Author's Note: Okkkaaaay, when I started this chapter I had no intention of making it THIS long. I am quite shocked at how long it turned out to be. Almost 4,000 words longer than normal…and I don't write short chapters in the first place. However, there is a HUGE Sandy and Ryan flashback in this chapter. I think I'm going to make most of the rest of the story from Sandy's point of view. And, of course, Ryan if he manages to get his wits about him. Not promising that he will. Anyways, hope you enjoy and PLEASE REVIEW!
The forty-five minute drive from Chino to the hospital in Newport was a difficult one for Sandy Cohen. He felt like he'd abandoned Ryan's side for far too long and even though the task he'd set out to accomplish was an important one, it wasn't nearly as important as the kid was. Yet, he knew that he'd needed to talk to Trey, needed to do something more than sit by Ryan's side and watch his whole world collapse. And he'd done it. He'd proven he wasn't entirely worthless in this situation and now it was time to return to his son.
As Sandy turned right into the hospital parking lot his phone began to vibrate in his jeans pocket. Thinking it might be Kirsten with news on Ryan he hastily attempted to pull the phone up from the depths of his jeans, nearly bashing into somebody's sports car when his foot slipped onto the gas pedal instead of the brake. He finally managed to wrestle the offending item from his pocket and he flipped it open, pulling into a vacant stall at the same time.
"Hello?"
"Sandy?" a cool female voice said. "It's Jessica."
"Shit," Sandy swore.
"Not exactly the first word I would recommend using in front of your son's social worker."
"Jessica," Sandy said flatly. "I wasn't aware you would be calling."
Sandy cursed himself. He should have seen this coming, should have realized that Ryan's condition wouldn't be kept secret for long. The state of California had a six month rule before adoptions were finalized and concrete. Within those six months a social worker assigned to Ryan's case could stop by whenever and wherever she pleased to make sure that Ryan was adjusting properly to his new life. If Jessica King decided that the Cohen's weren't a good fit for the kid he would be taken away from them…as quick as that. They had been so close to the end of their probationary period. Ryan was doing well in school and aside from a few small instances was adjusting incredibly well to his new family. Sandy had never expected anything different from the kid. He wanted this chance more than anyone and would fight with everything he had to see it through.
One month. They had one more month to go before Kirsten and Sandy could officially call Ryan a member of the Cohen family. One more month until his past with the Atwood clan could be scrubbed clean and he could start to trust again, to dream again. They had dutifully gone to the post-adoption meetings, given Jessica Ryan's school records, and made sure the social worker understand that Ryan was no trouble. But now, with Ryan comatose in a hospital bed from a gunshot wound, all of their efforts would be for nothing. Jessica King was more than capable of deeming them unfit to be Ryan's guardians and take him away from them.
"Really?" Jessica asked briskly. "You didn't think I would call after I discover one of my kids has been shot? That he may have been involved in criminal activity despite being on probation? No, you're absolutely right, Sandy. There was no reason for you to expect a phone call from me."
"Sarcasm doesn't suit you," Sandy said. "You're far too pretty for that, Jessica."
"Please," Jessica snorted. "Don't flatter me, Sandy. We need to talk."
"Aren't we doing that right now?"
"Sandy," Jessica said, her tone changing. "Don't do this to me. I pulled a lot of strings to put this adoption through for you on account of you being an old colleague. But, you and I both know that I had reservations from the beginning and now this happens. What am I supposed to do here?"
"The situation is under control," Sandy told her coldly.
"Under control?" Jessica asked incredulously. "Listen to yourself. How is any of this under control? When has Ryan ever been under anybody's control?"
"You don't know him," Sandy snapped. "He's my son, Jessica. You aren't taking him from me."
"I don't want to," Jessica sighed. "But, I can't just ignore what is going on here, Sandy. Surely you can respect that. My responsibility isn't making you happy. It's making sure the kid is in a safe and stable environment."
"He's safe," Sandy growled.
"Really?" Jessica asked softly. "Because the last time I checked being comatose in a hospital bed isn't safe, Sandy. It's halfway to dead."
"Don't you fucking talk about that," Sandy snarled as he strode into the hospital lobby, drawing several long looks from the waiting patients inside. "He isn't going to die, Jessica. He'll be back to new in no time and he'll tell you what he wants. He'll tell you that he wants to stay with us."
"Unfortunately what Ryan wants is only a small part of the equation," Jessica said. "It's what Ryan needs that I worry about. And what he needs is someone who can take care of him."
"I can take care of him, Jessica."
"That remains to be seen."
"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"
"It means we need to talk," Jessica sighed. "About this whole situation and what we're going to do about this mess. Because it is a mess, Sandy. Make no mistake about that."
"Accidents happen," Sandy said flatly. "There isn't anything more to it than that."
"Except there is," Jessica said. "You and I both know that. The question is whether or not Ryan was involved in anything illegal."
"He wasn't," Sandy said immediately, pressing the call button on the hospital elevator.
"You can't know that, Sandy."
"I do know it," Sandy snapped. "And I have someone who can vouch for him."
"Who?" Jessica asked, surprised.
"Trey," Sandy told her.
"The brother?" Jessica gasped. "How the hell was he involved?"
"Ryan went to see him," Sandy explained quietly. "In prison. He called and—"
"Stop," Jessica told him. "Just stop there, Sandy. What were you thinking? What made you think that letting a sixteen-year old kid visit his manipulative brother in prison was a good idea?"
"I didn't think," Sandy said quietly, looking up as the elevator doors dinged open and stepping into the empty hallway.
"Obviously," Jessica sighed. "So, Ryan went to visit Trey in prison and what…just magically got shot?"
"Trey was in trouble," Sandy said quietly. "He owed some people money and he—"
"He asked Ryan to fix the problem for him," Jessica spat.
"Yeah."
"Shit! This is bad, Sandy."
"I know, Jess. I know you are looking out for Ryan, but so am I. I may have made a mistake, but he's still my kid."
"You can't afford mistakes with someone like Ryan, Sandy."
"What does that mean?" Sandy snapped.
"You know what it means," Jessica replied. "You've been in this game a lot longer than I have. Ryan has a record. He's on probation for hell's sake. He—"
"He's a good kid, Jess. A great kid. Don't even think about—"
"I know," Jessica snapped. "Christ, Sandy, stop biting my head off. I'm trying to help you here. You have to understand that Ryan's background puts him in the spotlight. It doesn't matter that you and I know he's a great kid. What matters is what the courts can see and right now that's a criminally involved teenager with mommy and daddy issues out the yingyang lying in a hospital bed with a suspicious gunshot wound. His mother abandoned him, Sandy. Regardless of how well Ryan seems to be handling it that sort of thing screws people up. The courts are going to be wondering if you and Kirsten are capable of handling emotional baggage like that."
"And if they think we aren't?" Sandy said listlessly.
"Then they will find someone who is," Jessica told him gently. "Sandy, listen to me. I like Ryan and he has a lot of potential. The kid has had it rough and he's put his trust in you. Anybody could see that. I want to give him the best possible shot in this, but I won't lie for you."
"I wasn't asking you to," Sandy whispered to her as he entered the ICU lobby. "We'll do what we have to, Jess, but nobody is taking my kid away from me. Not now. Not ever."
"I'm afraid that isn't your choice, Sandy."
"Maybe not," Sandy told her quietly. "But you know that I will fight tooth and nail for him, Jess. He belongs with my family. He belongs with me. You understand?"
"I understand," Jessica said sympathetically. "I've always understood. That doesn't change anything. I have to look out for Ryan's best interests. Not yours."
"What are you saying?" Sandy asked hoarsely. "That you are going to recommend the courts find a different foster family for him?"
"No," Jessica sighed. "Not yet anyways. I know you are a good father and I'll make sure the courts recognize that. I'll paint you in the best light I can, but at the end of the day it isn't about how good of a father you are or how much you love him, Sandy. It's about why Ryan's life is now in danger. It's about whether or not a judge finds you capable of handling his needs. Especially now that those needs have involved into something much larger than before. How are you planning on taking care of him, Sandy? He isn't just going to pop up out of bed one day and be fine. This sort of thing takes effort."
