She had been too absorbed in the drama of her own life to notice when her sister's had gone downhill.

That was what she announced in the car on the way to the airport, with her two little daughters asleep in the back.

"You are the least-absorbed person I've ever met," said her husband.

"Val was fucking raped by two different guys, including her own father, and I never knew about any of it," said his wife. "Did you?"

"Val isn't known for opening up to people," he said.

"You knew about Kelly's. Brandon said you had."

"I was there for Kelly's. It was different. What the Hunters did to Val; Bren, I wasn't around for that one. If I had been, they would have both gone six feet under; Noah included."

"You sound like Brandon when Kelly told us about hers. Bran somehow convinced himself it wouldn't have happened had he been around, like he could somehow save Kel from it. Maybe we could've saved Val, if we had known."

"You couldn't have possibly known about Victor, babes."

"And I never would have," said Brenda, "if Abby didn't have her executor mention it at the reading of her will!"

Abigail Malone's executor reading out to a roomful of people that Victor Malone had raped his daughter had vanquished any conflicting grief Valerie had felt over her mother's death.

She had whizzed out of the room, her brother Curtis jogging after her.

"Val said Abby was vindicative," said Dylan, "but I didn't think she'd spill a secret like this once she stepped into the grave."

"How could I have not known, Dyl?" asked Brenda. "Val and I were so close. We told each other everything. She still told me everything, up until I became closer to Donna and Kel. At least, I thought she had. But she wasn't telling me everything, was she? She was leaving a substantial part of her life out. I used to think Victor was such a nice guy. I used to think of him as an uncle. How could I think of a guy like that as an uncle?"

"The same way Jimbo could consider Victor a best friend," said Dylan. "You didn't know. Brandon didn't know. Your parents didn't know. That was the way Victor and Val wanted it. Maybe Val didn't want you to know, because she didn't want to tarnish your relationship with him."

"That's a cop-out," said Brenda. "She would have told me. Maybe if I'd sent her less letters about you, she would've told me."

"You sent her letters?" asked Dylan. "About me?"

"You're changing the subject."

"I'm curious to know what was in these letters you sent to her."

"You'll have to wait until my will reading to know," said Brenda.

"We're about to board a plane across the Atlantic," said Dylan, "with a winter storm brewing in the Midwest. I'd rather not think about you having a will reading, thank you."

"Fair point," said Brenda. "Would you like a kiss, instead?"

"Not sure pulling off to the side of the highway to snog you when we have our daughters in the backseat and the fog is abundant is that smart of a decision, babes. We aren't too far from the airport. We can snog then."

Brenda traced Dylan's lips.

He kissed her fingers.

She took his.

"I want these inside me," she said.

"Okay, when we get back to London, I'll put them inside you," he said.

"I want them inside me, on the plane," she said.

"On the plane?"

"Perks of a first-class suite. We can join the Mile High Club, in style."

"Rejoin the Mile High Club," said Dylan.

"Rejoin the Mile High Club," Brenda echoed. "Didn't you say you wanted another kid?"

"You want us to try for our next kid up in the air?"

"Why not?" asked Brenda. "We conceived Adrianna on a train."

"We've never proven that."

"We've not, but we've not disproven it, either."

Brenda peeked into the rearview mirror, which showed their nine-year-old and their four-year-old snugly asleep under a shared travel blanket that both had complained about sharing when they had been awake.

"The way Abby went about it," said Brenda. "Giving Val a half-dollar and having the executor read Abby's line that that's all Val's worth after fucking Abby's husbands."

"Puts Iris into perspective," said Dylan. "A lot of perspective."

"Kel said it did for Jackie, too," said Brenda.

"We all know Samantha wins in the mum department," said Dylan.

"What about my mum?" asked Brenda.

"Cin would win more points if she didn't constantly give in to Jimbo and stood up more for you and Brandon against Alpha Male Jimbo," said Dylan. "He's one pissing contest away from beating his chest like a chimpanzee."

"I thought you'd make Mum the winner on her lasagna alone."

"Might've, if you'd never perfected yours. Might even be better than Cin's."

"You don't have to exaggerate. You already got the ring on me."

"Ain't an exaggeration."

Brenda stroked Dylan's arm, making it more difficult for him to concentrate on the road.

"We should put David's mum in the mix, too," she said. "Sheila isn't a bad mum. Just a mum with issues."

"Sheila can be second runner-up."

"Speaking of David," said Brenda.

"Were we speaking of David?" asked Dylan.

"Speaking of David," said Brenda, "I think he and Donna are out on the outs."

"How do you gather?" asked Dylan. "Silver and Donna seemed fine to me."

"Did you see the way he was trying to comfort Val?"

"Guess I missed that, probably when I went to wrangle the girls away from Sanders' sweets stash."

"I think he's still in love with her," said Brenda. "You can see it anytime he's around Val and Don probably sees it, too."

"He and Val were best friends once," said Dylan. "Maybe he's just being a friend."

"A woman knows these things, Dyl. Mark my words: this time next year, we'll be hearing that David and Donna are separated and someday, maybe in the not-far future, we'll be getting invites to David's second wedding, with Val."

"I doubt it," said Dylan. "Val's not one to commit like that."

"Neither were you, and you still committed," said Brenda.

"Any of them are welcome to separate and remarry, as long as it ain't us," said Dylan.

"I wasn't planning on it. Were you?"

"I'd sooner kiss your dad's arse than be separated from you."

"Gross," said Brenda. "And completely unnecessary."

Dylan pressed on the accelerator.

"Dylan!" Brenda screamed. "Dylan, slow down!"

"I've got to get you three away from him, Bren!" said Dylan.

"Away from whom?" asked Brenda.

The looming shadow on the highway, that was whom.

The car picked up more speed.

"Dylan? Dylan, stop!"

A single novel stared up at him from the scene of the crime.

The scene of the crime wherein he had witnessed the last breaths of his entire family.

Dylan had been the only one of four people who could walk into the ambulance, instead of be carried into it.

His wife.

His girls.

He should have controlled the wheel better.

They wouldn't have been in the ambulance if he had controlled the wheel better.

They wouldn't have been carried away in body bags if he had controlled the wheel better.

