me for a second. How did we get from Ryan's job to the honeymoon?

And then it hits me.

"He's told me he's really looking forward to going, and I hope he gets the papers signed."

"Yeah," I manage to get out – somehow, because I can't seem to breathe. "That would suck if he couldn't make it to his own honeymoon because he has to work."

I think 'suck' puts it mildly.

We're both doubled over, laughing hysterically for absolutely no fucking reason. "Fuck," he gasps out, trying to wipe tears from his eyes. "Our lives are so fucked up."

"I know," I agree, calming down a bit. "And the saddest thing is, I don't really notice it until I have to explain it to someone."

"I mean, how ridiculous is this all? Two abused kids from Chino steal a car. One goes to prison, the other gets adopted by a rich family. It's like some sort of sick drama."

"Fuck," I find myself mimicking him, rubbing my hand on the back of my neck. "I fucking adopted a kid."

"We're so fucked up."

"Fuck."

"Would you two stop saying 'fuck'?" We both whirl around to find Taylor standing there, hands on her hips, with the strangest expression on her face.

"How long have you been there?"

"I came over to tell you I booked the band you wanted, so I fired that asshole DJ, only to find you two laughing." She lifts one eyebrow, silently asking me why she's never seen me laugh like that before. I shrug, still rubbing the back of my neck, hoping she doesn't get mad at me. I know she has a problem with me not opening up – I hope she doesn't think I go around 'opening up' to everyone but her. Instead she shakes her head indulgently, moving into the kitchen to put a stack of papers on the table. Then she leans up and kisses me on the cheek before turning to Trey. "I never got to ask you, chicken, fish or vegetarian?"

"For the reception," I tell him, off his confused look.

"Chicken. For both of us." His response is automatic and for some reason it makes me smile. It's kind of nice that he knows what Jess would want to eat. I wasn't too fond of the girl – what with her drug habits and the way she constantly hit on me – but who says people can't change? Trey seems to have. And look at Summer. I've never seen anyone change as radically as she has – from drunken, jock-chasing bimbo to grounded, environment-saving wife and soon-to-be mother.

"Where's Cody?" I ask, suddenly remembering.

"Outside," she turns and beams at me, face lighting up. "Playing with that old soccer ball we found under the stairs…" I watch her face soften as she looks at me and I can't help but be relieved, because she looks so proud. There's no way in hell I'm getting through this parenting thing alone – I need her here. So thank God she looks proud, because she doesn't look scared anymore.

"You sure he's not your kid?" Trey makes a face – more relaxed, apparently, because he's not afraid to make fun of me anymore.

These past two weeks have been fucking weird.

Fuck.

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