Sandy's barely holding on. Meanwhile, Kirsten writes a letter to Ryan from rehab, before she learns of the shooting and surrounding drama. There are things she needs to explain. But a shattered Ryan knows everything has changed …

Disclaimer: I own nothing. No characters, no concept, nothing. Just borrowing, for a few pages, okay?

A/N: In my little world, Kirsten has not been allowed to communicate with anyone from Newport since arriving at the Center. Therefore, she does not know about Trey. (FYI, in my universe, Trey survives. I can't stand Ryan having to live with the onus of responsibility for his own brother's death...)

This is my first multi-chapter offering – to be told in a short series of chapters and letters… All reviews are deeply appreciated.

Time: Late morning, the day after Kirsten goes to Suriak. The day after Trey is shot …

>>>>>>

Sandy eyed the telephone with trepidation, waiting for it to ring. Wondering whether he even wanted to answer it when it did.

As he waited, he asked himself again how his family had become 'that family'.

Some of the explanations were obvious. He sifted through the major items: the impact of the boys leaving last summer; his own ill-considered and reckless responses to Rebecca's reappearance in his life; Caleb's legal issues that had endangered Kirsten; the whole Lindsay revelation followed by her unanticipated departure; Trey's arrival and the ensuing disruptions; Kirsten's near-consuming involvement with Newport Living; Caleb's heart attack and death …

Other problems were more insidious, chipping away steadily from the inside. Chipping away at their very foundation, forming tiny crevices that went largely unnoticed. That had steadily lengthened and widened, becoming ever more dangerous.

One tiny crack at a time. One glass at a time. One unattended problem at a time. Until his wife and son were swallowed … lost in the abyss.

Kirsten – his strength, she who grounded him, who held their family together – had been fractured. He still found it inconceivable that it had come to this. That in the end, there had been no choice, as Kirsten checked into Suriak, a treatment center for alcohol abuse.

He hadn't spoken with her since yesterday when they said goodbye in the empty hallway – since she lifted her fingers in the air, releasing a final kiss to cross their distances.

He wouldn't be permitted to communicate with her for nearly two more days, as she completed the critical detox phase of her treatment.

Her doctors insisted she be shielded from new pain. She doesn't need this burden now, they counseled. Wait until your visit. Give her that time to start her healing. We'll speak with her together.

And so he shouldered singly this new weight thrust upon him. Revealed in fragments through Seth's phone call, received as he drove home from Suriak.

The words had been disjointed. Ryan. Trey. Hospital. Cops. Gunshot. Marissa.

He had barely made sense of anything his son had said. What he had known was this – something had gonehorribly wrong, and he needed to be there.

He recalled Marissa's state of shock last night, which meltedintobody-racking sobs as the girl clung desperately to her father. His relief whenher parents took her home.

He remembered Seth's ashen face as they sat in the waiting room at the hospital.

His own temper snapping as Seth started to explain what had happened.

His angry words, "What on earth were you thinking? What ever possessed you to tell him about Trey, anyway? Why didn't you come to me first?"

Seth's sharp response, "I don't know, Dad. Maybe because you're never around? Because we've gotten used to dealing with things pretty much on our own this year?"

Feeling kicked in the gut, with the truth. Reaching for Seth's shoulders. Holding them gently between his hands, as he waited for his son to look him at him…

When at last his child's eyes met his, saying softly "You're right, son. But that all changes, right now. I promise."

Seeing tears in the deep brown eyes threatening to spill, as the boy replied haltingly, "Good, because we really need you."

Seth swiping his eyes with his arm, and looking toward where Ryan was slumped in a corner.

"I've never seen him like this Dad. It's like his eyes just went dead, and then he became someone else. Like Ryan just disappeared."

Seth's face filled with overpowering guilt and sadness, as he whispered, "I'm so sorry…"

Folding the lanky teenager into his arms, mumbling, "I know…I know."

Sandy wondering if Ryan hadn't disappeared much earlier. Upon his return to Newport.

The perfect son, the perfect brother, the perfect student – all a mask he should have seen through. Should have dealt with.

But he had been too occupied, and it had been convenient to accept the face that Ryan wore for them. To ignore the demons hidden underneath.

Whispering into his son's brown curls, "I'm sorry, too."

He recalled Ryan's glazed eyes from last night, and the angry red marks around his neck where Trey had nearly choked him. He had watched as the teenager was treated for his injuries. Then photographed, to preserve evidence of the bruising around his throat. Over other parts of his body.

He had waited with his sons while Trey was in surgery, his survival in question. Knowing that whether the young man lived or died, his body would be photographed, too. That the bruises would be evidence against Ryan. That the bullet which passed through Trey's body ended the fight that Ryan started.

He could still hear Ryan's short, polite, but emotionally withdrawn responses to the barrage of questions from the police. Hear himself advise when to say nothing to police anxious to determine responsibility. Assign culpability.

He thought of his attempt to engage Ryan in conversation, as they waited to learn his brother's fate.

The boy sitting slouched in a chair by a window in the far corner of the waiting room, partially hidden by a scraggly ficus.

"Ryan?"

Seeing the glassy eyes reflected in the window, staring without focus. Seeing no movement or sign of response.

Moving around the ficus, to lean against the window. Being rewarded with an upward flick of the dark blue eyes. Ryan's voice gravelly as he spoke. "You shouldn't be here." Ryan glancing at Seth and adding, "Neither should he."

"You're here, we're here. It's that simple."

Ryan rubbing his battered knuckles, and whispering softly, "Nothing's that simple."

The beaten teen refusing to say anything else until at last the doctor came out to indicate that Trey would recover.