"We have money," Sandy said coldly. "That isn't an issue."
"You're right," Jessica told him. "It isn't an issue. What is an issue is how you and Kirsten are going to manage your schedules. You both work. One of you is going to have to quit your job in order to take care of Ryan and depending how damaged his mind is if and when he comes out of this you could be taking care of him for a long time. Are you prepared to give that much time up? Is Kirsten?"
"Absolutely," Sandy said without hesitation. "Whatever it takes, Jess. We'll do it."
"And if he doesn't wake up?" Jess asked him softly. "If he remains in a coma and becomes brain dead? What then?"
"Why are you doing this?" Sandy asked, his voice cracking. "Why won't you just leave it alone?"
"Because you have to understand that this is happening, Sandy. Whether you are prepared for it or not. The courts will be making a decision regarding Ryan's well being and you have to know that it might not be in your favor. And you have to be prepared for all outcomes of this, you know? A young teen that's smart, healthy, and willing is already a challenge. Are you ready for what happens when days pass into weeks and he still hasn't woken up? Are you willing to do what needs to be done when he opens his eyes and remembers nothing about you? Or can't walk? Can't talk? That's a lot of responsibility and once it's yours you can't give it back."
"I don't want to," Sandy told her. "I will do whatever needs to be done. And so will Kirsten. You have my word on that, Jess."
"And your word means a lot to me," Jessica told him. "But it doesn't mean shit to the courts, Sandy. I know that's hard to hear, but it's true. I am going to see if I can get Jack Reynolds to be the judge on Ryan's case, but the man is busy and I can't give you any promises."
"Jack's a good man," Sandy said. "He knows me from court pretty well. He'd be fair."
"I know," Jessica said. "That's why I'm doing it."
"Jess," Sandy whispered, putting his head in his hands. "What the hell am I supposed to do? I'm floundering here. I was on the edge before this, but now—" He stifled a sob. "Jesus, I can't lose him. I can't."
"Sandy," Jess said gently. "I am going to help you to the best of my ability. I promise you that. This isn't something that is going to happen all at once. You have time, but you need to be thinking about it while Ryan recovers because it isn't going to go away. Right now, all you can do is keep doing what you have been. Be with your family. Take care of Ryan. Be his strength, Sandy. You've always been good at that."
"Sure," Sandy whispered, running a hand through his disheveled hair.
"It's true," Jessica told him. "If anyone has a chance of beating this thing it will be you and Ryan, but you have to promise you won't do anything stupid. Going vigilante will sweep any leg you have to stand on right out from under you."
"Everyone keeps saying that to me," Sandy snorted. "Do I sound that cracked? That desperate?"
"You sound wrecked, Sandy, but you still have fight in you. I just want to make sure you use it for the right reasons. You promise you won't go Bronx mobster on me and find the guy who did this just so you can send him swimming with the fishes?"
"I promise I won't send him swimming with the fishes," Sandy said with a sad smile. "But I can't promise I won't cement his feet together and drop him down the nearest well."
"Sandy—"
"I'm kidding," Sandy said quickly. "I promise."
"Good," Jessica said. "Keep me informed of everything, alright? It doesn't matter if it seems like a small development to you…just call me."
"You've got it, boss."
"I'll be in touch about when we'll need to meet up to discuss Ryan's case."
"Okay."
"And Sandy?"
"Yeah?"
"You hang in there."
"Thanks Jess."
Sandy flipped his phone shut and stood, making his way towards the ICU desk. He checked in with the head nurse and she opened the doors for him, politely reminding him that visitors would be limited to no more than two at a time. He didn't bother telling her that Seth wasn't with them. Kirsten had sent him off with Summer hours ago and despite her son's pleading wouldn't let him come back in until visiting hours the next morning.
He made his way down the hall, listening to the quiet beeps and blips of the various machines that notoriously belonged to the ICU. It was a somber place, to be sure, but Sandy thought it was more because of the stigma of the place rather than the ICU itself. All in all, it looked like an ordinary hospital hallway with ordinary hospital rooms. Ordinary nurses and ordinary doctors. Ordinary whitewashed tile and ordinary overly bright ceiling lights. The only difference was the quantity and size of the medical instruments.
Still, Sandy wished more than anything that Ryan was in a regular hospital room. That the beep and blips would be coming from a Gameboy instead of a heart monitor. That the Darth Vader sound of his ventilator was his boys watching Star Wars on the old portable DVD player Seth had. If he closed his eyes he could almost imagine it. Could almost see—
Sandy frowned and opened his eyes as he turned down the hallway to Ryan's room. There was music playing somewhere in the ICU, entirely too loud for such a quiet place, and Sandy immediately wished they would turn it off. The tune was too cheery for his tastes, too vibrant in a place that was made for those at the edge of death. Of course, he realized with some chagrin, that could be the point.
It wasn't until he reached Ryan's room that he realized the music was coming from inside. Sandy's eyebrows pulled down and he opened the door, mouth already halfway open to demand Kirsten turn it off. What the hell was she thinking? Playing music in the ICU? Who did that?
His wife looked up at him when he walked in and smiled tiredly. He studied the bags beneath her eyes and wondered if his looked as bad as hers did. He guessed that they probably did, but there was nothing either of them could do. Sleep wasn't exactly an option for them at the moment. Not with Ryan on the verge of the eternal abyss.
Sandy moved close to Ryan's bed and studied the young man's peaceful form. It seemed like such an innocent thing, this false sleep Ryan was stuck in. Some color had returned to his cheeks, not much, but Sandy would take any improvements he could get. When Sandy took his hand the kid's fingers were warm and Sandy smiled. Last night they had been freezing and tinged with blue. Today they were flushed and relatively healthy looking. Definitely an improvement.
Kirsten got up from her chair at Ryan's bedside, stretched, and turned off the CD player sitting precariously on a ledge in the corner. Sandy greeted her, kissing her and pulling her close, reveling in the comfort she offered him. Glancing over his shoulder he found three large grocery bags filled with movies, CDs, candles, a few Tupperware containers filled with some kind of food, and one of Ryan's shirts.
"What's all this?" Sandy asked, releasing his wife. "The music, the movies, the Tupperware containers? Are we moving in?"
"No," Kirsten told him. "They're for Ryan."
"What?"
"Last night I couldn't sleep so I did some research on Ryan's condition," Kirsten explained to him. "The internet was full of useful tips and hints, Sandy."
"Like bringing containers of food to a kid who can't eat it?" Sandy asked dryly.
"Don't be such a critic," Kirsten snapped at him. "I read last night that just because Ryan can't respond to the world around him doesn't mean he can't be involved in it. It's all about senses, Sandy. Using senses to help stimulate his brain."
"I don't follow," Sandy said, looking down at the grocery bags skeptically.
"Listening to music or movies can act like a link to the outside world, Sandy. Same as smells and sense of touch. We can use these things to help Ryan come back to himself…to let him know we're there and offer him comfort." Her face fell and she looked away in shame. "The website said the best items to use were things that meant something to him. Ryan's favorites, you know? And—and I realized last night that I didn't know. I didn't know any of it. What was his favorite band? No idea. His favorite movie? Don't know. His favorite food? Not a damn clue. What kind of mother am I, Sandy, that I don't know a thing about my kid?"
"Ryan's a private person," Sandy told her soothingly. "He kept things to himself. Even little things like that."
"But I should have asked," Kirsten whispered harshly. "If I had asked him he would have answered. He always does, but I didn't."
Sandy wanted to tell his wife that she was being too hard on herself, but he couldn't deny the truth of her words. Ryan would have answered if she had asked because that was how Ryan worked. The kid didn't believe that anybody really wanted to know anything about him so he kept his mouth shut unless he was asked. While most kids couldn't wait for a reason to talk about themselves Ryan preferred to remain a mystery. Not because he thought he was too good for them, but because he thought he wasn't. Sandy had realized that during one of their first outings together.
