Small Steps 4
Title : Small Steps
Author : Helen C.
Rating : PG-13
Summary : Oliver is back, and makes a mess of things again. Set in season 2.
Spoilers : Everything that's been aired up to The Rainy Day Women is fair game.
Disclaimer : The characters and the universe were created and are owned by Josh Schwartz. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Acknowledgements : Again, many thanks to my beta, Joey51.
Chapter 4 : The Next Morning
Ryan sat up in bed, gasping, his heart pounding wildly. For a few moments, he couldn't remember why he felt so shaken. Then the memories from last night came back and he curled up under the covers.
Sandy had said that things would look different in the morning, and indeed, they did.
For one thing, Ryan didn't feel completely disconnected from the normal flow of things anymore. Now, he merely felt *slightly* out of phase with the universe. And he just had to stop watching those sci-fi shows if "out of phase" spontaneously came to mind to describe how he felt.
Everything seemed normal around him; the bed was at the same place it had always been, all his clothes and school things were where he had left them last night and an unfinished book lay open on the counter. It was unfair, Ryan decided, to feel so unbalanced when everything else seemed peaceful and safe.
Apparently, sleep had been just what he needed. His brain had kicked back into gear and he could now string two coherent thoughts together.
Spotting an empty mug near a chair, he wondered if Sandy had spent the night there. Ryan's memories of what had happened after he had taken a shower were hazy, but he was almost sure Sandy had helped him into bed.
Ryan grimaced, feeling both embarrassed and grateful. He was always surprised when the Cohens demonstrated just how much they cared, and he sometimes wondered if he would ever get used to it.
Shaking himself, he went to the bathroom. He caught his reflection in the mirror and was taken aback at how normal he looked. It was exactly the same face in the mirror as yesterday. He seemed more tired, certainly, but all in all, his appearance didn't reflect his jumbled feelings.
Ryan touched his face's outline on the mirror, half expecting to see it dissolve and reveal another face, one that would reflect how he felt -- lost, tired, and scared in a general, indefinable way.
The face in the mirror kept looking back at him, unchanged.
He turned his back to his reflection.
It struck him as odd that he would look the same as he always had. He had crossed a line last night, a line he would never be able to cross back. There was no way to undo a death; no apology or remorse was enough. There was nothing he could do to make it better.
He didn't want to consider the implications of last night yet, but he felt like he had left a piece of himself behind -- as in, on the other side of the damn line.
The one that was impossible to cross back.
He looked at his reflection again. The expression on his face didn't convey the loss he felt.
He looked put-together. He felt anything but.
Functional, yes. More coherent than last night, certainly. But in fit state to face the world? Doubtful.
"Thank God for Easter Break," he thought. At least, he wouldn't have to face the sharks swimming at Harbor High for another two weeks. Perhaps, when he had to go back, he'd feel less empty than he did now.
* * *
Seth was nervous. And whenever Seth was nervous, he talked.
Actually, he *always* talked. It was a running joke in his family and among his friends, just as Ryan's quietness was a teasing matter. Only those who knew Seth well knew the difference between relaxed and nervous banter.
His parents knew him well. Oh, he could still surprise them, like when he decided that a juvenile delinquent he had just met was his new best friend, or when he took his boat and left for Catalina, but most times he was fairly predictable, as far as teenagers went.
And his parents were both watching him gently as he tried to process what had happened last night, while he was partying.
Preoccupied with the girl in his life, Seth had distractedly listened to Ryan's "Must go, see you later." There had been no premonition that something bad was going to happen. It was, after all, a party. While Ryan was known to sometimes hang out at these, he was also known for often leaving early, or at the very least, isolating himself when the party hit full gear.
They joked about that sometimes. Seth asked whether Ryan felt uncomfortable socializing with all these people. Ryan replied, "Horribly so," in his best bad boy voice and Seth pretended he was intimidated.
Seth wondered, every now and then, if Ryan didn't think that all these superficial, rich, spoiled kids were a little pathetic in their attempts to have fun. Or perhaps Ryan associated parties with drunkenness -- no reason why he shouldn't, Holly organized some fairly wild parties -- and drunkenness didn't bring back happy memories for Ryan Atwood.
