Thirty-two.
He had been thirty-two fortnights into his recovered sobriety when he had been invited by his fiancée's extended family to their Minnesota cabin for the Christmas holiday.
He had informed his fiancée that he did not wish to be an imposition and could remain in London for the holiday if her family would prefer that she flew solo.
"Don't be silly," she had said. "Grandma said you're part of the family. You don't want to disappoint Grandma, do you?"
"Did she say that begrudgingly, like Jimbo did when we told him?"
"Dad will come around…eventually. He did before."
"Bren, he's repeatedly asked when you're going to call off the wedding."
"That's too bad for him because I have no intention of calling off this wedding," Brenda had said. "Do you?" she had asked as she had gathered a chunk of Dylan's ass into her inviting hands.
"You do that and I'll be forced to cancel your trip," Dylan had teased. "There's no rule that says I have to share my woman with her entire family for Christmas."
"Our trip," said Brenda, "to see our family." She had kissed along Dylan's bottom lip. "You don't have to be nervous, love."
"What if they don't approve of me?" Dylan had asked. His hands had scoped out Brenda's back. "Your Grandma approved of Stuart."
"Is that why you didn't meet any of my grandparents at my parents' anniversary? Because of Stuart?"
"I was a bit too floored to meet anyone, what with your announcement and everything."
"You're better than Stuart in every conceivable way," Brenda had said, "and if Bobby had been there, he would've seen right through Stuart from the beginning."
"Then we would've gotten back together sooner?" Dylan had asked.
"No, probably not, but maybe a much nicer guy would've come along who would've made you a bit jealous."
"Brenda Walsh bores easily of nice guys," Dylan had replied.
"Brenda almost-McKay likes her nice guys with a bit of an edge," Brenda had said.
"Guy," Dylan had corrected. "Singular." He had swept Brenda towards him. "Come here, you."
Brenda's thighs had tucked around his waist. Dylan had raised her up to his height until her bare back had hit the wall.
"Have I mentioned lately how often we're going to do this when we're married?" he had breathed against her decadent neck.
"I think you said a couple hundred times a day," she had said.
"A couple thousand times a day is more accurate," he had said.
"I would be chronically pregnant. You're against that."
"I wouldn't say I'm against it."
"Before Sammy was born, you were adamantly against it."
"Maybe seeing you with Sammy changed my mind," said Dylan. "You're a natural with kids, Bren. Maybe, in the future, I might be more willing to consider it. Six might not be so bad."
"Uh-uh." Brenda had swung out her neck from the reach of Dylan's mouth, depriving him of the succulent flavor he had indulged in daily. "Two kids. Max."
Dylan had locked their hands over Brenda's head. "I thought you wanted your kids to have a big family."
"They would have a big family," she had said. "A massive extended family."
"Five?"
"Three. That's my limit."
"If, hypothetically, I decided I would potentially be an okay dad, then I think I can put three in you."
"Ladies and gentlemen," Brenda had announced to no one in particular, "the ego rears its head."
"Isn't ego," Dylan had said. "Rather my unquenchable thirst for you."
"You sure know how to sweet-talk them, McKay."
"These days, I'm only sweet-talking one little lady."
"Excuse you, I am not little."
"Oh baby, you are very little. That's how I like my women. Short and feisty."
"Women?" Brenda had feigned a disinterest in their intimacy.
"Women," said Dylan, "because you, Brenda Walsh soon-to-be McKay, would have girls that might be short. And feisty."
"Or tall," said Brenda, "like their Daddy."
"You weren't going to start packing, were you?" He had asked.
"No, why?"
"Because this conversation has made me ravenous," he had said. "Ravenously seeking my dream girl."
"We better fix that," said Brenda.
Dylan had slammed into her. He had ridden Brenda as he would ride a bull at a rodeo, until they were both spent.
When they had finished their first round against the wall, they had moved into the bedroom for their second.
"I wanted to give you something," she had said, reaching up to the closed compartment on their bedframe. "An early Christmas gift. Something you can use when we're in Minnesota."
He had held the fluffy stocking with all the care that he had seen people on television hold lit candles during Christmas Eve candlelight services.
"What's this?" he had asked, fingering the material.
"As I said," said Brenda, "you're a Walsh now, and we each get a stocking to hang on Grandma's fireplace. She probably has one set out for you, but I saw this one in the shop window and it reminded me of –"
"Of the Baja coastline," Dylan had finished. "It's perfect, baby. I love it."
Brenda had barely caught her breath after the strenuous workout of their third round when she had spoken again.
"You'll have to come to Minnesota if you want your other present," she had said.
"Why don't you give it to me now?" Dylan had suggested.
"Nope," said Brenda. "Either you open it at Grandma's, or you don't open it at all."
The stocking had convinced him to fly to Minneapolis, but he had let Brenda think his agreement was due solely to the mysterious present.
Brandon and Bobby had pulled the international couple aside from the bustle of a combined Walsh-Beevis Christmas.
"Bren told Bobby and I how well you've been doing with your sobriety," Brandon had said. "We wanted to get you something, kind of a combined congratulatory, official welcome to the family, P.S. it's Christmas kind of gift."
He had given Dylan a wrapped gift long in width and height.
"I have a surfboard," Dylan had said.
"You're in Minnesota now," Bobby had said. "This might be a little more appropriate."
Dylan had torn off the wrapping.
"You told them?" he had asked Brenda.
"I may have mentioned that there was a promised family trip to Heavenly in your childhood that never transpired," said Brenda, "and these boys may have been inspired from that."