Dylan bent to pick up the novel.

It was his own.

The third novel in a series that had been inspired by Brenda.

A series wherein a time traveller met Bonnie and Clyde.

Dylan gasped for air as he sat up, doused in sweat.

He felt around for his alarm clock in the pitch-black.

2am. Two fucking A.M.

Hours yet until daybreak, and he was wide awake.

The nightmare had been a memory, up until his wife had shouted at him to slow down.

That hadn't happened in the real memory.

In the real memory, their family of four had boarded the plane, settled into their suite, and Dylan had fucked his girl into the night.

He tried to focus on the content of the dream, what his amended memory might have been trying to teach him.

Why it had focused on Valerie's sexual trauma, of all things.

Adrianna.

It had to be about Adrianna.

Have I been too absorbed in my drama with Bren to notice what was going on with our daughter? Dylan asked himself. Did Ade think I didn't pay her enough attention? Should I have given her more? Less? Is that why she got close with Jeffie, why she took the coke? If I'd listened to Brandon, if I'd taken him seriously, if I had let B tell Bren what he had suspected instead of write it off, if Bren and I had spoken to Ade about it, would she have been in that motel room with that little shite? Would she have taken the PCP? Have I been a neglectful parent? Is my negligence the reason my daughter was moments away from being fucking raped like her aunts?

His intrusive thoughts had kept him up at night, most of them uttered in a voice sounding suspiciously like Jim's.

The one night in days he hadn't suffered from insomnia, and his sleep had to result in a fucking nightmare.

Deciding to forego the rest of his sleep, Dylan went into the bathroom.

He removed Brenda's body lotion from the shower caddy and sniffed at its contents.

It smelled like her.

He rummaged through her drawers, seeking an item of clothing that still held her perfume.

None of Brenda's clothing lingered with her scent.

He stepped into her walk-in closet.

The dress from their spring dance.

She still had it, tucked away in a clear container.

She had told him time after time that she was going to bring it down to a charity shop, but as the years had passed, it had remained on a closet shelf, in a container of other ensembles she had worn during their initial days of dating.

Dylan took hold of the dress, bringing it with him.

He had made a habit of opening the doors of his girls' bedrooms to check that they had both succumbed to pleasant dreams, a routine he used to do when they were younger and had done less and less of as time went on.

Quietly closing Callie's door, Dylan's back hit the doorknob before he slid down to the hallway carpet.

"Can you hear me, Bren?" he asked the hallway. His head hung limply against the wall. His fists clutched her dress. "I hope you can. We need you, Brenda. This home; it ain't a home without you in it. I can't play mother and father to them. I can't. I can't raise our twins alone. I can't be the parent any of our kids need if you aren't here."

They said our baby's fine. Your wife didn't kill our baby.

Dylan had gone over Gina's words on repeat since David and Valerie had shown the tape.

Gina said herself the baby was fine, that the fall hadn't caused any damage.

I gotta believe the fall didn't kill him.

I gotta believe it.

Bren's not gonna leave jail unless Adrianna is cleared.

This will clear them both. I know it. It has to.

"Dylan?"

Dylan turned his clouded eyes on the blurred figure standing in the hallway, her indigo heels kicked off by the door.

"What are you doing up? It's 2am."

She must have just gotten in.

She usually got in late.

"My daughter could've been raped because I'm a bad father," he said.

"What?" Cascades of blurred red dropped down beside him. "How can you say that?"

"It's true," said Dylan. "I ignored the signs. They were all there, right in front of my face. Brandon saw them. I didn't. And Adrianna was almost raped because of it. Bren would've noticed. She would've. I let Adrianna down, just like I've let down all the girls who've ever meant anything to me. That's all I do. Let people down. I couldn't control my temper with Ade, and she ran to that motel."

Erica brought Dylan's head into her corset shirt.

"I've known some bad dads," she said. "Some truly horrendous dads. Dated a few. You can't hold a candle to any of them."

"But Ade – I neglected her –"

"You have never once neglected either of your daughters. Never once. Dylan, you're the best dad I know. Those girls don't know how blessed they are to have you for their dad."

"Ade ran off because of me," said Dylan. "I should've handled it better when I found her coke. I should've – shouldn't have cussed at her, should've spoken to her calmly and rationally. Bren would've. She would've spoken to her calmly and rationally."

"Are we talking about the same Brenda who kicked you out when she asked you to choose between the drugs and her and you chose the drugs?" asked Erica.

"I did not choose the drugs," Dylan clarified. "She was willing to help me. She wanted to help me and I told her I didn't want help."

"Adrianna didn't want help, either," said Erica, smoothing her hand over her brother's hair that had not seen a cut since the summer. "She didn't. If you would've listened to Brandon, if you would've tried to help Adrianna, she wouldn't have taken it, Dyl. You know better than anyone that Ade wasn't ready to accept help."

"Bren thinks I'm a bad dad."

"She said that to you?" Erica's nostrils flared. Lavender-tinted flames of a furnace consumed her face. "I'll kill her."

"It's why she's been shutting me out," said Dylan. "She thinks I'm a bad dad. She thinks Ade is in this mess because I didn't accept the signs."

"So Bren didn't actually tell you you're a bad dad, which you most definitely are not."

"It has to be that," said Dylan. "We were fine. In hospital, we were fine. Sure, Bren was being her usual defensive self, trying to stick to this whole charade she's been running since the summer, but we were good. Our connection; it was stronger than ever. Powerful. Fucking powerful. We felt the twins. Reminisced. I got to hold Bren's hand. We – we almost – and then the guard – then Steve tells us about Adrianna, and now I can barely get Bren to talk to me if it isn't about the girls. What other reason would there be?"

"She's dealing with her friend's death." Erica continued to comfort him with the touch of her hand, as if she were his mother rather than his younger sister. "Grief; it does things to people, Dyl. You know that. You know that better than anyone."

"Everyone keeps saying it's because of Bren's grief but I'm telling you, Erica, that ain't it. It ain't."

"Whatever reason Bren may have for shutting down on you, it is not for any of the reasons you've told yourself."

"Shutting me out," said Dylan. "She hasn't shut down. Yet."