Or perhaps, Seth admitted, Ryan simply didn't like crowds, the loud music and the stupid bragging inebriated teenagers indulged in. Not everything had to be dramatic; not everything was a bad "based on a true story," made-for-TV movie.
And Seth was now rambling in his head. Wonderful.
Well, okay, technically, he *always* rambled in his head.
He had assumed Ryan had come back to the party, and was hanging out with friends. Holly's parties were not famous -- or infamous, as it may be -- for nothing. They were loud, and crowded. It was easy to lose sight of the people you came with.
Seth had assumed that Ryan was having fun, until Summer had told Seth that if he wanted to make his curfew, he should go.
The car hadn't been there anymore, and Seth had assumed -- he now officially hated that word, and he swore to himself that he would never assume anything ever again -- that Ryan hadn't found him and had driven home without him.
Seth had even been a little pissed.
Summer had given him a ride, and he had come home fifteen minutes late, to find his mother sitting in the kitchen, drinking coffee and looking lost.
She had explained what had happened.
Seth had been shocked. He hadn't found anything to say on the spot. A rare occurrence, indeed. She had sent him to bed and he had barely slept.
And now, he was prattling, because Ryan would wake up soon, and Seth wasn't sure what to say.
His parents were eating bagels listlessly, and he supposed he hadn't been the only one who’d gone sleepless last night.
They also weren't offering useful advice on how to speak with someone who had had such a shitty thing happen, a fact that bothered Seth greatly.
His parents, and especially his father, *always* offered advice, even when it was neither required nor wanted. They had an opinion on everything, were overbearing at times, and now, just as Seth desperately needed some good piece of advice, they weren't delivering.
Seth dismissed his first suspicion -- they didn't have a clue either -- as too unlikely, and decided to let them drink their coffee. Perhaps the blessed beverage would give them the answers.
A boy could dream.
He sneaked out of the kitchen and went into the poolhouse. The shower was running so Seth sat on the bed, fidgety, trying to find something funny to say -- difficult on only two hours of sleep, but not impossible. He was Seth Cohen; he had a special gene enabling him to be witty (or was it geeky?) in almost every situation.
When Ryan emerged from the bathroom, all Seth's "witty" gene could provide was, "So, er, you okay?" Seth stopped dead in his tracks. Although "dead" was probably a bad choice of words, given the circumstances.
Ryan's lips twitched. "So, your parents told you, then."
Seth nodded. "I can do better," he said decisively. "And hey, this must be a first. You said more words than I did, just then." He frowned. "Hm, improvement, but not yet the quality of wit you deserve."
Ryan snorted.
"Seriously, man, I'm sorry," Seth said.
Ryan frowned. "What for?"
Seth breathed deeply, theatrically, and bowed his head. In one breath, he said, "I didn't pay attention when you left and failed to return and I assumed you had driven home and forgotten me there and I was even a little mad at you for that."
Ryan blinked.
"Sorry," Seth added.
"I didn't really understand a word of that, but yeah, no problem."
"Good of you to forgive me." He blinked up at Ryan. "Is there anything I can do to help you? Anything at all? Buy you a puppy and sneak it into the house, then hide it from the rents? Let you win at the ninja game? Loan you my precious collector copy of 'Lord of the Rings?' No human hands have ever touched it, man, but for you, I would make an exception. Oh yes."
Ryan frowned. "*Let* me win?" He looked at Seth. Who could still spot a challenge when he heard one.
"Ninja game it is, then. Name the time; I'll choose the location. Or whatever."
Ryan smiled slightly.
"Seriously, if there's anything, just ask. I'd do anything for my partner in crime, and--" Ryan flinched. Seth took a brief moment to marvel at his mouth’s ability to say things his brain hadn't first checked over. "Sorry."
When he looked up, his father was at the door, staring at him disbelievingly, and Ryan was biting his lip.
His father was the first to recover. "Seth. Kitchen. Now."
Seth fled, cursing himself.
* * *
Seth waited two hours before trying to talk to Ryan again.
After breakfast, his father had left for the office.