"Plus, we never did make it to Mammoth that day," Brandon had noted.
"I can't accept this," Dylan had said. "It's too much."
"How the tables have turned," said Brandon.
"Accept it, man," said Bobby. "If you're going to be a Walsh, you ought to learn how to snowboard. Isn't that right, G.G.?" he had called out.
"G.G.?" Dylan had asked.
When Bobby had been little, Brenda had explained, he had been unable to refer to their grandmother as anything other than G.G.
"It stuck and he still calls her that," said Brandon.
"Bren, where's your special gift you dragged me all this way for?" Dylan had asked.
"Maybe it would be better to give them to you next year." Brenda had acted coy. "I can't top a snowboard."
"Next year, I'm locking you up in our flat," said Dylan, "and making sweet –"
"Do not finish that sentence," Brandon and Bobby had warned, in unison.
It had taken some coaxing, but Brenda had revealed Dylan's present.
"You got me ice-skates?" he had asked, sliding his hand over the shiny blades.
"You don't have to feel pressured to skate," Brenda had rushed out, "but it's kind of a thing in this family, so I thought if you had your own pair, I could at least teach you, but if you don't think that's the greatest ide –"
"Woah." Dylan had held up his hand. "Darlin', slow down. I gladly accept this invitation to enroll in private ice-skating lessons with Brenda Analiese."
"You do?" she had asked.
"Sure I do," he had said. "Any excuse I can get to get you on your arse."
"You said arse."
"No, I didn't."
"Yes, you did. Is England taking the California boy out of you?"
"Keep talking like that and I'll put a California boy in you."
"Dylan! Not in front of my grandma!"
"Why? You got a curfew or somethin'?"
Dylan had succeeded in falling, repeatedly.
He had taken Brenda down with him on the last fall.
"You okay, baby?" he had asked.
She had nodded as he had taken hold of her face.
"Let's do this every year," she had said.
"Christmas in Minnesota?" he had asked.
"This," she had gestured around the frozen lake where they had managed to secure a bit of privacy from Brenda's overbearing cousins, "skating."
"You want me to fall every year?"
On the contrary, Brenda had said; she had envisioned Dylan skating around with their future children.
"So I'll have to practice?" he had asked.
"You'll have to practice," she had said.
Aged thirty-two, he had made her vision a reality.
He had gone slowly around the rink with an unsteady Adrianna as Brenda had held their seven-month-old Calista.
"No, Daddy, like this." Adrianna had shown Dylan the way Brenda had shown her.
"Daddy isn't too great at this, kiddo," Dylan had said.
"You need practice," Adrianna had said. "Lots and lots of practice."
"Like when you go snowboarding with the boys," said Brenda. "You get plenty of practice with that."
"Are my girls picking on me?" Dylan had asked.
"Pick on you? No, of course not," Brenda had said, dragging out the latter half of her sentence.
"Alright, Miss Figure Skater," said Dylan as he had returned to the edge of the rink, "you skate with our daughter and I'll hold Miss Callie here."
"I've not skated since –" Brenda had begun.
"Since two winters ago," said Dylan. "You need a little practice, don't you think? A little brush-up?"
"You do need practice, Mummy," said Adrianna.
"You've turned my own daughter against me," said Brenda.
"I'm prepping her for a Walsh-Beevis Christmas," said Dylan. "Speaking of which; Adrianna," he had produced an item from his shopping bag, "I've got an early Christmas gift for you."
"Gift?" Adrianna had asked. "What gift?"
"We ask for the gift nicely," said Brenda, lacing up her skates.
"Sorries, Mummy," said Adrianna. "Please may I have the gift, Daddy?"
Dylan had given Adrianna her gift.
"You're a Walsh," he said, "and Walshes get stockings to hang up on Great-Grandma's fireplace."
He hadn't bought his daughter her first Christmas stocking to sexually arouse his wife, but he had done so nevertheless.
Just as he had done when he had bought Adrianna her first pair of skates.
Neither he nor Adrianna had touched their skates.
The stockings hadn't been hung up.
It was Christmas Eve; a Christmas Eve devoid of all cheer.
Thirty-two.
He had informed Brenda of the number in their daily call.
They were on week thirty-two and in week thirty-two, the damn test results were supposed to be ready.
He should have received them earlier in the day.
He had been twice assured that the results would be ready on the day of Christmas Eve.
What's the damn holdup? he could have screamed into the phone, if his voice hadn't gone hoarse from all the other screaming he had been doing into the wind at the sparsely visited Overlook.
He imagined Brenda alongside him in those nights at the Overlook, looking out over the cunning lights of Los Angeles.
"Mum could still come home tomorrow," Callie told her father. "Santa won't let us down, Daddy."
"Aunt Donna invited you girls to midnight Mass," said Dylan robotically. "If you want to go, Rubes will be by later to pick you up."
"Can I pray for Mummy at midnight Mass?" asked Callie. "Maybe God can give Santa a little push."
"I think you can pray for anything, Cal," said Dylan. "But I'm not sure how much it will help, at this point."
"I gotta at least try," said Callie. "It isn't Christmas yet."
"Callie can go," said Adrianna. "Ruby won't want to see me."
"Backtrack," said Dylan, plopping himself beside Adrianna. "Ruby won't want to see you?"
"We had a fight," said Adrianna. "She wanted me to choose her side over Kai's. I told her I'm not choosing sides. And then Kai got mad at me because I wouldn't choose his side, so now they're both mad at me."
