Ryan slowly pulled the Range Rover to the curb. He stared at the house where he had grown up. Trey had told him that his mom was back with AJ. They were back together, and living in their old place. AJ had apparently been the one to find her. He had been gone for days on a bender, and stumbled home, wasted, to find her dead in bathtub.
Ryan refused to believe she was gone. She had left him twice already, but he couldn't deal with the thought of her abandoning him permanently. It was too much, even by Dawn's standards.
He didn't know what he was hoping to find as he walked up the littered lawn to the front door. He didn't know what he was looking for, but he was pretty sure of what he'd find.
The front door was open. Not just unlocked, but wide open. He peered in cautiously. The place was a mess, much like it was when he lived there. The furniture was different. And it was sparse. There was no TV in the living room, though he wasn't sure why this one detail stood out so much.
He stepped in, recoiling slightly as the stench of death and stale cigarettes assaulted his nose. The counter where his mother had once left him a note after taking off was strewn with unopened mail, dirty dishes, and empty beer bottles. An ashtray full of butts threatened to topple off the side and smash to the floor. He strode forward, and pushed it toward the center of the counter. His eye caught an envelope with his name written on it. It was his mother's handwriting. She had left him a note.
He glanced around the house, thinking that he may have made a mistake in coming here, but a noise from the back of the house interrupted his thoughts. He was not alone. He shoved the note in his pocket and braced for the worst.
AJ was drunk, and not thrilled to see Ryan.
"What the hell are you doing in my house?"
He toyed with the idea of leaving, but his questions were still unanswered. "Now it's your house? She dies and you just what, take everything and call it yours?"
"You ungrateful little prick!" He lunged toward Ryan.
Ryan stepped back. "Ungrateful? What have you ever done for me but put me in the ER?"
There was no avoiding a fight now and Ryan knew it. He didn't know why he had come all this way just to pick a fight with AJ, but there was no avoiding it now.
AJ landed the first punch, square on Ryan's jaw. Ryan felt his lip split and blood splattered on the cheap linoleum floor. Though AJ was twice his size, Ryan had no intention of going down without a fight. He managed to get in one good punch, probably breaking AJ's nose, before realizing that he couldn't win. AJ landed another punch, this time to Ryan's eye. Ryan was knocked off balance, and AJ, seizing the opportunity, swung again and knocked Ryan to the floor. Instinctively he curled into a ball to protect himself, but AJ wasn't finished. AJ pulled back, and connected his boot to Ryan's ribcage. Ryan felt the wind knocked out of him. AJ continued to kick him, yelling and swearing, until Ryan felt his pain fading, and he slipped out of consciousness.
Ryan wasn't sure how long he had been out, but AJ was gone by the time he came to. He rose slowly off the ground, cringing at the pain in his side. AJ might have broken one of his ribs. He took in a deep breath, and confirmed his suspicion. He doubled over in pain. He needed to get out of that house.
He stood, and, as an afterthought, he grabbed a bottle of whiskey that sat on the dirty counter, unopened, and walked out to the front porch. He glanced at his watch, a present from Kirsten. It was noon. He had been gone for hours. He knew that the Cohens would start to worry soon, but he couldn't go home yet. He needed to read his letter. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his cigarettes. Kirsten and Sandy would be so angry if they knew he was still smoking. It calmed his nerves. He had never been able to explain that to them, so he kept his habit secret, tucked away with all the other painful things he hid in order to protect them. He lit a cigarette and took in a long drag, coughing slightly at the sharp pain in his chest. He unscrewed the top of the whiskey bottle and took a long drink, hoping it would help the pain. He wasn't quite ready to read his letter yet.