"It's Saturday," Seth had pointed out.
His father had shot him a warning glance, before saying in a cheerful tone, "I have some paperwork to finish. I won't be long at all."
Ryan had looked at Seth strangely, but hadn't said anything.
Seth had understood, a little late, that his father was probably going to talk to the police, and had kept his mouth shut.
His mother had then announced that she was going to take the following week off, dismissing Ryan's assurances that he was fine.
"I know you are, but I'm long overdue for a vacation, and there's nothing urgent at the office," she had said.
Ryan seemed to be learning the art of parent talk, because he hadn't insisted, recognizing the lost cause.
"So," Seth said bravely, approaching the patio chair where Ryan was reading. "I'd like to try that again. Without the foot in the mouth."
Ryan shot him a quizzical glance. "Try what?"
Seth dropped in the chair next to him. "The comforting thing. Only manly. The talking about vaguely related subjects, to make it clear that we're friends and can depend on each other, but without saying so because that would be minty. And we're manly men."
Ryan looked at him, eyebrows raised.
"Anyway. I wasn't great last time Oliver was around, and I want to do better this time."
"I told you it was okay," Ryan pointed out. "Last time, I mean."
"You did, and it was big of you, because you were in your right to punch me. I'd have punched me."
There was a snort behind him. "Everyone wants to punch you, Cohen," Luke said.
"Luke!" Seth said, forcing the joviality in his tone. "What are you doing at Casa Cohen on such a sunny morning?"
Ryan merely nodded in greeting.
Luke looked from Seth to Ryan with an amused smile before turning serious. "I heard," he said to Ryan. "You okay?"
Ryan shrugged. "Fine."
Seth nodded sagely. "You are." He turned to Luke. "He is."
"Seth's keeping me entertained," Ryan added.
"Oh?"
He nodded. "He's been reduced to silence by himself twice already."
Luke snickered. "Impressive."
Seth pouted. Summer often said it was cute. Ryan and Luke didn't pay attention to the poutiness, which was probably for the best.
"Have you seen Marissa?" Ryan asked.
"Not yet. I know she's out of the hospital. I think Julie gave her something -- of the Valium variety. They're staying at a model house of the Newport group, while…" Luke trailed off. Seth supposed the guy was looking for an appropriate way to tell Ryan, "While they clean all the blood." But there was probably no such thing as a good way to say that, so Luke finally added, "You know."
An uncomfortable silence fell, and Ryan paled, staring blankly at Luke.
"Man?" Luke asked, as Seth called, "Ryan?"
Ryan shook his head, smiling apologetically. "Sorry," he said.
Luke sat down. "No problem."
Seth concurred. "Yeah. Whatever you want to say. Or not say. Or whatever."
Ryan's lips twitched. "You're making even less sense than usual, Seth. But thanks."
Seth smiled, satisfied.
"So, what is it like to be back?" Ryan asked Luke.
Luke began to explain how awkward it was; how he needed to see Marissa after what had happened, but that implied running into Julie, and that he was totally over Julie but... Seth tuned him out. Luke may have progressed as a human being, but Seth didn't feel obligated to forgive all the bullying and the humiliations Luke had inflicted on him as a kid.
Ryan seemed interested in what Luke was saying, providing advice and commiserating.
Good, Seth thought. As long as Luke gave Ryan something to think about, he was welcome to stay.
And, hey, Seth had been in Ryan's company for almost five minutes now, if not ten, and still no foot in the mouth.
He was on a roll.
* * *
True to his word, Sandy came back early.
Kirsten was cleaning the kitchen cupboard. The short nap she had taken in the morning hadn't helped her and she felt exhausted.
"Hey," Sandy greeted.
"Hi, honey."
They kissed and held on to each other for a few seconds. Then Sandy said, "I talked to the police."
Kirsten let go of him. "Is there a problem with Ryan?" she asked, immediately worried.
"No, no!" Sandy smiled. "If nothing else, they're now one hundred percent certain that Ryan didn't have any choice."
Kirsten smiled grimly. "Good."