"You are not a bad father and I never want to hear you say that again."

"But Adrianna –"

"Adrianna made choices. You let her have choices. Dyl, that alone makes you the best parent those girls could ask for. If I had parents like the kind that you and Bren are to those girls, I would've never met Riggs, and that's fact."

"I need her, Erica. I need Bren home."

"I know you do." Erica stood, offering her hand. "Bren and I started a tradition when I was living with you guys. I think you could use it now."

Dylan followed her into the kitchen, his gait uneven.

Erica set a pot of milk on the stove.

"You're a heavy sleeper," she told Dylan. "Always have been. But Bren – she's a light one."

He knew that.

He had teased Brenda about it relentlessly.

"When I moved in with you, I was plagued with a lot of nightmares," said Erica. "I mean, of course I would be after Riggs, right? They'd wake me up. I'd try to go into the kitchen as quietly as humanly possible, but somehow, Bren would always be there, heating milk."

"For her tea," said Dylan.

"For her tea," said Erica, "but she knew I didn't like tea and she didn't think coffee was the best substitute at 2am. So," opening a container of London's finest hot chocolate, Erica combined it with the milk, "cocoa it was. We'd drink cocoa and she'd listen as I'd tell her things I couldn't tell anyone else."

"She's great at that," said Dylan. "Listening."

"Maybe she'll need you to listen, too." Erica planted a mug on the counter and poured in the cocoa. "Like I listened to her when she taught me how to make amazing cocoa."

Dylan drank from the mug.

"Amazing indeed," he said, wiping the back of his hand over his mouth. "I think I've got the listening thing down."

"You do," said Erica. "Usually."

"When Bren's ready to talk, I'm willing to listen," said Dylan.

"Good," said Erica, "now get back to bed because morning isn't going to dawdle and a good dad will be awake to take his kids to school."

"I needed this." Dylan put down the mug. "Thank you."

"I knew that exterior of yours was going to crack at some point," said Erica. "Took longer than I thought it would."

"I've been resilient for my family," said Dylan.

"I'm your family," said Erica, "and if there's anyone you don't need to be resilient with, it's me. Crack anytime you want."

"Jack McKay didn't do much right in his life, but inadvertently bringing you into my world? That he did well."

"He gave the universe you," said Erica, "and that's enough in itself."

Dylan's talk with Erica had renewed his spirits.

He hadn't felt as energized in weeks, potentially months, as he did preparing the girls' lunches.

He crossed out another day on the calendar, the one he had initially circled in bold red ink with the assertion that BREN COMES HOME.

Flipping the calendar as he waited for the paninis to finish toasting, Dylan circled a new date with the same assertion.

Christmas.

She had to be home by Christmas.

She had instilled in their daughters Christmas magic.

She had instilled in Dylan a love for Christmas that had been absent for a decade until he had met Brenda.

If anyone deserved a bout of alleged Christmas magic, it was her.

Their daughter was a blur herself, smacking a quick kiss on Dylan's cheek before making a beeline for the garage.

"Not so fast, young lady." Dylan blocked the door. "Your purse, please."

"Dad," Adrianna groaned, "do we have to do this every day? Hasn't my attendance at the meetings been enough to prove to you I'm trying?"

"Hey, I don't like it any more than you do," said Dylan. "I don't like not being able to trust my daughter and I don't like checking her purse every morning and every night to ensure she hasn't brought home more drugs. Someday, we'll be in the home stretch, you would've been clean for months, and we won't have to do that anymore. But for now, I gotta do it to protect my daughter the best way I can, so please make it less painless for me."

Adrianna gave Dylan her purse.

He handed it back, having confirmed it was empty of substance.

"Backpack?" said Dylan.

"Also clean," said Adrianna.

"Backpack," said Dylan.

Making her irritation known in a way reminiscent of her mother, Adrianna opened her backpack.

"Clean," said Dylan.

"I told you," said Adrianna. "Now can I go to school?"

"Yeah, we better," said Dylan. "Cal!" he called. "Turn off the ESPN and get a move on, darlin'; I got a shift to get to!"

"I thought you were off today," said Adrianna.

"Clinic called," said Dylan. "They're understaffed and asked if I'd come in."

"Tell me again why you're volunteering at a mental hospital?" asked Adrianna.

"It's helping your mum," said Dylan.

"How is you helping at a mental hospital helping Mum in any way?"

The entrance of Callie dropped Adrianna's question as the two engaged in a quarrel.

Dylan would have never told either of them, but he hadn't minded their fights as much.

It proved to him there could still be some normalcy in his world of shambles.

That Adrianna could still have some normalcy.

He usually brought Callie to school first on an ordinary day when Adrianna didn't have to get to the school early.

This time, he brought Adrianna first.

"Cal," he told his daughter, "let's do something, just the two of us."

"Really?" asked Callie.

The spark in her eyes perfectly matched Brenda's when Dylan had suggested a surf in Ensenada.

"Yeah, really," said Dylan. "How about I call you in sick?"

"I'm not sick, Daddy."

"I may have fibbed a bit and said I had to get to my shift earlier than I did. I still have some time before it. I'll call you in sick, we'll hang out, and then I'll check whether Uncle Brandon is interested in having an assistant at work today."

"You're the best dad ever!" said Callie, filling Dylan's heart.

The lie to Callie's school slipped out easily.

He asked where Callie wanted to go.

The mall, he was told.

"The mall?" asked Dylan.

"I want to see Santa," said Callie.

"Santa? Cal, you haven't believed in Santa since Christy told you he isn't real."

"I don't believe in him," said Callie, "but I still want to talk to him."

"Not sure you can talk to Santa if you don't believe in him," said Dylan.

"You talk to God and you don't believe in Him," said Callie.

Dylan blinked.

"Sorry?" he asked.

"I heard you," she said. "You were talking to God. About Mummy. A God you tell everyone you don't believe in."

"Is that why you're talking to Santa?" asked Dylan. "About Mummy?"

"Can I go see him or not?" asked Callie.

"I don't think he's out yet, darlin'. We can check after Thanksgiving."