Ryan had been living with them for a week and the kid seemed to be pulled in every direction. Kirsten wanted him to go shopping with her so she could buy him some clothes for school. Seth demanded that he set aside so many hours in his day to go sailing and play video games. Marissa Cooper wanted to use him to taunt and torture Luke, all while pulling on Ryan's hear strings. Summer wanted to "jump his bones", her words not Sandy's and all the women of Newport wanted to catch a glimpse of Sandy's "charity case." Ryan handled all their requests with the patience of a saint, but Sandy could see that he was beginning to become overwhelmed by it all.
Sandy had come home one night to find Ryan and his wife in the pool house. There were clothing bags scattered all over the place and Ryan was posing for Kirsten, who hmmmd and hummmmd while Ryan tapped his fingers against his thighs nervously. His expression was patient and unhurried, but as Sandy came through the door the kid looked up and shot him a frantic, pleading glance. Sandy had to stifle a laugh and he walked over to his son, clapping him on the back in commiseration.
"Well," he'd said with a sunny smile. "Don't you look handsome?"
Ryan raised his eyebrows at him and put his hands in his pockets. Sandy wondered how long he'd been stuck here playing fashion show with Kirsten. From the amount of clothes spread out on the floor it had been awhile and Sandy felt a flash of pity for the kid.
"Sandy," Kirsten said, wrinkling her nose as she studied Ryan. "Do you think that shirt washes out his skin tone? He's got such pretty skin and I want him to look his best when school starts."
Ryan grimaced when the words ''pretty skin'' came out of his wife's mouth and Sandy smirked. He put a hand around Ryan's shoulder, nearly laughing out loud when the kid looked up at him with frantic eyes.
"What I think is that you two need a break," Sandy told her. "From the state of this room you've been at this for hours. Let him breathe a little, Kirsten."
"I'm only trying to help," Kirsten pouted. "And Ryan said he didn't mind. He said he was having a good time."
"Yeah," Ryan said with a small smile. "Three hours ago…"
Sandy laughed and Ryan looked at him in relief. For a moment Sandy was thrown by the expression, but then he realized that the kid had been afraid he'd overstepped his bounds. Kirsten's lips quirked into an un-amused frown and Ryan's grin faded almost as suddenly as it had appeared.
"Sorry," he said quietly, looking to the floor again. "I didn't mean to…sorry."
"Nothing to be sorry for," Sandy said easily shooting a warning glare at his wife. "It was funny, kid. My wife just forgot how to laugh."
Ryan smiled at him, but it fell far quicker than Sandy liked. The kid had been through a lot that week and, as far as he knew, he hadn't said a word to anybody about how he was coping with it all. Sandy wanted to talk to him, really talk, but to do so he would have to get him away from Kirsten and Seth for longer than five minutes at a time. It took Ryan far more time to open up than it did Seth and Sandy knew he would have to proceed with caution, just as he had that night in the pool.
"Ryan," Sandy said. "We're running low on groceries. I was going to go to the store and I would love it if you would come along to keep me from binge buying."
"But," Kirsten began, but quieted when Sandy shot her a look.
"Sure," Ryan told him with a small shrug of his shoulders. "That sounds great, Mr. Cohen."
"Ryan," Sandy admonished gently. "You don't need to call me Mr. Cohen. We've talked about that."
"Sorry," Ryan said.
"And you don't need to say you're sorry," Kirsten told him with a small smile. "You two go and have fun. I'll keep Seth busy while you're gone."
"Right," Sandy grinned. "Fun…at the grocery store…"
"I used to have a lot of fun at grocery stores," Ryan said. "Back when I was a kid we used to—" He trailed off with a frown and glanced up at his new parents nervously. "Used to hang out in front of the sno-cone shacks right outside."
Whatever his story had been it certainly had nothing to do with sno-cone shacks. When he'd began his tale there had been a shine to his eyes. He was going to share one of the few happy moments from his life before, but for whatever reason, decided to keep it to himself. Whatever spell had been lifted from him settled back down on his shoulders and Ryan refused to meet his gaze once more.
"I can't promise sno-cones," Sandy said, steering Ryan towards the door. "But, I can offer you an entertaining commentary on the creation of various food articles. I personally guarantee that you'll never eat hummus the same way again."
Ryan grinned at him as he walked through the house to the driveway. Kirsten cornered Seth in the kitchen as they slipped out of the house and soon they were pulling down the street. Ryan liked to study the houses as they drove past and Sandy wondered what he was looking at. Somehow he didn't think the kid was all that interested in the price, but was riveted by the structures themselves. He'd told Kirsten that he'd wanted to be an architect once and it always amazed Sandy to watch him take a structure apart with his eyes so he could put it back together again in his mind.
Of course, the fact that Ryan used his intense study as a way to justify his silence was not lost on Sandy, but he chose to ignore it. Ryan could be social if he wanted to and if the right circumstances presented themselves. It was just a matter of forcing those circumstances to appear.
The grocery store loomed before them, but Sandy didn't turn into the parking lot. He tilted his rearview mirror so he could see Ryan's face without looking over at him and he grinned when the kid frowned, turning in his seat to look at the quickly disappearing Trader Joes.
"Ummm," he said. "Mr. Co—Sandy, I think you passed it."
"I know," Sandy told him cryptically.
"Aren't you going to turn around?"
"No."
"Why not?"
"Because we aren't going to the grocery store," Sandy told him, watching Ryan's expression in the mirror. The kid was frowning uneasily, but Sandy wasn't sure why.
"Where are we going then?" Ryan asked.
"I want to show you something," Sandy explained, finally glancing over at his son.
"Show me something?"
"Yep. You'll like it."
"Sure."
"Ryan," Sandy said softly. "You need to stop that, kid."
"Stop what?" Ryan asked in alarm.
"Stop agreeing to everything we say," Sandy said. "You're not a prisoner in our house, you know. You can make decisions. Your vote matters."
"I know," Ryan replied softly.
"Do you?"
"If I didn't before then I do now," Ryan said with a half-hearted grin.
Sandy turned towards the beach and had to squint against the harsh California sunset. He lowered his sun visor and watched as Ryan did the same. The kid leaned his head back against the seat and closed his eyes, soaking in the rays of the sun. He looked peaceful, more at ease than Sandy had ever seen him, and he knew the time was right to try and get him to open up.
"How've you been holding up?" Sandy asked him. "It's been a busy week for you."
"Good," Ryan said, keeping his eyes closed. "More than good."
Sandy knew that he was only telling him what he wanted to hear, but he didn't press. Talking to Ryan was an art form and Sandy was becoming a regular Picasso.
"Good," he mused. "That's a promising answer, I suppose. Has Seth fried your brain with all his video games yet?"
"No," Ryan laughed. "He keeps kicking my ass at Mortal Kombat, but I devastate him in Street Fighter. Kind of fitting, I guess."
"How so?"
"Well," Ryan said slowly. "Seth is more the nerdy martial arts guy and I'm…" He frowned.
"And you're…?"
"I'm the street fighter, Sandy. It isn't very hard to see why."
"It isn't?"
"I don't think so."
"You've had a few fights," Sandy said with a shrug. "So what?"
"A few," Ryan snorted. "Sure."
"You've had more than a few?" Sandy asked, looking over at him slyly.
"I know what you're doing," Ryan sighed.
"What am I doing?"
"You're trying to bond with me or some bullshit like that."
"Bullshit?" Sandy asked, looking at the kid in surprise. He hadn't expected this particular line of conversation, but now that he'd started it he would have to see it through. "You don't want to bond?"
"I don't know," Ryan whispered, refusing to look at him.
"You don't know?"
"It's…hard to explain," Ryan told him.