Sandy looked at the patio, where Ryan, Luke and Seth were lounging, talking animatedly. Seth was saying something, arms waving in the air, Luke was laughing and Ryan was watching the scene with a small smile.
"Luke arrived two hours ago," Kirsten said.
"Good."
"What did the police say?" The real question she wanted to ask was, "Why did this happen?" but she trusted Sandy to read between the lines.
Sandy went into the living room and she followed, sitting down next to him.
"Oliver was released from the hospital five months ago, having been declared cured and fit to go back to a normal life."
"Already?" Her lips had already thinned.
"He wasn't a danger to himself or others anymore," Sandy said in his best professional voice, not at all laced with irony. Not at all. "He still had follow-up appointments, but he seemed to be doing well."
"And?"
"And guess what his parents did?"
"Left him on his own?"
He nodded grimly. Kirsten didn't think she'd ever understand people like that. Oliver had tried to kill himself twice, and they had still left him alone? Had they found the warning signs too subtle?
"The therapist they talked to now recognizes that Oliver must have lied about having gotten over his obsession with Marissa."
Kirsten growled. "Does he now?"
"Yes." Sandy shook his head. "Oliver went to see Marissa, entered, threatened her. She panicked."
"And called Ryan," Kirsten finished for him. She selfishly wished the girl had called somebody else -- like, for example, an adult trained to respond to this kind of situation. And maybe that made her the worst person on the face of the earth, but so be it.
"How is he doing?" Sandy asked with a nod to the patio.
"I didn't see him much," she admitted. "I thought it would be best to let him breathe a little."
"Probably."
She rubbed her eyes. "Oliver had already done enough damage the last time," she said. "And now, we find ourselves cleaning up behind him *again* because his parents didn't care, and the people who were supposed to help him were too full of themselves to see through his game."
"Yes."
Their eyes met. "They didn't warn us about that when we became parents," she said.
"We'll sue them," Sandy said seriously. "Whoever *they* are."
Most times, she found her husband's sense of humor atrocious. Today was no exception. And yet, she found herself laughing at his earnest tone.
They would survive this, she resolved. No matter what it took.
Chapter 5
Author : Helen C.
Rating : PG-13
Summary : Oliver is back, and makes a mess of things again. Set in season 2.
Spoilers : Everything that's been aired up to The Rainy Day Women is fair game.
Disclaimer : The characters and the universe were created and are owned by Josh Schwartz. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Acknowledgements : Again, many thanks to my beta, Joey51.
Chapter 4 : The Next Morning
Ryan sat up in bed, gasping, his heart pounding wildly. For a few moments, he couldn't remember why he felt so shaken. Then the memories from last night came back and he curled up under the covers.
Sandy had said that things would look different in the morning, and indeed, they did.
For one thing, Ryan didn't feel completely disconnected from the normal flow of things anymore. Now, he merely felt *slightly* out of phase with the universe. And he just had to stop watching those sci-fi shows if "out of phase" spontaneously came to mind to describe how he felt.
Everything seemed normal around him; the bed was at the same place it had always been, all his clothes and school things were where he had left them last night and an unfinished book lay open on the counter. It was unfair, Ryan decided, to feel so unbalanced when everything else seemed peaceful and safe.
Apparently, sleep had been just what he needed. His brain had kicked back into gear and he could now string two coherent thoughts together.
Spotting an empty mug near a chair, he wondered if Sandy had spent the night there. Ryan's memories of what had happened after he had taken a shower were hazy, but he was almost sure Sandy had helped him into bed.
Ryan grimaced, feeling both embarrassed and grateful. He was always surprised when the Cohens demonstrated just how much they cared, and he sometimes wondered if he would ever get used to it.
Shaking himself, he went to the bathroom. He caught his reflection in the mirror and was taken aback at how normal he looked. It was exactly the same face in the mirror as yesterday. He seemed more tired, certainly, but all in all, his appearance didn't reflect his jumbled feelings.
Ryan touched his face's outline on the mirror, half expecting to see it dissolve and reveal another face, one that would reflect how he felt -- lost, tired, and scared in a general, indefinable way.
The face in the mirror kept looking back at him, unchanged.