He was out at Del Amo, Dylan was told, which is how he found himself parking at a shopping center half an hour away, in Torrance.

Perhaps he could find Brenda a birthday gift.

What could he give her when what he wanted to give her most was her freedom?

The reunification of their family?

Anything else would hold little importance in comparison.

He could get her jewelry.

She had plenty of jewelry.

Tickets to her favorite musical? There was a ticket booth.

He couldn't give her anything tangible, unless he wanted to wait until she was out of Lynwood to give it to her.

He could get some ink, with her name.

Nah. That wasn't him. That was Silver.

He would not have been surprised if David had inked Valerie's and Bryant's names on his skin, as he had Ruby's name inked in.

Dylan found Brandon's gift first.

Brandon wasn't hard to shop for.

Brenda usually wasn't, either.

Nothing in the shops seemed right for her.

Dylan stayed off to the side, receiving inquiring faces about why he had allowed his preteen into a queue with mostly little children.

Santa's face told Dylan precisely what Callie had asked the man in the red suit for.

He almost felt like sitting on Santa's lap and telling the mythical figure his own wishes.

He had never believed in Santa.

Brenda had.

Brenda's daughters may have continued to believe in him, were it not for Christy.

Brenda believed in God, too.

Brenda believed in many things her husband did not.

Perhaps that was why Dylan had spoken to God about her.

Not because he believed, but because Brenda did.

Because Brandon did as well, and both Brenda and Brandon had believed in Dylan when no one else had bothered to try.

He had implored himself upon first slipping into his volunteer smock that he would not become attached to the patients.

He might have been able to stick to that, if he hadn't met Analiese.

Analiese Marigold was her name, a name Dylan had told her sounded more like a middle name than a surname.

At ninety-eight years old precisely, Dylan thought Analiese should have been placed in a care home, rather than in a mental hospital.

He had been drawn to her because of her name.

Analiese.

Brenda's middle name.

She, like his wife, had been a successful actress in her heyday and liked to share stories about how she still was.

He had asked one of the volunteers why Analiese had been brought to that location.

"She doesn't have any family," he had been told. "No money for upkeep at a care home. She can't take care of herself, so that's why she's here. We take care of her."

"But she isn't crazy," said Dylan. "Just elderly."

"It isn't just people considered crazy by society who are here, Mr. McKay. Mrs. Marigold has experienced severe sexual trauma in her lifetime. Mr. Orcino over there; he has crippling bipolar. Ms. Wallington, she has depression. People are brought here so they avoid jail for crimes they didn't commit."

Dylan didn't think he would end up using Analiese Marigold as a sounding board.

He had been wrong.

"My sister says I'm not responsible for my daughter's assault," he said, wiping the dribble of food from Analiese's mouth left over from her earlier breakfast.

"Yes, dear," she said with a pat to his hand. "I told you that."

"I just wish I could get into my wife's headspace," said Dylan. "I wanna know what she's thinking."

"Tell me about the baby," said Analiese. "Brendan, is it?"

"Brendan, yeah," said Dylan. "We call him Bryant 'cause we already have a Bren and a Brandon. Honestly? There's something about the kid. I think we've all fallen a bit in love with him."

Brandon had refused the idea of a birthday party when his twin could not celebrate.

A small gathering, Kelly had called it instead.

Small gatherings weren't possible for groups like theirs, particularly when the kids' groups were tacked on.

No presents, Brandon had said.

That had given Dylan more time to shop, to give Brandon a gift outside of the party that wasn't.

If Brandon had wanted a small gathering that remained a gathering, he shouldn't have invited Steve.

"Why is my twin sister here?" D'Shawn had asked, staring Steve down.

"I ran into her," Steve had said. "We got to talking. She's super interesting. Did you know that?"

"Of course I knew that," said D'Shawn. "She's my sister."

"I thought you told me you got to talking with Clare," said Kelly.

"Clare?" Valerie had asked, fixing the wrap on her chest that had snugly held Bryant as David had played with the baby's sock-adorned feet. "Like the Clare? Broke-your-heart-and-disappeared-when-we-were-stupid-college-kids Clare?"

"Did I forget to tell you she's back?" Steve had asked.

"Uh, I kind of think you forgot to tell all of us; except Kel, evidently," said Dylan.

"Only 'cause I saw them together," said Kelly.

"Together?" asked David. "Together together?"

"Not together together," said Steve. "She's the Chancellor at Mads' school. I ran into her when Kai and I went to visit Mads."

"You ran into her two months ago and didn't tell me?" Valerie had screeched.

David had cringed.

"Shit," said Val as Bryant had made his displeasure with her tone known to everyone.

"I'll get him," David had said.

He had brought Bryant into the other room, leaving Steve to be surrounded by annoyed adults.

"You didn't tell me, either," said Brandon.

"Or me," said Dylan.

"Or me!" said Donna. "Clare and I text all the time and she didn't tell me a word of this!"

"I would've told all of you," said Steve, "but it didn't mean anything and besides, then…Bren."

He hadn't needed to speak further for Dylan to understand.

"So you saw her again," said Brandon.

"She was coming into town for a weekend and went to see Nat at the Pit. I just happened to be there."

"And I happened to walk into the Pit when they were talking," said Kelly.

"Again," said Steve, "it doesn't mean anything."

"Man, you better not be planning to cheat on my twin with your ex," said D'Shawn. "Or I will have to kick your ass."

"He can do it, too," said Dylan. "You'll be pulverized, Sanders. More pulp squeezed out of you than OJ."

"I'm not even dating your twin!" said Steve. "I just invited her to the party!"

"It's not a party," said Brandon.

"It's always a party when I'm in the room," said Steve.

Dylan had excused himself to check on his girls.

When the non-party had begun to wind down, Dylan had taken note of Valerie slumped on the sofa.

More accurately, slumped on the sofa with her head on David's shoulder.

"Uh?" Dylan had asked, pointing at Val.

"Think I'm going to get her home," said David. "Bryant's down for the count, too."

"Silver, she's got her head on your shoulder."

"I know," said David, "and I'm tempted to leave it there, but Val's bed is clearly calling her." David looked at Bryant. "I know this kid isn't mine," he said. "He shouldn't feel like mine, not when we haven't had him long, but…he does. I think he's felt like mine since the first time I held him. Same feeling I had when they put Ruby in my arms."