"Sides?" asked Dylan. "Why are we picking sides?"
"We aren't," said Adrianna, with all the patience a middle school history teacher gives an inattentive student, "and that's why they're mad."
"I got that," said Dylan. "What are these sides?"
"If you side with Kai, you want Uncle Steve and Auntie Val to have a real marriage," Adrianna explained. "If you side with Ruby, you think Uncle David and Auntie Val belong together."
"Guess Kai will be mad at me next," said Dylan. "Where does Naomes stand in all of this?"
"She sides with Rubes, so Kai's mad at her, too, and when I told Naomes that, she got mad at me," said Adrianna.
"If they're all mad at you, we could skip Christmas tomorrow," said Dylan. "I could take you girls up to –"
Not Bear Valley, he thought. That's the spot I took Bren.
Heavenly's out, too.
Let's go more north.
He hadn't taken Brenda beyond Mt Shasta.
There weren't memories to avoid if he took their girls more north than Mt Shasta.
"Oregon," said Dylan. "I could take you girls up to Oregon."
Adrianna's face crumpled.
"Does that mean Mum isn't coming home for Christmas?" she asked.
"I don't think they'll contact us about the test on Christmas," said Dylan.
"Will she – will she be here for my play?" asked Adrianna.
"Oh baby, she's going to try," said Dylan. "I'm going to try to get her to your play."
"If Mum isn't going to be here for Christmas," said Adrianna, "then we should take down these stupid decorations. And the stupid tree. And the stupid wreath!"
Dylan stopped her after the tearing down of the first decoration.
"I hate them," said Adrianna. "I hate these decorations! I hate this tree! I hate that wreath! Why did I make that stupid wreath!"
"It isn't stupid," said Dylan, holding his little girl. "You don't hate any of it. You just hate that Mum isn't here to share in it."
"I do hate it," said Adrianna. "I hate Christmas! I'll forever hate Christmas!"
"What's this about hating Christmas?" Brandon walked through the door.
"Don't you knock?" asked Dylan.
"It's my sister's house," said Brandon. "Ade, I've never known you to hate Christmas," he added, aligning his eyes with Kelly's nonverbal concern.
"I hate it this year," said Adrianna. "And I'll hate it always."
"That's too bad," said Kelly, "because Naomi and I were planning to do a little last-minute shopping for Steve's –"
"And Val's," said Brandon.
"Yes, I was getting to that," said Kelly. "Steve's and Val's shindig tomorrow and I thought you might want to come along with us."
"Naomes isn't speaking to me," said Adrianna.
"I think you'll find that your cousins will be a little friendlier after the principal had to bring their fathers in to discuss a few things," said Brandon. "On the topic of discussing a few things…" He brought his focus to Dylan. "How's your sack, McKay?"
"Really?" asked Dylan. "In front of my kid?"
"Says the worst offender of them all," said Brandon.
"Come on, honey, I'll drive you over," said Kelly. She took Adrianna's hand. "Should we invite Callie along?"
"Cal's going to Donna's before they go to Mass," said Dylan.
"Oh," said Kelly, "I didn't know Callie has gotten into that sort of thing."
"I think she's seeking out whatever will get Bren home," said Brandon. "Can't say I blame her. It does make you pray a little more than you maybe have in years."
He ain't wrong, thought Dylan.
Kelly's persuasive powers worked on Adrianna. With a kiss to Brandon, Kelly was off, Adrianna in tow.
"What can I do you for, Walsh?" asked Dylan, unscrewing the lid of an iced-over Cherry Coke for Brandon.
"How's the balls?" asked Brandon.
"Still sting like a motherfucker," said Dylan, "but as I've seen my wife go through childbirth twice, I can confirm it ain't nothing like childbirth."
"So, you're snipped," said Brandon. "How's it feel?"
"Different," said Dylan. "Kind of freeing. For starters, your sister and I can have endless sex once I get her back in my bed and –"
"Have I mentioned I hate you? Loathe, detest, and truly despise you?"
"Numerous times. And once Gina finds out, I'm not a walking target for her anymore."
"You do know that means she'll glomp onto Silver."
"She's been glomping. She's tried to get my baby twice now. I wasn't sticking around for her to go for try three. Is that why you dropped by? To ask about my balls and warn me about Gina's plan with Silver?"
Not quite, said Brandon.
"You've been gathering details at the psychiatric hospital, haven't you?" asked Brandon.
"Been trying to," said Dylan.
"There's a man I want you to check out," said Brandon. "His estranged wife called the office to say he's missing."
"She called a newspaper office to report a missing person?"
"Alleges the police weren't helpful," said Brandon, "which is a story of its own. You know anything about a Furies?"
"Furies?"
The name did sound familiar, though Dylan could not pinpoint anyone he had known with the surname of Furies.
Perhaps Brenda had met a Furies, in her multitude of acquaintances.
"This guy," Brandon brought out a version of the newspaper that seemed to be a draft, "his last name's Furies. He was a patient in the hospital at one point. Could you look him up for me?"
"I know this guy." Dylan ripped the paper out of Brandon's hands. "I fucking loathe this guy."
"One of those guys from your scandalous youth?" asked Brandon. "Someone from Eve's?"
"Lynwood," said Dylan. "He's Bren's guard. One of Bren's guards. Let his fingers linger a little too long on her wrist when he was taking his precious time removing her cuff during our visit. Then, he blatantly ogled my wife's goodies, while I was standing right there! B, I was seconds away from clocking the guy and making a run for it with Bren."