"Try me, kid. We've danced this dance before and I'll repeat what I did then. I'm here to listen to you, Ryan, and help if I can."
Ryan stared at him from his seat. Sandy was fairly certain that if they hadn't been in a moving vehicle the kid would have booked it by now, but he had inertia on his side that day. Ryan turned to look out the window and Sandy thought he might have pushed it one step too far that time. Then, much to his surprise, Ryan began to talk, refusing to look anywhere but out the window, but talking all the same.
"People leave," Ryan told him quietly. "My whole life people have been leaving and they are always the ones that I actually want to stay. Those thugs my mom dated…they never left. They were always there and even though the faces and the names changed the men never really did. I hated them…all of them. Except one. Bobby."
"He was this guy from somewhere out south," Ryan continued. "He always talked with this real heavy accent. Trey and I thought it was funny, but he never got mad at us when we laughed. He was a mechanic, you know, and he made decent money. Not like Kirsten, but enough to live comfortably. He helped my mom get out of some of her debts and he took us places. He was nice to us and was good to mom. Trey and I made a pact that if he were to ever marry mom we wouldn't say a word about it. We were happy."
"What happened?" Sandy asked quietly.
"My mom," Ryan whispered. "She wouldn't stop drinking even though Bobby begged her to stop. He told her he would pay for her to go to rehab, but she told him to go to hell. She met this guy named Snake—"
"Snake?"
"Yeah," Ryan said, eyes growing dark in the reflection on the windshield. "He was…he was a really bad guy. He started coming over to our house all the time, you know, and my mom tried to hide what she was doing from us, from Bobby, but she's never been very good at subtle. Snake was a drug dealer. Not just marijuana, Trey and I were used to that, but he brought the hard stuff over. Cocaine, Meth, Heroin. My mom tried it all and she left it just lying around."
Ryan stopped and Sandy looked over at him, watching out of the corner of his eye as their destination loomed closer. The kid finally faced forward again, but Sandy almost wished he hadn't. His eyes were haunted, pained, and his fists were clenched tightly against his side as if he was controlling the urge to release his rage and hurt on the next person that came along…namely Sandy.
"Ryan," Sandy began. "You don't have to—"
"You asked," Ryan said, his voice harsh with emotion. "You asked me to trust you, Sandy, to talk to you and I'm-I'm trying, but—" He shook his head and Sandy was alarmed to see a few lonely tears drip down onto his shirt before Ryan wiped them away with an angry fist. "Just…let me try and tell you. I think I want to tell you."
"Okay," Sandy said softly, pulling the car into a vacant spot and parking.
"I was at home with Theresa, I mentioned her before," Ryan said, closing his eyes again. "Trey wasn't living at home anymore because mom kicked him out so it was just us. I think we were on the couch watching a movie on this old television Bobby had given us. Snake comes tearing through our door demanding to see my mom. He's drunk and high and pissed off so I tell Theresa to go home while I deal with him. She starts to get her stuff and I'm telling Snake that mom isn't home…she's out with Bobby." He swallowed hard and squeezed his eyes shut even tighter.
"Theresa is on her way towards the door already calling her brother to have him come back me up if there is trouble, but when she tries to leave Snake stops her. I tell him to let her go, you know, get the hell out before I call the cops, but he says that my mom owes him for some blow he'd given to her. Owed him…favors. I told him I didn't care what she owed him…he needed to leave." Ryan shook his head slowly and Sandy hoped he never witnessed the kid's expression ever again. "But, he didn't. He pushed Theresa down and said that if mom wasn't home to pay him he would just have to take it from someone else. I managed to stop him from hurting her, but…" He swallowed. "I was in the hospital for a week after he got done with me. Trey said I looked like Wile E. Coyote after he'd gone a few rounds with Roadrunner. We made up some story about how a guy high on speed came through the door, tried to hurt Theresa, then kicked me around instead. It was pretty easy to make them believe us. Bobby came around a lot, but my mom only came once. We'd watch movies and stuff and I'd ask him about mom, but he always told me not to worry about her, not to worry about anything but getting better. Then…about four days into my stay…he stopped showing up. I thought maybe something had happened to him, you know, but Trey told me he'd split. Took a job somewhere in Austin. At first, I didn't believe him because I'd—I'd come to count on Bobby, but Trey gave me a note he'd left for me."
"Did he say why?" Sandy asked when Ryan went silent for a moment.
"Yeah," Ryan explained. "He said that he hadn't wanted to leave, hadn't wanted to abandon me in that shit storm, but he couldn't take my mom any longer. She said that I had provoked Snake somehow because he was really a very gentle guy and when Bobby argued with her about it she told him that if he came us again she would call the cops on him. So he split and he told me that if I ever needed a place to stay just call him up." He smiled bitterly. "Was this what you had in mind for bonding?"
"You've shared something with me," Sandy said, swallowing past the lump in his throat. "Something hard that you went through. That means a lot to me that you felt comfortable enough to tell me."
Ryan didn't answer him, but stared out the window at where they had stopped. It was a beach, like most other beaches in California, but this one was special to Sandy. This was the beach he'd first learned to surf on so many years earlier.
"You brought me to a beach," Ryan said, glancing over at him.
"Yep."
"You said you wanted to show me something."
"Yep."
"This is what you wanted to show me?"
"You would be correct."
"Why? It's a beach. I've seen beaches before."
"You haven't seen this beach."
"What's so important about this beach?" Ryan asked, the faintest of smiles on his lips.
"It's mine," Sandy said.
"Yours?"
"Well," Sandy amended. "I don't own it, but its where I learned to surf for the first time. I thought, if you were interested, I could teach you. Seth has the balance of a toddler, but you might do okay."
"Sandy," Ryan said after a brief pause. He looked pained and disappointed. "I'm not much of an ocean guy."
"What?"
"I don't like the ocean," Ryan sighed. "I mean, I like the beach okay and I don't mind being in a boat, but I'm not a fan of getting in it."
"Man," Sandy said. "Just when I think I've gotten a second chance at teaching my son to surf he ends up hating the ocean."
"Why did you call me that?" Ryan asked softly.
"Call you what?"
"Your son. You called me your son. Why?"
"Because that's what you are, kid. We adopted you, remember? You legally belong to the Cohen's now, God have mercy on your soul."
Ryan smiled slightly and Sandy leaned over and ruffled his hair affectionately. The kid didn't seem to know how to respond to the gesture and he rubbed the top of his head absently.
"So," Sandy said watching the waves hit the shoreline. "You don't like the beach. You like architecture. You enjoy reading. What else should I know about you, kid?"
"I don't know," Ryan shrugged. "Not much to know really."
"I don't believe that for a second," Sandy replied. "I believe you were holding out on me back at home." Ryan stared at him uncomprehendingly. "About the grocery store?"
"Oh," Ryan laughed. "That."
"Yeah. That. Spill."
"It's kind of bad," Ryan said softly. "Trey and I did something bad, I mean."
"Okay," Sandy grinned. "I'll start then."
"Start what?"
"Come on," Sandy told him. "You didn't really think we were going to the grocery store, did you?"
"Actually," Ryan replied. "Yeah, I did. Won't Kirsten notice if you don't come home with groceries?"
"She knows I'm not going," Sandy explained.
"How could she know that?" Ryan asked incredulously. "You never even told her."
"It's all in the eyes," Sandy told him seriously. "When you've been together as long as Kirsten and I have you don't need words anymore. You can just send messages with your eyes."
"Are you serious?"
"No," Sandy grinned, holding up his phone. "I sent her a text."
"Sneaky," Ryan laughed. "So, if we aren't going to the grocery store, what are we doing?"
"Talking."
"Talking? Couldn't we have done that at your house?"
"I could have talked, but you wouldn't have," Sandy answered, choosing to ignore Ryan's 'your house' comment for the moment. "Not with Seth around. He wouldn't have given you the chance."
"He talks a lot," Ryan said mildly.
"Yes, he does."
"I think he gets it from you."