"I know that feeling," said Dylan. "Stays with you."

"Is it wrong that he feels like the son me and Val never got to have?"

"No. Not wrong. You might be onto something, Silver. 'Cause seeing Bryant with you; sounds terrible with what happened to both his folks, but maybe the kid was always destined to be yours."

"I can't get too attached," said David. "We're only fostering him."

"Adoption probably isn't out of your reach," said Dylan. "Have you considered it?"

"Since the day we saw him," said David. "I think Val's been thinking about adoption, too."

"Tell her you want to adopt Bryant and see what she says."

"I'm still trying to get her to let me live in the same house as them, let alone agree to adopting a kid with me."

"She might surprise you."

Dylan cut off his story when Analiese's lunch was carried in.

"I wanted to hear more," she said in her old, gnarled voice affected by the passages of history.

"I'll tell you more after lunch," he said. "Did you want to hear more about Steve's drama?"

"David and Valerie," said Analiese. "She reminds me of someone."

"Who does she remind you of?"

"Why me, silly," said Analiese.

"You were a Val?" asked Dylan.

"Honey, I was the Val to end all Vals," said Analiese. "It's a wonder I ever settled down with Mr. Marigold at all."

Dylan used the time given to Analiese for her lunch to peruse the filing cabinets.

He had found Gina's file with little trouble.

LL's was harder, considering how many folders of LL's Dylan had come across.

None of them had mentioned a connection to Gina.

Would they mention a connection to Gina?

Brandon was better with the investigations.

Dylan left the office, disheartened.

He always left the office disheartened.

How could a man with his resources, a man with Brandon's connections, not track down the woman who had threatened his wife and children?

There had to be something in those files.

He couldn't look through all of them in one sitting, much as he wanted to.

Temporarily accepting another shift of defeat, Dylan resumed his tale.

"I had an idea," he told Analiese. "I didn't think Silver would go for it."

Dylan had asked if he could borrow Bryant for the evening.

"You want to borrow my son?" David had asked. "I mean…Bryant?"

"The girls need practice waking up to a baby," Dylan had said. "Think about it. You and Val could get the most restful sleep you've had in weeks."

"I don't know," David had said. "Kelly offered for her and Brandon to take him for the night for the same reason and I already turned her down."

"Naomes doesn't need the practice," said Dylan. "My girls do."

"I'm gonna wake Val up and ask her," said David.

He had proceeded to do just that.

"Dylan wants to borrow my son?" Valerie had asked. "I mean…Bryant?"

"Like I told Silver, the girls need practice," said Dylan. "And you look like you could use a drink."

"God," said Val longingly, "I really could. But I can't just hand him off to you for the night."

"Why not?" Dylan had asked. "You're a parent now, and sometimes, parents need breaks. How many times did you tell Bren and I that?"

"I didn't know what I was talking about."

"You knew exactly what you were talking about."

Valerie, he could tell, was on the edge of agreeing, but required a bit more persuasion.

"We do have Don Juan," said David. "Unopened."

"Unopened Don Juan," said Val. "Tempting."

"Alright," said Dylan, "well," he slipped Bryant out from under Silver's hands, "you consider it and in the meantime, I'll get the little guy ready to leave."

"How'd you do that?" asked David, looking from his empty arms to Bryant and back again.

"Years of practice," said Dylan.

Valerie had considered it.

"So what happened?" asked Analiese.

"Bryant went home with us," said Dylan, "and then when I brought him to his home the next morning –"

David had answered, sans shirt.

"You couldn't have put a shirt on?" Dylan had asked.

"Excuse me," said David, "do I need to count every time you or Brandon have opened the door to me without a shirt?"

"For the love of God, man, do not recount the times Brandon's opened the door after he's obviously been doing things Bren doesn't like to think about," said Dylan. "I assume you have not been doing those things, so unless you tell me otherwise, I can only assume you're walking around half-naked until Val agrees to get back with you. Might work. Worked with Bren."

David had been suspiciously quiet when Bryant had been placed into his crib.

"Holy shit," said Dylan, "you did?"

"I'm not sure," said David. "Maybe."

"How can you not be sure?" Dylan had asked. "This isn't high school. You ain't a virgin."

"We kind of drank too much and I'm having trouble clearing the fog to know if we did anything," said David.

"Ah, yeah," said Dylan. "Been there."

"I kind of think we did," said David. "But I can't be too sure because I was definitely in my boxers when I woke up to your loud pounding."

"It wasn't that loud."

"Except I could've woken up at any point and put the boxers back on."

"Well, do you feel like you had sex?" Dylan had asked.

"I always feel like I had sex when I'm around Val," said David.

Analiese swooned.

Dylan hadn't found anything swoon-worthy in Silver's statement.

"What if we did and we didn't use protection?" David had asked.

"I wouldn't worry about that," said Dylan.

"Why not?" David had asked.

Dylan had reached for whatever came to mind first.

"There's a one in a million chance," he had said.

"I should ask her, right?" David had asked. "I should ask her if we had sex?"

"She might know as little about it as you do."

"Fuck," said David, "I was trying not to fall into this pattern with her again. I can't just be her booty call when we're both looking for a fuck."

"Should've laid off the Don Juan," said Dylan. "Or contained it a bit more."

"Yeah okay, you're one to talk," said David.

"Did he engage in intercourse with Valerie or not?" asked Analiese.

"Silver's been too much of a wimp to ask her," said Dylan. "And Val hasn't brought it up with him, either."

"Oh, I do hope they were careful," said Analiese. "That's how Mr. Marigold and I married, you know. Don Juan. Straight to the preacher with that Don Juan."

"Doesn't matter if they weren't," said Dylan. "Val can't have kids. I'm not supposed to tell anyone that except Bren, but maybe you can help me figure out how I can get her to tell Silver. Bren says I have to let Val tell him on her own, but Val refuses to do so."

Dylan's shift ended, but not before Analiese told him she would think about it and come up with a plan.

He stood outside Casa Walsh, ringing the doorbell a second time.