"You sure you weren't reading too much into things because it was another guy hanging around your wife?"
"If he'd looked at your wife the way he looked at mine, you'd loathe him, too," said Dylan. "I hope he stays missing. In fact, I hope he tripped into a brook somewhere. Better still if he's dead, rotting into a distorted carcass for the vultures to find."
"Wow," said Brandon, "I've never heard you say that about anyone. You really do loathe this guy."
"You didn't notice it, when he brought Brenda in for your visit?"
He hadn't, said Brandon, informing Dylan that the guard who had been with Brenda at the hospital had escorted her into the apartment for their birthday visit.
"How long did the wife say Furies has been missing?" asked Dylan.
"Her kid noticed it about a week ago," said Brandon. "Could've been longer. He wasn't close with his kid. If your loathing of him prevents you from helping me out, I could ask arou –"
"I'll check the files," said Dylan. "When Bren comes home, don't mention this to her."
"Don't mention her former guard is missing?"
"I want her to have little reminder of that place as possible. Don't bring him up."
"If it'll help my sister, I won't mention him to her at all," said Brandon. "New week started?"
Thirty-two, said Dylan.
"Those must be the strongest twins in existence," said Brandon.
"Second strongest," said Dylan.
He passed Christmas Eve continuing to ice his balls, as he had been instructed, staring at the stockings Brenda would have been disappointed to see had not been hung up.
He thrust them up on hooks before he went to bed.
Above his pair of discarded skates.
He slept fitfully, unsure whether he had truly slept at all.
Dylan had often slept fitfully, since his nightmares had increased seventyfold about Brenda.
He half-expected to find her sitting under the tree when he awoke, as she had done the Christmas they were expecting Callie.
The house was disappointingly, despairingly quiet.
His mobile was more so.
Not a damn voicemail in sight.
"Oregon?" Dylan asked his girls. "We can leave after breakfast. Ring Mum from the road."
"We should pop 'round to Uncle Steve's," said Callie. "Mum would want us to spend a little time with family today."
"Today's just another day," said Adrianna.
Dylan's thoughts on the day matched his oldest daughter's.
Still, Calista was correct.
"We'll give it twenty." Dylan peeked at his daughters in the overhead mirror. "Then we'll leave."
"How long does it take to get to Oregon?" asked Callie.
"About fifteen and a half hours," said Dylan. "That's assuming we don't hit traffic along the way."
"We will," said Adrianna. "It's LA."
"Fifteen and a half?" asked Callie.
To get to Cannon Beach.
"I was thinking we could check out the surf there," said Dylan. "Supposed to be great surf in December."
"But we don't surf on Christmas," said Callie. "We go to the mountains."
"You take out your old snowboard," said Adrianna. "Then you and Uncle Brandon scout out the best powder."
"And we stay with Mum to help make Christmas dinner," said Callie.
"Then we skate until nightfall," said Adrianna.
"Usually through nightfall," said Callie.
"This year," said Dylan, "we surf. We'll find a nice restaurant along the way."
"Okay." Callie's disappointment lingered upon her features.
"Don't be too disappointed," said Dylan. "You love to surf, Little Fish."
"Yes," said Callie, "but I love to surf when Mum is there to watch us and cheer us on."
"She cheers me on, too," said Adrianna.
"I know, darlins." Dylan stretched his arm around the back of his seat to grasp his daughters' respective hands. "I know. Mum cheers us all on."
"I really thought it would work," said Callie. "I really thought God would command Santa to bring Mummy home today. It's stupid, isn't it?"
"Not stupid," said Dylan. "Not stupid at all."
"It's a bit stupid," said Adrianna.
"You're stupid," said Callie.
"Girls," said Dylan.
His squabbling children were distracted by their aunts; particularly Donna, whose overloaded arms had Adrianna offering to help bring in Donna's array of gifts.
The system had worked out well in regards to the gang switching off who would host for which holiday, though Dylan would think differently if the McKays would be chosen to host Christmas the following year.
Perhaps they would be able to avoid it altogether with the excuse of infant bedtimes.
He noticed Naomi approach Adrianna, causing him to tune out whatever Brandon had been saying and tune into the conversation between his daughter and her best friend.
"I thought you weren't going to come," said Naomi.
"I thought you didn't want me to come," said Adrianna. "You've not talked to me in days. Including yesterday, when we went shopping. Aunt Kelly did all the talking."
"That was stupid," said Naomi. "With your mom and everything; I shouldn't have gotten mad at you like that. Can you forgive me?"
"Is that an apology?"
"I'm sorry. Forgive me?"
"Is this a pity apology?"
"Ade, it's Christmas and on Christmas, you have to forgive me," said Naomi. "It's the law of Christmas."
"Since when is there a law of Christmas?"
"Okay, so I shouldn't have tried to force you to choose sides when I know you're closer to Auntie Val than you are to Uncle David."
"It isn't that," said Adrianna. "It's Auntie Val. I want her to find some peace in her life, whomever it may be with."
"Hey, man," Steve broke into Dylan's eavesdropping, "can you get the door?"
"After Thanksgiving? No way, bro," said Dylan. "You get it."
"It won't be Jim," said Brandon.
"I don't care who it is," said Dylan. "You get it."
The men bickered over which of them should answer the door, until Erica threw up her hands and announced she would.
She hadn't begun sporting a bump, but Dylan had kept an eye trained on his sister to catch when she would.
He didn't at all believe her story that she had been holding the test for a friend.
"I told you to quit looking at it," said Erica.