"What? I think you're mistaken, Ryan. He gets it from Kirsten. She's the one walking around with a phone glued to her ear all the time."
"I didn't say it was a bad thing," Ryan told him.
"Well," Sandy sniffed. "In that case…"
Ryan grinned and shook his head.
"You've got a story to tell," Sandy told him after a moment's silence. "I'm dying here, kid. I've got to know about this grocery store thing that you think is so bad."
"You said you would go first," Ryan reminded him.
"I did," Sandy told him with a playful smile. "But then I realized how rude I was being. Besides, I already know my story. I want to know yours."
"I don't think it works that way, Sandy."
"No? Well, let's see if this works," Sandy said, pulling the keys from the ignition. "We don't leave this beach until you tell me your story."
"I'm hungry."
"Then you better get talking."
"That's cheating."
"Nope." Sandy grinned. "That's just good old fashioned lawyering."
"I know…that's what I said. Cheating."
"Clever," Sandy laughed. "Very clever. Now spill."
"Why are you so interested in this?"
"Because I want to get to know you better."
"I'm really not that interesting."
"Yes, you are. By the end of tonight I fully plan on getting you to tell me every interesting thing about yourself."
"That should take five minutes," Ryan deadpanned.
"Nope," Sandy told him with a firm shake of his head. "I think that the time it takes to eat burgers on the beach and watch the surfers do their thing until the sun goes down will allow us enough time to barely scratch the surface that is the mystery of Ryan Atwood."
"You're being serious," Ryan snorted. "You actually are trying to have a father son moment with me."
"Is that a bad thing?"
"I don't know yet."
"Because you think I'm going to leave you?"
"Everyone else has," Ryan said, shrugging his shoulders. "Why not you?"
"I'm not them," Sandy told him.
"No," Ryan said slowly. "I suppose you aren't, but…"
"But?"
"I haven't quite figured out your motives yet."
"I don't have any."
"Everyone has motives, Mr. Cohen. Just not all motives are bad."
"That's a fine line to walk, kid."
"Yes," Ryan agreed softly. "It is."
"Doesn't that ever tire you out?"
"Trey and I used to play a game," Ryan said instead of answering. "With some other boys in our neighborhood. We called it the Grocery Store Scavenger Hunt."
"You're telling me?"
"I'm hungry and somebody decided to play keep away with the car keys."
"Desperate times call for desperate measures. Go on. The sooner you tell me the sooner we can get burgers. And remember, kid, I'm a lawyer. I know when a story has holes and when it doesn't."
"I'm not going to lie to you," Ryan told him mildly, looking out at the sea. "You asked and I have no reason to lie."
"Go on then, kid. I'm listening."
"We're just going to sit in the car?"
"Is there somewhere else you want to go?"
"Not really, I guess. This is fine."
"We'll get burgers after you're done. Eat them on the beach. For the moment I'm just enjoying the scenery."
"Me to," Ryan said quietly. "I just—" He broke off and looked away from Sandy, embarrassed.
"You don't have to be afraid of me," Sandy said, repeating his words from earlier in the week.
"I'm not afraid," Ryan told him and there was a surprising amount of honesty in his words. "I just don't talk like this, you know?"
"Talking is good for you," Sandy told him. "If it really makes you that uncomfortable though consider this you're talking quota for the next month. You don't have to say another word if you don't want to. Just grunt and nod."
"That's not what I meant," Ryan said, an exasperated smile on his lips. "I only meant that I'm not used to talking because I never really had anyone to talk to, I guess. Nobody that would listen anyways."
"Well," Sandy said mildly. "I'm listening."
"So, Trey and I used to play this game," Ryan sighed, rolling his eyes. "Sometimes mom didn't always make enough money to buy groceries so we thought that stealing them would be better than starving. The logic doesn't make much sense now, but when we were kids—"
"It was the perfect solution," Sandy supplied, his smile easy.
"Yeah," Ryan said. "We were always scared we were going to get caught though so Theresa's brother comes up with this idea that we could make a game out of it. The rules were simple: we'd break into three teams, siblings usually, and we'd each have a list of groceries we would have to steal and the first to get them won. There were never any prizes, but bragging rights was almost as good as anything back then."
"Sounds like a good time," Sandy said. "You ever get caught?"
"We had a few close calls," Ryan answered, looking at him strangely. "Trey and I were pretty quick so we never had too much trouble, but sometimes we competed against one another a little too fiercely."
"What does that mean?"
"The ham debacle of 2000," Ryan said, smiling slightly at the memory. "Trey hung out with a lot of the older boys and wanted to prove to them he was a badass or something. So one day he decides to steal a bunch of stuff to show he wasn't afraid. He comes out with like seven boxes of Hot Pockets. I have no clue how he managed to get them out, but he did. The guys weren't really impressed, but I wanted to prove that I was cooler than my brother so I decide it was a good idea to steal something so large they had no choice but to declare me their leader. The fantasy of a Chino twelve-year old." He laughed and shook his head. "So, I go in to this store and I'm looking for something to snag, but nothing is big enough, nothing is bad enough. Then I see the ham. It's one of those giant Thanksgiving ones, you know? The ones that are as big as your head and weigh the same as bowling ball."
"Tell me you didn't," Sandy said, smiling fiercely.
"I did," Ryan told him, his eyes brightening. "I walked up to that ham, picked it up, and started towards the front doors with it. For some odd reason I never thought about how the hell I was going to get a ham the size of a damn basketball out of the store without being seen. But, I did it. Even got helped out the door by an older gentleman who thought he was being nice, carried it all the way to our cart."
"Are you being serious?" Sandy laughed. "You just walked out?"
"Yep," Ryan replied, glad to see Sandy was amused. "Trey said it was because of my baby face." He rolled his eyes and grimaced. "He said nobody would think a kid that looked as innocent as I did would actually steal something. The other guys said the same thing, but the looks on their faces as the old man carried the ham out for me was priceless."
"You do have this look about you," Sandy told him with a small smile. "Not innocence. You've been through too much for that, but a certain trustworthiness that is hard to explain."
"Thanks," Ryan said. "I guess…"
"It's a compliment," Sandy laughed. "I promise. How long did you and Trey do this?"
"Until I was fourteen and Trey was sixteen," Ryan answered. "Old enough to get a job and start paying for what we needed. I still think he stole stuff though. I never asked him. I didn't really want to know, but I stopped." He grinned. "After the ham thing, Trey thought I had been stupid, foolish, which was true. From then on he took care of the big stuff and let me handle the peaches."
"Peaches?"
"Yeah," Ryan said, eyes glowing softly with the happy embers of his past. "I loved peaches when I was a kid. Couldn't get enough of them. I used to keep the pits in the side of my mouth after I ate them."
"Why?" Sandy laughed.
"One of my mom's boyfriends chewed tobacco," Ryan told him. "I didn't like the guy, but I didn't dislike him either. He never treated Trey and I rough and sometimes he did cool things with us. So he chewed tobacco and I thought it looked really cool, but he wouldn't give me any so I put the peach pits in the side of my mouth to make it look like I was doing it. Mom hated it and tried to get me to stop, but I didn't for a couple of years."
"What made you quit?"
"You mean besides looking like a total geek?" Ryan laughed before sobering. "I got punched in the side of my mouth that the pit was in. Tore up the side of my cheek pretty bad and knocked out a couple of my back teeth. Luckily, I hadn't lost my baby teeth there yet so the damage wasn't as bad as it could have been."
"Who punched you?" Sandy asked quietly.
"Not who you're thinking," Ryan told him. "Like I said…the guy that chewed tobacco never put a hand on us and he was long gone by this time, anyways. There was this kid in school I was constantly getting in fights with. He was a real asshole. He used to pick on this kid in our class that had hurt his leg as a baby or something and walked with a limp. Wouldn't leave him alone."
"So you stepped in?" Sandy guessed.
"Yeah," Ryan said with a shrug. "Nobody else was going to."