"Hi, Uncle Dylan," Naomi let him in.

"Hey, Naomes," said Dylan. "Your dad ready?"

"He's cleaning up," said Naomi.

Dylan made for the stairs.

He got to halfway up the staircase.

"Ooh, I wouldn't go in there, if I were you," said Naomi. "I heard Mom giggling and talking to Dad about birthday fun. We really need to soundproof this house. Or move."

Dylan leapt off the staircase.

"Took you long enough," he told Brandon, relieved to see Brandon come down the stairs fully clothed.

And, noticeably, fully satiated.

"We said six," said Brandon.

"You get to be with your wife on your birthday," said Dylan. "I want to be with my wife on hers."

"Cal made a great assistant," said Brandon. "She might be a natural in the newsroom."

"She's sure read the sports sections enough," said Dylan.

"How'd you get the sporty daughter and I got two kids who want nothing to do with sports unless the team's hot?" asked Brandon.

"I ask myself that all the time," said Dylan.

He saw the shape of his twins before he saw his wife.

She took careful steps, using her palms on either side of her back to help her walk.

"The twins giving you a hard time?" he asked.

"It's this belly," said Brenda. "It has me unbalanced. I could barely get up this morning. My new cellmate helped me."

Brenda was talking.

That was good.

Perhaps the others had been correct.

Perhaps it had been her grief over Kris that had spurred on her silence.

"Can I see it?" asked Dylan. "The belly?"

"You are seeing it," said Brenda.

"Brandon hasn't seen the twins," said Dylan. "He'd like to see them. Wouldn't you, B?"

"I would?" asked Brandon.

Dylan kicked the toe of Brandon's shoe.

"Oof – yeah, I would," said Brandon, kicking Dylan back.

"I've been seeing them a little more than usual lately," said Brenda. "You might see them. You might not."

"I'm taking my chance on might," said Dylan.

Brenda stood from her seat, with her shirt lifted.

Dylan zoned in on her stomach.

He waited.

"I'm not keeping my shirt up forever," said Brenda.

"We see them," said Dylan and Brandon, in unison.

One surfer, paddling upstream.

Then another.

"That right there are our kids," said Dylan. "I made them. With your sister."

"Do you have to say that every time Bren's pregnant?" asked Brandon.

"Yes," said Dylan.

Brenda returned to her chair.

Encouraged, Dylan continued talking.

"What's your new cellmate's name?" he asked, thinking Brenda would appreciate him taking an interest in the happenings of her life.

"I've not bothered to learn it," said Brenda. "What's the point when I'm just going to get her killed, anyway?"

That was not good.

That was more of something he would say, something his Brenda would adamantly deny.

"At least this one isn't pregnant," said Brenda. "So she can't go into early labor."

"You didn't kill Kris," said Dylan.

"She went into early labor because of me," said Brenda. "And then she died of complications, which she wouldn't have had if she hadn't gone into early labor. I killed her."

"Why do you think Kris went into early labor because of you?" asked Brandon.

Dylan also wanted to know that answer.

Brenda left Brandon's question suspended in the air, unanswered.

Recalling Erica's advice, Dylan moved on to the topic of Brenda's gift.

"I had to get you one," he told her. "Just like I do every year. Except nothing seemed right."

"Think you're covered this year," said Brenda. "Since I've got your last gifts mistaking my belly for a surfboard and giving me pelvic pain worse than anything I got with our daughters. Though that might be due more to my living situation and less to the twins."

"They're the best gifts I could give you this year, by far," said Dylan, "but this one isn't too far off." He slapped a piece of paper against the glass.

"Print's too blurred," said Brenda. "What does it say?"

"It's the Judge's decision in Gina's filing," said Dylan. "Bren, we did it. We got the examination. We're gonna find out how that baby was lost, we're gonna find out it wasn't the fall, and you are gonna get out of here," his momentum decreased, "…in five weeks."

"Five weeks?" asked Brenda.

"That's when the hospital says the results will be ready," said Dylan. "Five weeks. I tried to get it in less. It's supposed to take six to eight, so I did get it in less, but not by much."

Brenda's lips began to move, the way they did when she was attempting to do additions in her head.

"Christmas," Brandon told her. "You should be getting out of here, right on Christmas."

"Wanted you out much sooner than that," said Dylan. "But I know this is gonna work, Bren. I know this exam is going to tell the court what we already know. Our family didn't kill Gina's baby. It didn't. You're gonna get out of here. You are."

Brenda covered her face with her hands.

"Bren?" asked Dylan.

"That's," emotion snagged her voice, "that's the best gift you could have given me, Dylan. This and our children are probably the best gifts you have ever given me."

"I can think of a few more," said Dylan.

"Not around her brother," said Brandon.

Dylan showed Brenda the cards that their daughters had each made for her, the pictures he had printed off from his mobile at a Walgreens photo counter.

"Adrianna wrote you a letter, too," said Dylan, "but she wanted you to get it through the post. She said that's how you would've done it; through the post. I might've thrown in one there of my own. I know this isn't the birthday either of us planned for you, Bren, but it doesn't have to suck."

"It won't suck," said Brandon. "I'm staying the night."

"Still incredibly unfair," said Dylan.

"I take it back," said Brenda. "You two getting along again like this, that's another of the best gifts you have both given me."

"It's an alliance," said Brandon. "We allied together to get you out of here."

"It started out as an alliance," said Dylan, "but I think we're back in brother territory, B. Don't you? Or did I mishear you calling me your brother again?"

"You didn't mishear it," said Brandon, "but after all of the shit I told you?"

"I said some shit to you that probably hurt you equally as much," said Dylan.

"I still can't be certain you didn't cheat on my sister," said Brandon.

"She still can't be certain, either," said Dylan. He focused in on Brenda, who appeared flush. "B, I'd like a moment with my wife."

"It's just as well," said Brandon. "I'll start bringing my stuff into the apartment."

"How many things did you bring?" asked Dylan.

"Just a few things," said Brandon. "A few Minnesota Twins birthday staples."

"Butter pecan?" asked Brenda.

"Wouldn't be our birthday without butter pecan," said Brandon.

Dylan hadn't been alone with Brenda in the visiting room before.