"What's it?" asked Dylan.
"It's nothing," said Erica. "Quit it!" she added as she opened the door. "David!" she exclaimed. "We didn't think you were going to show!"
"Going to show," said Dylan. "Interesting."
"Brandon, make him stop," said Erica.
"If I could've made Dylan stop, I would've gotten him to stop talking TMI about my sister a long time ago," said Brandon.
"I haven't," said David, going on to tell them that he was merely doing a drop-off of Ruby.
"Dad," said Ruby, "you've been complaining since we left Grandpa's that you badly need to take a dump."
"What are you teaching my kid?" David asked Dylan.
"I am completely innocent in this," said Dylan.
David told his daughter that he would wait until he had returned home to use his own bathroom.
"That's ridiculous," said Naomi. "Uncle Steve has, like, six. Just use one of them."
"I don't even want to be here," said David.
"You and me both," said Dylan. "C'mon, Silver. I'll escort you."
"I don't need escorting," said David, though he walked beside Dylan regardless.
"Had to get away from Erica," said Dylan. "She would've tackled me to the ground if I'd stayed there a moment longer."
David asked why.
"'Cause she's pregnant," said Dylan, "and she won't admit it."
"Erica's pregnant?" asked David.
He turned the doorknob.
They were greeted with an enraged yelp.
"Don't you two creeps read?!"
The offended woman shut off the shower and snatched at a towel to quickly cover herself.
In the second she had delayed, it had been her undoing.
"It – the door was unlocked," said Dylan, stuck in place enough to make him wonder if he could drive to Oregon.
"Lock's broken," said Valerie. "There was a clear sign that said DO NOT COME IN. VAL'S SHOWERING."
"We missed it," said David. "Just like you missed telling me something. What the fuck, Val!"
"What was I supposed to tell you?" asked Val, toweling off her wet hair.
"Oh, I don't know," said David. "Maybe about that!" His hand lingered over the curve in her stomach.
"Are you implying something?" she asked.
"Don't turn this into a teachable moment," said David.
"So I've been having sweets a little more than usual lately," said Val. "Big deal."
"Sweets!" said David. "You expect me to believe that this is sweets! Val, I remember how you were with Kai, okay? This is not because of any damn sweets!"
Did Brenda know? Dylan asked himself.
When Cin and I went to see her? Did she know?
"Eug," he said. "Eugenia. Dammit, I knew it was you! But you fucking went and told me you couldn't have kids!"
"She told you she couldn't have kids?" asked David. "Is there a reason you didn't tell me that, either?" he asked Valerie.
"Maybe because we aren't together, ergo it doesn't affect you?" said Val. "I told you I couldn't have kids because I was told I couldn't have kids," she told Dylan.
"Well, you're clearly having one now!" said David. "My kid!"
"Don't you go getting angry with me, David Silver," said Valerie. "Golddigger hookers like me don't know who knocked us up. Do you know how many men I've banged lately? Especially filthy rich men, for a chance at their wallets? So many I've lost count. Any of them could be my baby's father. Did we fuck? I think I'd remember fucking you, if we had. Unless, in the grand scheme of things, you aren't that memorable."
"Look," David clenched his fists, "I know what you're doing."
"Oh?" asked Valerie. "And what am I doing?"
"You're deliberately trying to hurt me because I'm not giving up my rights to Bryant."
"You don't have any rights to Bryant."
"I do have rights to that baby that's decided to make itself known to me," said David.
"Not unless you can prove you're the father," said Val, "and unlike Gina, I won't consent to a paternity test."
"Low blow, Val," said Dylan.
"You let David in," said Val.
"Actually, Erica let him in," said Dylan.
"I put a baby in you," David told Val. "Didn't I, Valerie!"
Valerie didn't reply.
"Answer the damn question, Valerie!" said David. "Did I put a baby in you?!"
"You're dating Gina," said Val.
"I don't give a damn about this fake shit with Gina," said David.
"I do," said Val. "She's baby-obsessed and right now, she wants yours. If you start spouting off to people that this is your baby, if she starts thinking this is your baby, who knows what she'll do?"
"That's a confession," said David. "Doesn't that sound like a confession?" he asked Dylan.
"Yeah, I am not getting involved in this," said Dylan. "Bad enough she got my sister involved."
"That was all Erica's doing," said Val.
"Erica knows I put a baby in you?!" yelled David. "Erica?! Before me?! Who else knew before me, Valerie?!"
"I did." Steve came around the door. "Because I put a baby in her."
"If this is some sick reminder about how you knocked her up before…" said David.
"If you're knocked up," Steve told Valerie, "then I'm the dad."
"What are you doing?" asked Val.
"You heard me," said Steve. "I'm the dad," he repeated to David.
A battered ship sail after a night on a tempestuous sea could not have been as wrecked as David.
"He's the dad?" David asked Valerie.
"David…"
The sob trapped in Valerie's throat prevented her from saying whatever she had intended to say.
"You got a baby in Val," David told Steve. "You got two babies in her. You made Val the mom she told me she never wanted to be. Twice. If you think you're getting my son on top of the two kids you already have with her, you're dead wrong."
"David," said Valerie, "I – I don't want to fight you. Not – not when we're – not when this baby – "
"For the sake of the baby," said David, "I'll drop the suit."
"You'll drop it?" asked Val.
"Your baby doesn't need the stress," said David. "I won't fight you for adoption. But I won't take being kicked out of Bryant's life lying down, either."
"You – you won't be," said Valerie. "Does that mean – does that mean you – you don't – you don't hate me?"