"Were those the fights you got suspended for?" Sandy asked him.
"Yeah," Ryan said. "There were a lot more of them, but only a couple took place on school property during school hours. In fact, the only two real fights I had with the guy were there at school."
"Real fights?" Sandy asked quietly. "What makes them real or unreal?"
"The kid with the limp, Greg Odinver, I think. He always walked with me after school," Ryan explained. "His house was in the same general direction as ours so we went together. Trey went to the middle school down a few blocks so we would meet up with him at the corner. The jerk, Jordan Everson, liked to ambush Greg on his way home from school. Only, now, I was there to and I wasn't some pushover like a lot of kids he was used to dealing with. Only problem was that he was huge and outweighed me by a lot. I could keep him from messing with us for a little bit, but he usually got in a few good hits."
"Sounds like real fights to me," Sandy said, his eyes creasing in confusion.
"I'm getting there," Ryan told him. "Trey wanted to know why the hell I kept coming to him with black eyes or split lips. Or, depending on the guy my mom was dating, why I came home more bruised than when I left. I didn't tell him, but he eventually worked it out that whatever was happening was happening after school in between when we got out and when we met up with him. So he ditched his last class and waited for us." He smiled, but the grin was dangerous. Something Sandy wasn't used to seeing from the kid at all.
"What happened?" Sandy questioned.
"Jordan started messing with us," Ryan answered. "Then Trey started messing with him."
"You say it like it's no big deal," Sandy said.
"Look," Ryan sighed. "The kid deserved whatever he got, Sandy. Not for messing with me, but for messing with Greg and kids like him. Trey had to beat the shit out of him a couple of times before he got that, but he definitely got it after that. I'm not proud of it, but that was life back then."
"Your brother fight a lot?"
"We both did," Ryan snorted. "Trey was just better at it than I was. He was angry, I was angry, but it was Trey that always took it a step farther than that. He was looking for reasons to mess with somebody and screwing around with me was one of those reasons. None of the older kids dared touch me because I was Trey Atwood's little brother. He protected me."
"Ryan," Sandy began. "You should be careful with your brother. He—"
"Don't," Ryan snapped. "I know what you're going to say. I shouldn't trust him, shouldn't believe what he says. He's using me, using me to get what he wants. I've heard it all before, Sandy."
"Those were not the exact words I was going to use," Sandy said sheepishly.
"He's my brother," Ryan said softly. "He's all I have had for years. I know he's using me. I know he's manipulative and selfish, but I don't care. He's a product of his circumstances, right? Same as me."
"You are nothing like your brother," Sandy told him.
"How do you know?" Ryan asked. "You have never met him. Maybe I am exactly like my brother, Sandy. And maybe that wouldn't be so bad. Trey is tough. I need that to survive."
"Not anymore," Sandy said earnestly. "You understand that, don't you, Ryan? You can have a different life, a different future. Nothing is set in stone, kid."
"Sure," Ryan sighed.
"We're back to that again?"
"What?"
"You're agreeing with me because you think that's what I want to hear," Sandy said.
"Are you saying you don't?" Ryan asked sharply. "You want me to tell you that I have no idea what I'm still doing here? You want to know that I'm not sure I believe life could ever be anything different? Is that what you want to hear, Sandy?"
"If that's how you feel," Sandy told him immediately. "I want you to trust me, kid. I want you to feel like you can tell me anything."
"It's not that easy," Ryan whispered. "I trust you, but…but I shouldn't."
"Am I not trustworthy?" Sandy asked, hurt despite knowing Ryan had every reason not to trust him. He was someone new, someone that could potentially hurt him. Not physically maybe, but Ryan was used to physical abuse. What Ryan was terrified of was Sandy hurting him in other ways. Emotionally, mentally. It would be easy for Sandy to crush the kid's spirit, to confirm his belief that he was nothing to the world, that he was useless. He never would, but how to tell a beaten down sixteen year old that?
"It's not that," Ryan said, his voice pained. "Or…maybe it is. I don't know. I guess that's what I'm trying to say, Sandy. I trust you, but I know I shouldn't simply because I don't know if you are trustworthy. Does that make sense?"
"Yes," Sandy said quietly. "I get it."
"That makes one of us," Ryan snorted. "I still have no idea what the hell is going on, Sandy. One moment I'm racing towards oblivion and the next…it's like I'm living somebody else's life. Like I'm in that old fairytale, you know? The one where the prince and the pauper meet and decide to change places to see how the other half lives. Only there isn't a prince in my story, Sandy. There's just me…and I'm waiting for the moment that everything crashes down again."
"It won't," Sandy told him gently. "We won't let it."
"Who?" Ryan asked, turning to face him. "You? Kirsten? Seth? Why would you want me around, Sandy? I've done nothing but disrupt your lives."
"That's not true," Sandy said firmly. "Ryan, don't you believe that for a second."
"Am I a charity case?" Ryan asked slowly, refusing to meet his eyes. "Just tell me that, Sandy. Why are you doing this? What possessed you to look at me and take a chance on me? Nobody has ever looked at me and said, 'I think this boy really has something special.' So, why would you?"
"You aren't a charity case," Sandy said, shaking his head. "As for why I chose to help you…I don't know." Sandy saw Ryan flinch from the corner of his eye and immediately tried to explain his words. "I saw something in you, kid. What I'm trying to say is that I don't know exactly what it was, but there was something in your eyes that set you apart from the hundreds of other kids I've defended over the years. Something that made me…made me want to know you. Want to help you. If I was out for a charity case I would have driven us into bankruptcy by now. I've defended plenty of kids in your situation that I didn't feel a real compulsion to bring into my home, into my life. Only you, kid. You do the math on that one."
Ryan didn't answer him and Sandy glanced over at his face. His expression was pensive, unsure, and so conflicted that it broke Sandy's heart. He was staring out the window at the crashing waves with the intense concentration Sandy had become used to seeing from him over the past week. It was unnerving that anyone so young could be so focused, like his whole world was spinning and the only way he could keep his balance was if he focused on the one thing that kept him oriented. Whatever that thing was. Sandy didn't know and Ryan had yet to tell him.
This type of conversation had been the type of thing Sandy had wanted from their excursion, but even though he'd planned for it he was still mangling it. This was what dealing with Ryan did. Sandy never knew exactly how to respond to the kid because he kept his thoughts to himself. If there was something that hurt him, offended him, angered him, he would never tell him unless Sandy asked him directly. Seth had always worn his emotions on his sleeves, always been so easy to read, but with Ryan Sandy had to constantly be on his toes. The only thing he could rely on was the kid's eyes. They told more than his voice ever could, but this time there was no telling what was going on his head.
"What are you thinking?" Sandy asked finally, reaching out a hand and putting it on Ryan's shoulder. The boy stiffened and Sandy immediately backed off.
"I can't do it again," Ryan whispered, his voice so soft Sandy could barely hear him. "I can't lose somebody else, Sandy. My mom—" He swallowed. "She left me, Sandy. Twice. She promised things would get better, you know? Promised it until she was blue in the face. That was her go to apology for everything. One of her boyfriends beat us up? Things will get better. She lost her job because she drank too much? Things will get better. We got kicked out of whatever shithole we were living in because she couldn't make rent? Things will get better. But, nothing ever did. Nothing. If anything they got worse."
"But I still loved her," Ryan continued, his voice hoarse. "I still needed her. How fucked up is that? When I was little it was easy. She could bring me these little hard candies she used to buy at a local market for a penny and everything would be forgiven. Kids are simple that way, I guess. But then I got older and her boyfriends got more violent…or maybe I just started fighting back. I don't know, but we started fighting all the time. She was never good enough, she never tried hard enough. Hell, she never really tried at all. And I was stuck, Sandy. I was stuck behind this giant pane of glass watching my whole life fall to pieces, but I couldn't do anything about it. I was…I was useless."