He turned his back to his reflection.
It struck him as odd that he would look the same as he always had. He had crossed a line last night, a line he would never be able to cross back. There was no way to undo a death; no apology or remorse was enough. There was nothing he could do to make it better.
He didn't want to consider the implications of last night yet, but he felt like he had left a piece of himself behind -- as in, on the other side of the damn line.
The one that was impossible to cross back.
He looked at his reflection again. The expression on his face didn't convey the loss he felt.
He looked put-together. He felt anything but.
Functional, yes. More coherent than last night, certainly. But in fit state to face the world? Doubtful.
"Thank God for Easter Break," he thought. At least, he wouldn't have to face the sharks swimming at Harbor High for another two weeks. Perhaps, when he had to go back, he'd feel less empty than he did now.
* * *
Seth was nervous. And whenever Seth was nervous, he talked.
Actually, he *always* talked. It was a running joke in his family and among his friends, just as Ryan's quietness was a teasing matter. Only those who knew Seth well knew the difference between relaxed and nervous banter.
His parents knew him well. Oh, he could still surprise them, like when he decided that a juvenile delinquent he had just met was his new best friend, or when he took his boat and left for Catalina, but most times he was fairly predictable, as far as teenagers went.
And his parents were both watching him gently as he tried to process what had happened last night, while he was partying.
Preoccupied with the girl in his life, Seth had distractedly listened to Ryan's "Must go, see you later." There had been no premonition that something bad was going to happen. It was, after all, a party. While Ryan was known to sometimes hang out at these, he was also known for often leaving early, or at the very least, isolating himself when the party hit full gear.
They joked about that sometimes. Seth asked whether Ryan felt uncomfortable socializing with all these people. Ryan replied, "Horribly so," in his best bad boy voice and Seth pretended he was intimidated.
Seth wondered, every now and then, if Ryan didn't think that all these superficial, rich, spoiled kids were a little pathetic in their attempts to have fun. Or perhaps Ryan associated parties with drunkenness -- no reason why he shouldn't, Holly organized some fairly wild parties -- and drunkenness didn't bring back happy memories for Ryan Atwood.
Or perhaps, Seth admitted, Ryan simply didn't like crowds, the loud music and the stupid bragging inebriated teenagers indulged in. Not everything had to be dramatic; not everything was a bad "based on a true story," made-for-TV movie.
And Seth was now rambling in his head. Wonderful.
Well, okay, technically, he *always* rambled in his head.
He had assumed Ryan had come back to the party, and was hanging out with friends. Holly's parties were not famous -- or infamous, as it may be -- for nothing. They were loud, and crowded. It was easy to lose sight of the people you came with.
Seth had assumed that Ryan was having fun, until Summer had told Seth that if he wanted to make his curfew, he should go.
The car hadn't been there anymore, and Seth had assumed -- he now officially hated that word, and he swore to himself that he would never assume anything ever again -- that Ryan hadn't found him and had driven home without him.
Seth had even been a little pissed.
Summer had given him a ride, and he had come home fifteen minutes late, to find his mother sitting in the kitchen, drinking coffee and looking lost.
She had explained what had happened.
Seth had been shocked. He hadn't found anything to say on the spot. A rare occurrence, indeed. She had sent him to bed and he had barely slept.
And now, he was prattling, because Ryan would wake up soon, and Seth wasn't sure what to say.
His parents were eating bagels listlessly, and he supposed he hadn't been the only one who’d gone sleepless last night.
They also weren't offering useful advice on how to speak with someone who had had such a shitty thing happen, a fact that bothered Seth greatly.
His parents, and especially his father, *always* offered advice, even when it was neither required nor wanted. They had an opinion on everything, were overbearing at times, and now, just as Seth desperately needed some good piece of advice, they weren't delivering.
Seth dismissed his first suspicion -- they didn't have a clue either -- as too unlikely, and decided to let them drink their coffee. Perhaps the blessed beverage would give them the answers.
A boy could dream.
He sneaked out of the kitchen and went into the poolhouse. The shower was running so Seth sat on the bed, fidgety, trying to find something funny to say -- difficult on only two hours of sleep, but not impossible. He was Seth Cohen; he had a special gene enabling him to be witty (or was it geeky?) in almost every situation.