"Oh, a very much fuck you to you," said David. "And to you," he told Steve. "A very merry fuck you both. Let me add that I'm sorry; deeply, truly, terribly sorry I ever loved you. Either of you. It would've been better if we'd never met."
"David…please…" Valerie cried. "Please don't hate me."
David looked at her.
"He'll fuck over anyone to get what he wants," said David. "So will you. You two deserve each other. But you don't deserve my son," he told Steve.
They were to arrange a schedule with Bryant, said David.
"A schedule where I don't have to see you," he told Valerie, "or the traitor you're marrying. The one who doesn't care who he hurts, as long as he gets to fuck the hot girl. The one who never left high school behind."
David jetted off before Steve could get in a response.
"I better go after him," said Dylan. He had no sooner taken two steps when the query had occurred to him. "How far along is she?" he asked, turning back towards Steve.
"Uh, what?" asked Steve.
"It's the oddest thing," said Dylan. "You see, every time Bren's told me I'm going to be a dad, she's made sure I knew from the get-go how far along she is. So how far along is Val?" he asked Steve. "With your kid? Since you knew about her pregnancy before Silver did? Since it's your kid? That you're having with your fiancée? Who's having your kid?"
"She's," Steve stammered, "well, I mean…if I do the math, then she's –"
"Seven," said Valerie. "I'm seven weeks."
"Seven," said Steve. "Yeah, I knew that. I was getting to it."
"Seven," said Dylan. "That's right about the time you and Silver didn't hook up; isn't it, Val? Were you fucking Steve on the side?"
"If you're judging Val for fucking anyone on the side," said Steve.
"No judgment here," said Dylan, "unless, y'know, you're in cahoots to keep Silver's kid from him. In that case, I'll judge, judge, judge away on you both. Just call me Judgey McJudgerson if you're conspiring to keep a kid from their dad."
"Adrianna! Where's your dad!"
The urgency in Brandon's demanding question significantly lowered Dylan's need for a response to a matter that should not have concerned him if it hadn't affected multiple members of his family.
"I'm up here!" he yelled at Brandon from the top of the stairs. "What's going on?"
The hospital had called.
Their presence was requested.
Immediately.
Dylan could hardly concentrate on his fatherly duties with the combative pounding in his ears.
He could hear the rhythm of his throat.
He could not be sure of how he had successfully made it down the stairs.
"The – the girls," he said. "I've got to – I can't bring them to –"
"The lot of us will watch the girls," said Kelly. "Go."
"I'll call you from the hospital," Brandon promised as he leant in to kiss her.
Kelly caved into his kiss.
"Go," she reiterated.
"Go clear our girl's name," said Donna.
"I might be home late," Brandon told Kelly.
"This is one of those rare instances when I don't care if you are," said Kelly.
They didn't talk on the way to hospital.
There wasn't anything for them to talk about.
"What kind of person disturbs someone's Christmas to remind them that their ex's wife killed their child?" Gina grumbled. "I can't celebrate my child's first Christmas because of this man, and you're having me meet with him?"
"For the last fucking time," said Dylan, "Brenda did not kill anyone and those results prove it! Don't they, Judge?" he asked. "Don't they prove it?"
Brandon silently brought his hands to Dylan's shoulders.
"My child's murderer should be behind bars," said Gina. "They should get life, with no option for release."
"I agree," said Dylan. "Any murderer should. Which is why it would be great to know who's responsible."
"I know who's responsible," said Gina. "Your wife!"
"I don't know what Silver sees in you," said Brandon.
"You're probably just as awful as your sister," said Gina. "No wonder you're married to Kelly. You two deserve each other."
"We do deserve each other," said Brandon. "Thank you for confirming what I already knew."
"Judge," said Dylan, "c'mon. Please. My wife is spending Christmas in jail. If you know she shouldn't be in there, you gotta tell us."
"Mr. McKay," said the Judge, "Mr. Walsh, Ms. Kincaid. If you three would cease conversation for a moment, perhaps we can examine these results?"
Dylan and Brandon refrained from talking.
Gina did not.
Her mutters must not have counted as conversing to the Judge, for the intimidating envelope was opened.
"Ms. Kincaid," said the Judge, "I am sorry to tell you that there were traces of warfarin found in the placenta, which you had buried along with your child."
"Warfarin?" asked Brandon. "Gina took warfarin?"
"I did not take warfarin," said Gina. "Brenda must have poisoned me when she pushed me!"
"My wife does not have access to warfarin," said Dylan. "Who did it?" he asked the Judge. "Who gave Gina warfarin?"
"We are looking into that," said the Judge.
"But it wasn't Brenda," said Dylan. "She wasn't in hospital. She was – was –"
Being held in the LAPD at the time of Gina's hospital stay.
Awaiting news on Gina's condition.
Awaiting transfer to Lynwood.
"It was the warfarin," said Dylan. "The warfarin killed Gina's baby!"
"Brenda!" said Gina. "It was Brenda!"
"Ms. Kincaid, you really must give this a rest," said the Judge. "The results prove that it was warfarin, not the fall, that was responsible for the unfortunate stillbirth of your child."
"She still pushed me!" said Gina.
"Brenda isn't awaiting trial for pushing you," said Dylan.
She was awaiting trial for feticide.
Feticide that the test had proven Brenda didn't commit.
Feticide that the test had proven Adrianna didn't commit.
Feticide that his McKay girls held no responsibility for.
"When," Dylan coughed out, "when is Bren getting released?"