"I wanted to hate her," Ryan went on, closing his eyes in guilt he shouldn't have felt. "I wanted to hate her so badly, Sandy. But, I never could. The moment I began to finally despise who she was and what she did she would—"He laughed bitterly. "We would share a moment. She would do something that vaguely resembled something motherly and I was so starved for that connection that I always let it pass. Or I would feel sorry for her. She'd come home, throwing up because she'd had too much to drink, and she would plead for me to help her, to be a good son. And, night after night, like a complete idiot I would get up, hold her hair back, clean her up, make sure she got into bed safely. How could I hate someone that was that pathetic? And then she leaves...just disappears when I actually need her help. The one moment that I—"
Ryan broke off and Sandy watched him bite his lip to keep hold of his emotions. Sandy thought about comforting him, but dismissed the idea. If Sandy said anything, did anything, it would break the spell that kept Ryan talking. It was no longer about learning what the kid liked, disliked. Now it was about letting him work through what had been broiling inside him for a long time. Ryan needed this. He needed to say what he never could, to feel what he never allowed himself to feel.
"She just left," Ryan said finally. "Just like that. She leaves a fucking note on a goddamn paper towel. I've taken care of her for years and she just…why would she do that? Did I really mean that little to her? That she couldn't even let me know she was bailing. And then she comes back. Just waltzes through your door like nothing ever happened, like she had no idea why I might be angry with her. Just like she always did when I was a kid. Play it off, use words to manipulate the situation. Manipulate me into feeling guilty for being angry. Things are going to get better. The same old song, the same old lie. But, can I really blame her for using it? It worked, didn't it? I always came back with my tail between my legs, begging for more. I had nowhere else to go. Trey was a mess, Dad was in prison, Theresa's family loved me but they had their own problems. I wasn't going to dump mine on them. I thought about going to Austin with Bobby a lot, but how was I supposed to get there? I worked my ass off everyday, but every penny I earned went towards keeping us afloat, making it so that Trey and I didn't have to steal food, didn't have to make up stupid little games like Grocery Store Scavenge Hunt to mask the fact that we were hungry and were stealing just to have dinner that night and breakfast the next morning. I kept telling myself to stay until mom was back on her feet, until she could manage on her own, but she never did."
"So, she comes back," Ryan said harshly. "She comes back with the same old tired routine and she begs me to give her another chance, just like she used to, and I folded. And you…your whole damn family had to be kind and welcoming, had to be understanding. Even when she got drunk at your party, when she embarrassed you in front of all your friends, Kirsten's co-workers. I take my eyes off of her for one minute and everything goes to hell. I should have put my foot down when she told me she was counting cards like she used to when she was a dealer in Vegas. Should have told her that if she was going to act like that she wasn't welcome, should just go home. But, who was I to tell her? Who was I to say a damn thing about it? Wasn't I the one that got Seth drunk at a party for the first time? Burned down Kirsten's model home? How was I any better? So I leave her be, let her do what she's going to, but I knew the second she fell into that waiter that she'd let another 'everything is going to be better' pass us by. I pick her up off the floor and I think, 'Okay. I've got this. I know this. We'll be back to the same old routine, but at least this time I'll know better than to get in trouble.' I won't have to bother either of you ever again. I could forget that for a moment, just a moment, I had tasted something sweeter, been something better. That's what I fell asleep to that night, you know? I knew I would be leaving Newport. I didn't plan on ever seeing you, or Kirsten, or Seth again because seeing you, seeing your lives, what I could be if things were different…it hurt too much. And I was so tired, Sandy. So damned exhausted with everything that all I wanted, all I really wanted, was to feel nothing at all. To return to the life I knew and understood."
"But, she couldn't even give me that, could she?" Ryan said bitterly. "She takes one look at you and decides that she can pawn me off on you. You'll take care of me, you'll do what she couldn't. It sounds like she was trying to do the right thing, but I can't believe that she was. She used to tell us all the time that life would be easier on her if we weren't around. She bailed because she couldn't handle me being there, couldn't stand having me in her house acting like a god damn saint. I never wanted that, Sandy. Never. I coveted your life with every thing that I had, with every breath in my body, but I didn't want her to leave. Even knowing what she was I loved her, I was devoted to her. I could take care of her and feel like I was doing something worthwhile. That I was helping somebody. That's all I wanted. All I've ever wanted. I wanted her. She just didn't want me."
"She waved," Ryan whispered. "I caught her leaving and all she does is smile and wave. Ciao, kid! See you never! Hope your okay with this!" He shook his head, squeezed his eyes shut, then opened them again to look pleadingly at Sandy. "I don't mean to say that I'm not happy with your family. That staying with you isn't a dream come true because it is. It's just—"
"I get it," Sandy told him softly. "There is no need to explain, Ryan."
Ryan nodded then said, "If you leave or decide you don't want me anymore, let me know. I'm not your kid, after all. I'm just some punk from the street left on your doorstep."
"Stop it," Sandy said, so harshly that Ryan flinched away from him. "You've got to stop this, kid. You aren't a punk. You aren't worthless or useless. And, like it or not, you are my kid."
"That was different," Ryan said after a moment.
"What?" Sandy asked, confused.
"I've never had somebody yell at me like that before," Ryan replied softly.
"I wasn't yelling," Sandy said with a frown.
"You definitely weren't using your inside voice," Ryan told him, smiling despite himself.
"I didn't mean to yell," Sandy huffed. "I just want you to realize your own potential, Ryan. To see the kid I see."
"That's what I mean," Ryan said. "I've never had anyone yell at me and praise me at the same time. Usually it works the other way. Do you yell at Seth like this?"
"Are you kidding?" Sandy said with an amused snort. "Seth's head is big enough as it is."
"You should tell him anyways," Ryan said soberly.
"Maybe I should," Sandy agreed, looking back out at the waves. "Ryan?"
"Yeah?"
"Thank you."
"For what?"
"For trusting me. Sharing with me."
"I shouldn't have gone off like that," Ryan grimaced. "I don't think I've done that before…ever."
"You said what you felt," Sandy told him. "What you needed to say. Did it make you feel any better?"
"You know," Ryan said slowly. "I think it kind of did. A little."
"There you go," Sandy smiled. "I came out here hoping you would open up to me. I can honestly say I never expected this much, but—" Sandy stopped at the look on Ryan's face then wished he could punch himself in the face. Or turn back time.
Ryan had opened up to him, which would have been difficult for anybody, but for Ryan, who kept his emotions under tight control and his words even tighter, it would be downright excruciating. Still, the kid had done it and Sandy had wanted him to. But, by telling Ryan that he hadn't expected to hear everything the kid had to say made it seem like Ryan had overloaded Sandy with information he didn't want. Had overstepped his boundaries just like he felt he had with the joke at Kirsten's expense earlier.
"Like I said," Ryan whispered. "I shouldn't have gone off like that."
"I'm glad you did," Sandy told him firmly. "When I said I hadn't expected it I only meant that I didn't think you would be willing to share with me. Not that I didn't want to hear it. You understand the difference, right?"
"Yeah."
"Are you doing it again?"
"Doing what again?"
"Telling me what I want to hear?"
"Not this time," Ryan said. "But no promises for next time."
"We'll handle next time when it comes," Sandy replied.
"Sandy," Ryan said after a moment of contemplative silence between them.
"Yeah?"
"I'm still hungry and you're still holding the keys captive."
"Right," Sandy grinned, putting the keys in the ignition and bringing the car to life. "Let's get some burgers."
Sandy had never told Kirsten about their conversation. At least not all of it. He wasn't sure why, but he felt that the words Ryan had shared had been meant for Sandy's ears only. Perhaps this was a bit conceited of him, certainly assuming, but he still kept the experience to himself. Loose lips sink ships, after all, and Ryan was the Titanic waiting to happen. One simple gesture, one simple roadblock disguised as an iceberg ahead, could sink the trusting relationship Sandy had been working on building with the kid. He couldn't afford that because Ryan needed him. Needed to know that there were still people in the world he could count on.