In their few visits, Brandon would intrude.

"I wanted to check in on you," said Dylan, more nervously than he typically was around Brenda. "See how you're doing after…you know…"

"After Kris?" asked Brenda.

"You haven't said much to me lately," said Dylan. "Is it because I overstepped? Holding you in hospital like that? Being cuffed to you? Did I make you uncomfortable, babes?"

"No," said Brenda. "No, it isn't because you held me. I've not really wanted to speak with anyone lately, Dylan; least of all you."

"Why least of all me?" he asked. "What aren't you telling me, Bren?"

"Val called me," said Brenda. "Did you know she might've shagged David?"

"It may have come up, yes. Brenda, you're avoiding the question."

"She thinks she did," said Brenda. "She's upset because she doesn't want David to think he's a booty call, but she keeps fucking him when she's looking for a fuck."

"They're two wildly sexual people," said Dylan. "It's amazing they've both held off as long as they have."

"You're a wildly sexual person, too," said Brenda.

"We aren't doing this," said Dylan.

"What aren't we doing?"

"You're about to tell me yet again how I should go find someone new to fuck and I'm about to tell you yet again that I'm not bloody interested. You're coming home in five weeks. I can wait five more weeks."

"What if I don't want to shag you in five weeks?"

"I'll wait five more weeks. Ten weeks. Fifteen. Twenty-five. Fifty. However long it takes until you're ready for a shag. Which you will be, because by the time you come home, you'll be knee-deep into your third trimester, horny as fuck, and we both know me and my glorious fingers are the only things that can satisfy you."

He had upset her.

He had somehow upset her by mentioning his fingers.

Why?

Brenda loved having his fingers inside her, almost as much as she loved having him inside her.

Why would his mention of his fingers upset her?

Was it the fucking divorce again?

Was that what it came down to? Brenda's desire for a fucking divorce?

"I'm getting a vasectomy, by the way," said Dylan. "Thought you should know."

"You are?" asked Brenda. "What brought on this decision?"

"Something Silver said. He thinks Gina's become obsessed with getting pregnant again, and I'm not gonna let her have the opportunity to make up another lie about how I got her knocked up, twice. We've got four little darlins. That's enough for me."

"You used to talk about six."

"Do you not want me to get the vasectomy?"

"You can choose to do whatever you want with your body," said Brenda.

"What about with yours?" asked Dylan.

Her lips moved.

Fuck, I'm horny, Dylan thought he read across Brenda's lips. Was it because I'm horny? Was it that obvious?

He was usually excellent at lipreading Brenda.

He couldn't have lipread her correctly.

It didn't make sense.

Was what obvious?

"Please, babes," said Dylan. "Please tell me what's sprinting through that beautiful, brilliant head of yours."

"I can't," said Brenda. "I can't," she reiterated.

"Why can't you? You used to tell me everything."

"Don't press me, Dylan."

"Quit shutting me out, Bren!"

"Maybe I don't want to tell you everything," said Brenda. "Did you ever consider that? Huh?"

So much for giving his wife a festive birthday.

Perhaps Brandon's overnighter would salvage it.

"I love you," said Dylan, tempted to tear down the glass partition between them with his bare hands. He might have done, had the chance not been high that glass shards would rain down onto Brenda. "I know you no longer believe it, but I do love you. Have since I was sixteen. Will long after the Earth stops turning and the Sun develops frostbite."

"I do believe it," said Brenda, "and that's why I don't want to tell you everything. For our kids' sakes. For your sake. Just let it go, Dylan, alright?" A glistening sheath dropped over Brenda's face, one that prevented Dylan from reading between the lines of what she wouldn't tell him. "Let it go. Accept I don't want a shag. Accept that we aren't together. Accept that we aren't going to get back together and accept that there are things in my life you don't need to know if it doesn't pertain to our children."

What the hell was that supposed to mean?

"You just said it does pertain to our children," said Dylan. "Brenda, you said, and I quote, 'for our kids' sakes.' That pertains to our children; ergo, it is something I need to know, per your words. What the fuck aren't you telling me and when the fuck did we start keeping secrets from each other?"

"Oh, I don't know," Brenda snapped, "maybe when you started drinking again."

She may as well have flung a javelin into his heart.

"Shit," said Brenda, "I – I didn't mean to throw that in your face – I know you're fighting to stay sober…Dylan, I'm – I'm sorry, just…please don't press me, okay? Don't."

He couldn't be too angry with her, not when he was the king of lashing out in his hurt.

Was Brenda hurt?

How? Why?

Was it still over Gina's fucking lie, or was there more to it?

"You lashed out at me," said Dylan. "You lash out when you're covering up. Brenda, I'm not letting this go. I'm not letting you go. I've done that too many times before and it ain't happening again, no matter how much you push for it. I will not raise our kids in a broken home. I will not let us be broken. Whatever has you hurt like this, I need to know. What are you covering and dammit, woman! why won't you tell me?"

Dylan hated the fucking time clock on their visits.

If they had let him stay longer, if he could have been included in another family visit, maybe he could have gotten Brenda to open up.

Open up about what? It bothered him that he didn't know, that he didn't have the tiniest inkling.

Had he been wrong, what he had told Erica?

Had distance weakened the connection between him and Brenda?

Had he been correct, and Erica wrong?

Did Brenda blame him for Adrianna's visit to the motel room?

Almost sideswiped by a car on the rain-soaked highway, Dylan pulled off to the shoulder.

The persistent ring of his mobile tore into his self-loathing.

"I'm going to kill him," said the knitting ball of fury who answered Dylan's stiff greeting. "I'm going to fucking kill him."

"Woah. Slow down, Silver," said Dylan. "Take a breath and explain to me who you're planning to kill, and why."

"My so-called brother," said David. "Steve Sanders is a fucking dead man."

"Can't say I haven't wanted to kill Sanders myself a time or two or four," said Dylan, "but what brought on this sudden urge for the violent bloodshed of your longtime, very close brother?"

"If he was a very close brother, he wouldn't have done what he did," said David. "Not with her. With anyone but her!"

"What'd he do?" asked Dylan. "Fucked Val?"