When Ryan emerged from the bathroom, all Seth's "witty" gene could provide was, "So, er, you okay?" Seth stopped dead in his tracks. Although "dead" was probably a bad choice of words, given the circumstances.
Ryan's lips twitched. "So, your parents told you, then."
Seth nodded. "I can do better," he said decisively. "And hey, this must be a first. You said more words than I did, just then." He frowned. "Hm, improvement, but not yet the quality of wit you deserve."
Ryan snorted.
"Seriously, man, I'm sorry," Seth said.
Ryan frowned. "What for?"
Seth breathed deeply, theatrically, and bowed his head. In one breath, he said, "I didn't pay attention when you left and failed to return and I assumed you had driven home and forgotten me there and I was even a little mad at you for that."
Ryan blinked.
"Sorry," Seth added.
"I didn't really understand a word of that, but yeah, no problem."
"Good of you to forgive me." He blinked up at Ryan. "Is there anything I can do to help you? Anything at all? Buy you a puppy and sneak it into the house, then hide it from the rents? Let you win at the ninja game? Loan you my precious collector copy of 'Lord of the Rings?' No human hands have ever touched it, man, but for you, I would make an exception. Oh yes."
Ryan frowned. "*Let* me win?" He looked at Seth. Who could still spot a challenge when he heard one.
"Ninja game it is, then. Name the time; I'll choose the location. Or whatever."
Ryan smiled slightly.
"Seriously, if there's anything, just ask. I'd do anything for my partner in crime, and--" Ryan flinched. Seth took a brief moment to marvel at his mouth’s ability to say things his brain hadn't first checked over. "Sorry."
When he looked up, his father was at the door, staring at him disbelievingly, and Ryan was biting his lip.
His father was the first to recover. "Seth. Kitchen. Now."
Seth fled, cursing himself.
* * *
Seth waited two hours before trying to talk to Ryan again.
After breakfast, his father had left for the office.
"It's Saturday," Seth had pointed out.
His father had shot him a warning glance, before saying in a cheerful tone, "I have some paperwork to finish. I won't be long at all."
Ryan had looked at Seth strangely, but hadn't said anything.
Seth had understood, a little late, that his father was probably going to talk to the police, and had kept his mouth shut.
His mother had then announced that she was going to take the following week off, dismissing Ryan's assurances that he was fine.
"I know you are, but I'm long overdue for a vacation, and there's nothing urgent at the office," she had said.
Ryan seemed to be learning the art of parent talk, because he hadn't insisted, recognizing the lost cause.
"So," Seth said bravely, approaching the patio chair where Ryan was reading. "I'd like to try that again. Without the foot in the mouth."
Ryan shot him a quizzical glance. "Try what?"
Seth dropped in the chair next to him. "The comforting thing. Only manly. The talking about vaguely related subjects, to make it clear that we're friends and can depend on each other, but without saying so because that would be minty. And we're manly men."
Ryan looked at him, eyebrows raised.
"Anyway. I wasn't great last time Oliver was around, and I want to do better this time."
"I told you it was okay," Ryan pointed out. "Last time, I mean."
"You did, and it was big of you, because you were in your right to punch me. I'd have punched me."
There was a snort behind him. "Everyone wants to punch you, Cohen," Luke said.
"Luke!" Seth said, forcing the joviality in his tone. "What are you doing at Casa Cohen on such a sunny morning?"
Ryan merely nodded in greeting.
Luke looked from Seth to Ryan with an amused smile before turning serious. "I heard," he said to Ryan. "You okay?"
Ryan shrugged. "Fine."
Seth nodded sagely. "You are." He turned to Luke. "He is."
"Seth's keeping me entertained," Ryan added.
"Oh?"
He nodded. "He's been reduced to silence by himself twice already."
Luke snickered. "Impressive."
Seth pouted. Summer often said it was cute. Ryan and Luke didn't pay attention to the poutiness, which was probably for the best.
"Have you seen Marissa?" Ryan asked.