The Judge looked at her watch.
"Oh, Mr. McKay, I'd say your wife is getting released right about," adding an irritating pause, the Judge tapped at her wristwatch, "now."
"She pushed me!" Gina repeated. "I want my trial date! I want her convicted!"
"Ms. Kincaid," said the Judge, "it would be wise for you to settle down and accept the results, or I will escort you to the LAPD myself."
"She's getting released." Dylan set his fogged eyes on Brandon. "Bren's getting released."
"So what are we waiting for?" asked Brandon.
"Brenda isn't getting away with this," said Gina. "She isn't. She's the reason I was in the hospital! She's the reason I was easy prey for someone's warfarin dosage! It's all her fault! All of it! I don't care what your fucking test says!"
"Ms. Kincaid!" barked the Judge.
Dylan and Brandon left them far behind.
They stood before the backside of Lynwood, which had apparently seen several releases of its inmates that day.
"I don't see her." Dylan thumped at his knee. "Do you see her?"
"She's walking more slowly these days," Brandon reminded him.
Dylan's eyes remained peeled.
After an hour of no Brenda, he had become infuriated.
"If she isn't getting released today, I told the girls I'd take them out of town," he said. "I'm going to take this place to the cleaners for wasting our time like that."
"D, cool it. Look over there."
In all the beautiful sights Dylan had encountered in his lifetime, nothing could have topped the sight of his wife's wobbling legs protesting her attempt at a run.
He sprinted forward, meeting her in the middle.
Brandon had done the same.
Brenda halted before them.
God, when was the last time she had been bathed in a proper amount of sunlight?
"You aren't going to come closer?" asked Dylan.
"I'm trying to decide which of you to greet first," said Brenda. "Just in case I offend one of you."
"B," said Dylan.
"D," said Brandon.
They both threw themselves on her.
"You're free, baby," Dylan said into Brenda's cheek. "You're free."
"We're cleared?" asked Brenda. Liquid salt hit Dylan's mouth. "Completely cleared?"
Thirty-two weeks, and it was only the second time that Dylan had been greeted by their twins.
"They aren't bringing charges for the fall," he said. Certain that Brenda would catch his implication that Adrianna had also been cleared, Dylan scraped his hand across Brenda's stomach.
"They did miss you," said Brenda.
"I know they did," said Dylan. "They haven't done a very good job of hiding it."
Brenda returned her focus to Brandon.
Dylan did not.
"But Gina was pushed," she said. "They're dropping it? Just like that?"
"They're too busy trying to figure out who gave Gina warfarin," said Brandon.
"Warfarin?" asked Brenda. "Who gave Gina warfarin?"
"Who cares?" asked Dylan. "It's Christmas. You're coming home. Gina has nothing on you. We'll never see this hellhole again. And it's Christmas. It worked. It fucking worked!"
"What worked?" asked Brenda.
"Your Oregon trip?" asked Brandon.
"Oregon trip?" asked Brenda.
"Off," said Dylan. "Unless you want to come," he told Brenda.
"I'm a little confused," she said.
"Dylan's taking the girls to Oregon," said Brandon.
"If you're up to driving to Oregon," said Dylan. "We were going to check out the surf. But only because you weren't with us. If you'd rather, I could drive us home. We don't have to go to Oregon. Or I could stop and get us some food. You're probably starving."
"Where are the girls?" asked Brenda.
They informed her that the girls were at Steve's, and that Kelly was watching them.
"Before we decide anything," said Brenda, "I want to see my girls."
"Your wish is my command," said Dylan.
He drove to Steve's, for the second time that day.
"I'll go in first," said Dylan. "You both stay in here."
"Why are we staying out here?" asked Brenda.
"Because when you're married to an actress," said Dylan, "you pick up on a few things. And B has not picked up on those things."
"I think I'm a better liar than you give me credit for," said Brandon.
"Dylan's right," said Brenda. "You're awful with the lies."
"Takes a bad liar to know a bad liar," said Brandon.
Dylan left the twins to their quarrel.
He walked back into Steve's, utterly dejected.
"Daddy?" asked Callie. "Where's Mummy?"
"You and Brandon were gone so long, we thought it was good news," said Valerie.
Word must have gotten around the gang of Valerie's pregnancy, as she had not bothered to conceal a stomach that appeared closer to the beginning of her second trimester than in her first.
"Oh baby," said Dylan, "Mummy, she…"
"She's not coming home, is she?" Callie sought out solace on Donna's shoulder.
"I bloody hate Christmas!" said Adrianna. "And I'm not doing the play! I'm not doing the play if Mummy can't attend!"
"You have to do the play," said Naomi. "You're the lead."
"My understudy can have it," said Adrianna.
"Annie is not getting your role," said Naomi. "That's your role."
"I don't want my bloody stupid role," said Adrianna. "I don't want to act ever again!"
Dylan had to step in before Adrianna's remarks became too out of hand.
"I'm not doing this right," he said.
"You are a horrible actor," said the voice behind him. "But that's why it's my career, instead of yours."
"Mummy!" shouted both of their girls.
Brenda sat on her knees.
"My darlings," she said, stretching out her arms.
"It worked!" said Callie, running into Brenda's arms. "Daddy, it worked!"
"It did, baby," said Dylan. "It worked."
Brenda squeezed their daughters.
"We missed you, Mummy," said Adrianna. "Enormously."
"The level of which I missed my girls has no description," said Brenda.
"Welcome home, Bren," said Steve.