"I wish he'd fucked Val," said David. "It's worse. A billion times worse."

Dylan couldn't imagine what Steve could have done that David would think was a billion times worse than sleeping with Valerie.

"Val said she's filing for adoption," said David. "'Great!' I thought. 'Now's my chance to tell her I got the paperwork for us to file for it, too.'"

"And she took it so badly she…went to Stevie?"

"Oh, she'd already gone to Stevie," said David. "She'd gone to Stevie when she heard from the attorney that despite California allowing single individuals to adopt, with Val's record, it would look better if she were married."

"Okay, then there's an obvious solution here," said Dylan, perplexed by David being unable to think of the solution himself. "Your record's mostly clean," said Dylan. "Ask Val to marry you so you can adopt Bryant together. Problem solved."

"That is exactly what I had planned to do," said David. "I was there when she got the news from the attorney. I started planning it then and there. Would've been the perfect proposal."

"Would've been?"

"Would've been," said David, "because Val's already agreed to get married."

"What?" asked Dylan. His chin hit the dashboard. "I'm sorry, come again? Val? Our Val? Is getting married? Does she have a boyfriend we don't know about?"

"He offered. He offered, and she accepted!"

"Who offered?"

"Steve fucking Sanders," said David. "Steve and Val are getting married."

Of all the preposterous ideas Valerie had concocted over the years, Dylan decided that had to be in the top five, if not right up there at number one.

"Val's love for the size of men's bank accounts strikes again," bemoaned David. "I was ridiculous to think she could accept an average-sized bank account like mine, when the Sanders fortune could be hers. It's what she's always wanted, isn't it? Wealth. Riches. Fortune. Power. All things Steve can give her, that I can't. All things Colin and Noah could give her, that I can't. Tom couldn't, and he got tossed aside just like me."

"Colin? Noah? Tom? Silver, why the hell are you bringing up Val's exes all of a sudden? She hates Colin. She's hated him since he played her for a fool."

"He's got money now," said David. "Made it big in the art world, as an art dealer. Has riches I'll never have. Riches that give him power, connections; just not to the level of a Sanders or a McKay."

"Leave McKays out of this," said Dylan. "Val has power. She's the sought-after CEO of a major Los Angeles organization. She's got clients in the elite branches of Hollywood, for fuck's sake."

"She wanted more," said David. "The kind of power where she can swan into a courtroom and get what she wants on her last name alone. I don't have that. Sons of Rush Sanders do."

"You aren't destitute, Silver."

"I'm not rich, either," said David. "What I am is an idiot, the same idiot I was the last time I tried this. Except this time, I thought maybe Val's answer would be different. I'm a fucking idiot."

"The last time?" asked Dylan, but David would not elaborate.

"You could still propose to her," said Dylan. "Give her the option."

"And have her laugh in my face?" asked David. "Forget it."

"C'mon, she wouldn't do that."

"I didn't think she'd get engaged to my best friend, either, but I was clearly wrong about that. Shouldn't be surprised. I'm pretty sure they fucked when we were broken up. 'He's like a brother to me, David. We haven't been together in eons' my ass."

"If Val went to him first, sounds like he's doing her a favor."

"That's what he wants you to think. It's all part of his plan. He's been working on it for years. Slowly. Diabolically."

"Silver, man, I think you're losing it. What are you on about?"

"He got his kid in her. He got his ring on her. He got her to commit, twice. He got everything I've wanted with her. And now she's got my son in the mix, who Steve's probably gonna want to adopt, himself. Steve Sanders is dead to me. He's dead."

"Talk to Val," said Dylan. "Let her explain."

"She's out with Bryant and her new fiancé," said David. "I gotta get out of here. Go to a club. Get hammered. Fuck someone, like you would do if it were Bren. Blonde, brunette, redhead, purple, blue, or green, any of them will do. Bodyshot. From behind. Fuck Val right out of my head."

"Which is why I can tell you how horrible of an idea that is," said Dylan. "And I really didn't need that image, Silver."

"I'm going to fight her," said David. "If she tries to get my ex-best friend to adopt Bryant, I will fight them both on it."

"She'll never forgive you," said Dylan.

"So be it," said David, "because if she tries to take my son with her new fiancé, then I'll never forgive her, either."

"Think this over before you do something monstrously moronic that you can't take back. You've been Val's best friend. You've been lovers. You've had some fights. You've been distant. But you've never been enemies. Do you want Val as your enemy?"

"Whatever happens from this point forward is entirely due to her," said David. "She's jerked me around for the last time."

"Didn't you break up with her? Twice?"

"Would've never broken up with her at all if she didn't crave money. And that's what it boils down to again. Money. It always boils down to money with her. You know what? Fuck Val. Fuck her!"

"Silver, tell me you took your meds today," said Dylan. "Silver? Silver, if you've touched anything, I'm dragging your arse to a meeting right now, even if I have to drive up to Atascadero to find one!"

David was no longer on the line.

"Fuck!" said Dylan, trying and failing to get David back on the phone.

Dylan understood his thirst for blood.

He would have latched on to the same, had it been Brenda who had worn Steve's ring and planned to adopt her foster child with him, instead.

Now that was an idea Dylan truly could have done without.

Dammit, Silver.

-x

Unless Val was convicted for homicide, there isn't much in her past that would disqualify her from adopting as a single mother in California, but we're still going with it. Despite the research seemingly showing otherwise, I doubt a court would be terribly pleased to permit a single mother to adopt who had been implicated in a gambling ring and arrested for prostitution, despite the charge for the latter being dropped - not to mention whatever came of Valerie's alleged homicide.

Sources: Google and the website for Minella Law Group.

(Shout-out to KJ to express my continued gratitude and appreciation, as well as those of you whose review I could respond to directly. Thank you, KJ! I thought if anyone could help Ade see what she's facing if she continues spending time around Jeffie, it would be Donna. And of course with the gang's addictions, they would also be quite helpful. Would have been nice if canon Adrianna had been supported by the recovering addicts of the group; she was supported by Kelly, but they didn't delve into Kel's history much. Bren's support of Ade was lovely, but Dylan or David would have been better.)

Thanks a million!