"Not yet. I know she's out of the hospital. I think Julie gave her something -- of the Valium variety. They're staying at a model house of the Newport group, while…" Luke trailed off. Seth supposed the guy was looking for an appropriate way to tell Ryan, "While they clean all the blood." But there was probably no such thing as a good way to say that, so Luke finally added, "You know."
An uncomfortable silence fell, and Ryan paled, staring blankly at Luke.
"Man?" Luke asked, as Seth called, "Ryan?"
Ryan shook his head, smiling apologetically. "Sorry," he said.
Luke sat down. "No problem."
Seth concurred. "Yeah. Whatever you want to say. Or not say. Or whatever."
Ryan's lips twitched. "You're making even less sense than usual, Seth. But thanks."
Seth smiled, satisfied.
"So, what is it like to be back?" Ryan asked Luke.
Luke began to explain how awkward it was; how he needed to see Marissa after what had happened, but that implied running into Julie, and that he was totally over Julie but... Seth tuned him out. Luke may have progressed as a human being, but Seth didn't feel obligated to forgive all the bullying and the humiliations Luke had inflicted on him as a kid.
Ryan seemed interested in what Luke was saying, providing advice and commiserating.
Good, Seth thought. As long as Luke gave Ryan something to think about, he was welcome to stay.
And, hey, Seth had been in Ryan's company for almost five minutes now, if not ten, and still no foot in the mouth.
He was on a roll.
* * *
True to his word, Sandy came back early.
Kirsten was cleaning the kitchen cupboard. The short nap she had taken in the morning hadn't helped her and she felt exhausted.
"Hey," Sandy greeted.
"Hi, honey."
They kissed and held on to each other for a few seconds. Then Sandy said, "I talked to the police."
Kirsten let go of him. "Is there a problem with Ryan?" she asked, immediately worried.
"No, no!" Sandy smiled. "If nothing else, they're now one hundred percent certain that Ryan didn't have any choice."
Kirsten smiled grimly. "Good."
Sandy looked at the patio, where Ryan, Luke and Seth were lounging, talking animatedly. Seth was saying something, arms waving in the air, Luke was laughing and Ryan was watching the scene with a small smile.
"Luke arrived two hours ago," Kirsten said.
"Good."
"What did the police say?" The real question she wanted to ask was, "Why did this happen?" but she trusted Sandy to read between the lines.
Sandy went into the living room and she followed, sitting down next to him.
"Oliver was released from the hospital five months ago, having been declared cured and fit to go back to a normal life."
"Already?" Her lips had already thinned.
"He wasn't a danger to himself or others anymore," Sandy said in his best professional voice, not at all laced with irony. Not at all. "He still had follow-up appointments, but he seemed to be doing well."
"And?"
"And guess what his parents did?"
"Left him on his own?"
He nodded grimly. Kirsten didn't think she'd ever understand people like that. Oliver had tried to kill himself twice, and they had still left him alone? Had they found the warning signs too subtle?
"The therapist they talked to now recognizes that Oliver must have lied about having gotten over his obsession with Marissa."
Kirsten growled. "Does he now?"
"Yes." Sandy shook his head. "Oliver went to see Marissa, entered, threatened her. She panicked."
"And called Ryan," Kirsten finished for him. She selfishly wished the girl had called somebody else -- like, for example, an adult trained to respond to this kind of situation. And maybe that made her the worst person on the face of the earth, but so be it.
"How is he doing?" Sandy asked with a nod to the patio.
"I didn't see him much," she admitted. "I thought it would be best to let him breathe a little."
"Probably."
She rubbed her eyes. "Oliver had already done enough damage the last time," she said. "And now, we find ourselves cleaning up behind him *again* because his parents didn't care, and the people who were supposed to help him were too full of themselves to see through his game."
"Yes."
Their eyes met. "They didn't warn us about that when we became parents," she said.
"We'll sue them," Sandy said seriously. "Whoever *they* are."
Most times, she found her husband's sense of humor atrocious. Today was no exception. And yet, she found herself laughing at his earnest tone.
They would survive this, she resolved. No matter what it took.
Chapter 5