"Thanks, Steve," said Brenda, though she did not look at him, as her gaze remained solely on her daughters.
And – dare Dylan think it – on him?
He sat on his own knees, pulling all three of his girls to him.
"You're so big, Bren," he told her. "So big."
"Yes, I'm aware," she said.
"And so beautiful," he said. "So damn beautiful."
Had Brenda attempted to push away from him, he may have latched on harder.
She did not push away from him.
It was a temporary reprieve, he knew.
They still had plenty to work through.
Difficult topics to discuss.
Unopened files in a psychiatric hospital's partially organized filing drawer.
A purported affair to prove himself an unwilling participant in.
The messes their friends expected them to clean up.
The messes Brenda likely would clean up.
Brenda's career to regain.
Less of a punch on his balls before he could think of persuading his wife for a ride.
Answers on who had given Gina warfarin to set Brenda up so that she had spent three months in a jail cell.
Dylan would get those answers.
He would ensure the responsible party for his wife's wrongful jail stint would face the full repercussions of that decision.
He would do all of that.
Later.
For in that moment, all Dylan could do was kiss Brenda's head as he uttered in a mantra, "You're free, baby. You're free."
"I'm not," he thought she said. "I can't be."
Perhaps it had been his mind, playing tricks, for Brenda's lips had barely moved from their girls' heads.
"You are," said Dylan. "You're free. And now, most of all Bren, you're home."
"Mummy's back," said Callie.
"She is, Cal," said Dylan. "She's back."
"Are you really back, Mummy?" asked Callie. "Am I dreaming?"
"If you're dreaming, love," said Brenda, "then so am I."
If this is a dream, thought Dylan, don't let anything wake me up.
It wasn't.
His dreams became nightmares.
He wasn't in a nightmare.
Brenda was there. She was home.
The curfew was no more.
The glass barrier would dissolve.
Anyone who took your mum away from us for this long will pay dearly for it, Dylan inwardly told Callie. I promise you that, Cal.
He looked over at Adrianna, who hadn't spoken through her onslaught of tears that Brenda had tried unsuccessfully to wipe away.
I swear it to you, Ade.
This was a plot. Someone had to have plotted this whole thing out to have warfarin readily accessible.
A fucking plot put my Bren in a fucking jail cell! For three fucking months!
It could have been her whole fucking lifetime!
She could have gotten fucking Death Row!
"What are you thinking so hard about, Daddy?" asked Callie.
"Just how euphoric I am to have your Mum back with us, Little Fish," said Dylan.
Callie asked the definition for euphoric.
Four different people answered.
"In that case, I'm euphoric, too," said Callie. "Mummy, you aren't permitted to ever go back to jail. Ever."
"Mummy will ensure she does not, darling," said Brenda.
"You can see my play," said Adrianna. "You can actually see it."
"Hope you got me a ticket for the front row," said Brenda.
"Daddy, Mummy's home," said Adrianna.
"Mummy's home," said Dylan, "and she's brought us home."
"We have been home, Daddy," said Callie.
"We've not," said Dylan. "We've been in a house. Now; now, it's a home."
I'm going to get my revenge, Bren, he thought.
Starting with the administration at Lynwood, each and every one of who he would personally see sacked.
After Andrea had put in her resignation, of course.
After the inmates were brought to safety.
What would happen to Lynwood once empty of people was anyone's guess.
Dylan did, however, hold a sporadic acquaintance with a few convicted arsonists from his days wandering around Los Angeles' grittier scene with nothing but a fat wallet and a lack of dreams.
Perhaps one of them would like a job.
Perhaps he had a specific job in mind.
I, Dylan Michael McKay, swear on the lives of all three of my girls that whoever did this to my family is going to learn the hard way that you don't target a McKay.
Especially Brenda McKay, formerly Walsh, who had taught him that his dreams didn't have to become nightmares.
Which was, perhaps, why they did when she was gone.
Those days were behind them.
He could dream again.
He could dream, with her.
And, as he did so, figure out how he was going to talk his way out of their fucking divorce.
If she was still intent on that.
Brenda had held on to him far too long for a woman hell-bent on divorcing the husband she had sought comfort in.
But then, she had just been released from jail.
She would claim her hormones were out of whack.
He would fix that.
As soon as his balls were healed enough to return where they belonged.
Which Brenda would not be able to resist as she was, after all, thirty-two weeks along.
If seeing Brenda at thirty-two weeks with their girls had taught Dylan anything, it was that his wife was powerless to his charm when at the height of her third trimester.
He would do whatever it took to turn her on, including driving up to the mountains in the dead of night in search of a frozen lake to fall on his arse.
Which would make Brenda chortle, as it had every time.
And when he made her chortle at his inferior skating skills, pleasure followed.
Always followed.
No exceptions.
Pleasure that would cancel out a fucking divorce.
Pleasure that would allow him to grasp onto his dream.
To ensure its permanent return to him.
-x
SHE'S FREE.
Or is she?
It's always a gamble to post a new chapter on the eve of New Year's, but a self-congratulatory hurrah for getting in one more chapter of 2024! Though I am disappointed I didn't meet my goal of another chapter for Lethe...
May you all have the best end to your 2024.
Sources: Google and forum anecdotes from men who have undergone the snip.
(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 did want to explore both Dylan's and Adrianna's feelings in that moment. You know I love those interactions between Dylan and Val! The comedy writes itself. Perhaps the best thing about BD fanfic is how it often explores the dynamic we should have seen between Bren and Val. )
Thanks a million! See you in 2025!