Sandy came back to himself and looked at the top of his wife's head as she hugged him. Her idea was a sweet one and proved that she cared, but like with most things that required copious amounts of emotional involvement for his wife, she needed a little help.
"Peaches," Sandy said suddenly.
"What?" Kirsten asked, pulling back and rubbing her eyes.
"Ryan likes peaches," Sandy explained. "Do you really think this sense thing might work?"
"That's what the websites said," Kirsten replied. "Keep positive and stimulate his senses as much as possible."
"Whatever you brought should work for tonight," Sandy told her gently. "I'm going to talk to him anyways." He pulled her in again and planted a kiss on top of her head. "I may know of some things. I'll text you a list of them later tonight so you can gather them and bring them with you in the morning."
"Sounds good," Kirsten whispered.
"How's Seth?"
"Worried," Kirsten replied. "But he's with Summer. She seems to be doing a good job at keeping him calm."
"What about Anna?"
"She's been there for him to," Kirsten answered. "They're sweet girls. Still, I should pick him up. Do you think we should bring him tonight?"
"Not tonight," Sandy said with a small shake of his head. "It's been a rough day. We should keep it simple."
"How did talking with Trey go?" Kirsten asked quietly, glancing over at Ryan.
"It went as well as could be expected," Sandy whispered, pulling his wife into the corner farthest from Ryan. He wouldn't leave the kid's room, but he didn't want him to overhear their conversation. Sandy believed that Ryan could hear them. Had to believe.
"Did he tell you who was responsible for shooting Ryan?" Kirsten asked.
"He did," Sandy said. "After a bit of prodding from me."
"What did you do?" Kirsten said sharply.
"What needed to be done," Sandy told her.
"Sandy—"
"But Trey is no longer an issue," Sandy interrupted. "Jessica King, however, is a big issue."
"Jessica," Kirsten said softly. "I've been wondering when we'd hear from her."
"You knew she'd call?"
"I thought about it. It makes sense, Sandy. As hard as it is to accept, Ryan is still technically in the custody of the state. He hasn't been with us a full six months. They are bound to have questions."
"Why are you so calm about this?"
"I'm not," Kirsten protested. "I just expected it, is all."
"What are we supposed to do?" Sandy asked. "Jess said she would put in a good word for us, but—"
"I'll take care of it," Kirsten answered softly. "That's what I'm good at, remember? Just don't say anything to Ryan."
"I'm not stupid," Sandy huffed. "He's got enough to worry about."
"I'll make some calls on my way home," Kirsten told him, slipping towards the door. "They won't take him from us, Sandy. I promise you that."
"I know they won't," Sandy said, taking his seat beside Ryan and looping the kid's hand through his. "Go pick up Seth and get some dinner. And some sleep."
"I would say the same to you," Kirsten remarked as she walked out the door. "But I know it won't do you any good."
Sandy smiled and squeezed Ryan's hand, looking down at him fondly.
"What did she have you listening to?" Sandy asked, pulling the CD player off the ledge and opening it. He grimaced. "Oh, Ryan, I am so sorry. Enya? No wonder you're still sleeping, kid. I'd want to pass out to. Not that Enya isn't soothing I guess. If you're into that kind of thing. I'll tell Kirsten to bring in some movies from the house tomorrow. I know the ones you like." Sandy ran his thumb across Ryan's fingers absently. "When you wake up we can watch them together if you like. I think I am going to take some time off work and stay with you. Kirsten makes all the money, anyways. You and I could laze around the house doing guy things." Sandy twiddled with the hospital wrist band on Ryan's arm with his fingers as he cupped the kid's hand in his own. "You know…eating chips, making messes and not cleaning them up, talking about girls. We'll have to move you, you know. That pool house isn't going to work anymore. I mean, once you're back on your feet and you still want it, you are more than welcome to it, but maybe it would be better if you had a room in the main house. We have the room. It wouldn't be as big as the pool house, but you would be closer to us. Closer to your family."
Sandy squeezed Ryan's hand like he'd done a thousand times since Ryan had been in the ICU. It was reflexive and he hadn't really expected anything out of it. Which was why, when Ryan's fingers squeezed back, he nearly fell out of his chair in shock.
"Ryan?" Sandy gasped, looking up at the kid. He hadn't moved, but Sandy had felt his fingers squeeze his own. He could have been imagining it, he supposed, but he didn't think so.
"Come on," Sandy pleaded, squeezing Ryan's fingers again. "Come on, kid. Give me a sign, huh? Show me that you're there. You don't have to wake up now. Not if you don't want to, but give me something to work with. " Sandy waited, but nothing happened. "Okay, okay. No pressure, Ryan. You know that, right? You stay where you need to for as long as you need to, but know that there is a family out here who loves you. Who needs you."
Ryan's hand squeezed his fingers tightly, but unlike before they did not release. He hadn't opened his eyes, hadn't moved anything or given any other sign of life, but that didn't matter. The doctor had warned them that Ryan would wake up slowly, a little bit at a time, but if the kid started exhibiting signs of consciousness it meant that he would eventually return entirely to the world of the living. Of course, there was no telling what condition he would return in, but that didn't matter now. The only thing that mattered was the gentle pressure of Ryan's hand around Sandy's fingers. As far as Sandy was concerned that was as good as Ryan springing from his bed and dancing the Macarina.
Sandy didn't dare pull away, didn't dare separate his hand from his son's. He was terrified that he would break the fragile connection he'd managed to make with Ryan. Which was why he started yelling for doctors, nurses, whoever was nearby.
When they rushed in, thinking something had gone horribly awry, they were met with tears of happiness instead of tears of distress. A wide smile instead of the crumpling pain that so often plagued their jobs.
"He's squeezing my hand," Sandy said to them, tears streaming down his face and sounding like the dad who bragged about his kids at football games or parties. "Do you see? Look!"
"I see," the head nurse said with a smile. "Congratulations, Mr. Cohen. Hopefully this is the beginning of the end to your ordeal. I just need to check his vitals to see what's going on in that brain of his."
"I can't let his hand go," Sandy told her. "I won't. I'll hold it as long as he wants to hold mine."
"I'll move around you," the nurse agreed.
Sandy nodded gratefully and sunk down to his knees beside Ryan's bed. He kissed the top of Ryan's hand as his son's fingers tightened slightly.
"So proud," he whispered, his voice raw with emotion. "I'm so proud of you, Ryan."
Sandy didn't know that Ryan heard him, didn't know that he was sitting on the edges of consciousness. He recognized the man's voice, but he couldn't seem to remember where. Still, he supposed that was okay, because he couldn't seem to remember much of anything. Flashes, sounds, smells. They accosted him from all angles. Ryan knew he should be able to place them, but he couldn't. The only thing he knew with any real certainty was his name, his identity. He was Ryan.
The void stretched out in front of him, dark and terrifying. Within that void was pain, suffering. He'd had enough of all that. He couldn't remember any particular details of any of it, but he knew he'd had enough. He could remain safe and calm in the soothing warmth of his own mind. It would be easier than having to navigate his way back to consciousness. Easier than dealing with the void. He didn't want to leave. He was terrified to leave.
Still, that voice. There were no memories connected to it, no face to guide him, but there were emotions. Strong, overwhelming emotions that made his heart feel like it was going to burst. Love, loyalty, devotion, a fierce need for approval, happiness. Whoever the voice belonged to had made Ryan happy in the world of the living. Made him want to be a better person.
And the voice was proud of him. He'd said so. Ryan had reached out into the void and connected with the voice somehow. He'd felt his fingers squeezing from very far away and willed his eyes to open so he could put a face to the name, but the demons in the void had laughed at him for his troubles. They wouldn't release him until he'd taken a daring leap into the black waters of his mind. He didn't want to do it. He was terrified to do it. But, he would. He would do it for the voice that was proud of him. Because it meant the world for the voice to be proud of him. It was all he wanted.
Ryan took the plunge, never looking back.