Laying a hand on his foster-son's shoulder. "Let's go home, Ryan. We can come back to see Trey when he wakes up in the morning."

Ryan rising at last from his chair, allowing Sandy to direct him towards the car. Turning to Sandy and saying his final words of the evening, "I'm not coming back here. Not for him."

The telephone startled him out of his reflections. He let it ring five times before he picked it up.

>>>>>>

"Thanks. I'll let him know," Sandy promised, speaking into the mouthpiece.

He sighed as he hung up the telephone, relieved that the conversation had gone as well as he could have hoped. One small victory …

He sat back in his chair, in the relative shelter of his home office. The one room in the house that was least reminiscent of Kirsten. The only place where he didn't expect to see her at any moment, shining bright and golden like his own resplendent sun.

Everywhere else inside the house, the void took his breath away.

For the thousandth time, he cursed his own stupidity. His inattention and arrogance. His neglect of both marital and parental responsibility.

Had anyone ever been given so much, and yet protected it so carelessly?

He took in a deep breath, forcing himself to focus. He didn't have time for this self-flagellation, no matter how much he might deserve it.

He didn't have time for anything that took his eye off the challenges ahead of him. He needed to pick his battles carefully, and play each one to win. Because salvaging his family was by far the most important fight of his life.

Rising with determination, he made his way to the pool house. Denied contact with Kirsten, he could not be the husband he promised himself he would be. That would have to wait.

But he could damn well be a parent.

>>>>>>

From the kitchen, Sandy could see through the open blinds of the pool house. Ryan appeared to be working at his desk, with a textbook spread open in front of him. Sandy was struck with how normal it all looked …

Earlier, the boy had come into the kitchen to get coffee, but only after Seth had gone to school with Summer. Other than a mumbled greeting, the teen had said nothing, retreating to the pool house as soon as his cup was full.

It was a fine line, Sandy thought, between reaching out to Ryan, and threatening his much-prized privacy. But it was a line he would have to traverse. If not today, then soon. Very soon.

Crossing to the pool house, Sandy knocked on the door. Ryan looked across, and motioned for him to come inside.

"Hey, kid. How are you feeling?" Sandy winced as he saw the purple marks around the boy's neck, and the blackened eye and bruised face.

Sandy watched Ryan duck his head, as though to hide the offending bruises. Watched him pull his head up once more, grimace and raise his eyebrows, as he replied "Been better, I guess."

The teen rose stiffly from his chair and stepped down carefully to the lower level of his room. Sandy saw him bite his lip as the steep step down must have jarred his battered ribs and torso.

"Did you take the pain medication the doctor gave you?"

"Yeah. The one she said I had to take. Not the other one." He nodded toward his nightstand, where one pill rested alone on the surface.

Sandy stared at his foster-son, considering whether strength or stubbornness drove the boy to refuse the relief afforded. "Your choice, but don't suffer needlessly. Your body has to heal, and it can do that more easily when it's not waging war on pain."

Ryan shrugged. "It's not that bad. I promise, if it gets worse, I'll take the mega pain killer, okay?"

"Okay," Sandy agreed, glad for at least some token acquiescence from the boy. The truth was, he reflected sadly, that Ryan had probably suffered far worse physical pain in the past.

It was the boy's emotional well-being that concerned Sandy more. How do you deal with the aftermath of a near duel to the death with your brother?

And how much did Ryan need to know of the potential legal consequences emanating from last night's heartbreak? For the moment, Sandy thought, less is definitely more …

Sandy took a stab at something else. "I spoke with the hospital early this morning. Trey can have visitors, if you want to see him."

Ryan's eyes flashed. "I don't."

"Just checking, Ryan. In case you changed your mind." Sandy explained apologetically.

The teenager held Sandy's gaze for several seconds before he dropped his eyes to stare at his hands. His tone was resolute as he replied, "I won't."

Sandy decided not to mention his own intention to visit Trey. He had his reasons, but for the moment he would keep some things to himself.

He searched for a neutral topic. "Have you eaten anything?" Sandy asked, thinking how Kirsten worried about Ryan's negligible appetite.

"Not hungry," came the anticipated response.

"Nevertheless, you have to eat. How about a bagel? Or some toast?" he asked.

Ryan sighed, and gave in. "Okay. Toast. But just one slice."

Sandy smiled encouragingly, and said, "Then follow me to kitchen, kid. I'm getting better with the toaster…"

Inside the kitchen, Ryan climbed gingerly onto a bar stool, and looked warily at his guardian. Sandy noted his expression, as he quickly dropped two slices of wholegrain bread into the toaster.

Ryan surprised him, speaking first. "Sandy, if this is where you tell me how bad I screwed up, can we please wait until later? I need some time right now. Please …"

Sandy heard the catch in the boy's voice, and saw the unsettled blue eyes. Maybe talking later would be better, anyway. He'd have more information. Have a clearer picture of what they were really facing.

He stepped across the space separating him from his foster son, putting a hand on the boy's shoulder gently, cautious of his bruises. "We can wait, son. But not too long."

The toast popped up noisily, almost drowning Ryan's hushed "Thanks."

Sandy squeezed the boys shoulder carefully, and brushed the side of his purpled face before turning his attention to the toast.

Handing one slice to Ryan, he buttered the second, just in case, and set it on the counter.

"I talked to Dr. Kim this morning. She says you can continue to work from home temporarily. Until you're ready to go back to school. Seth will bring your assignments, and you can also communicate by email."

Ryan looked at him skeptically. "You mean, if I go back," he said softly.

"We'll get through this, kid," Sandy said, trying to sound more confident than he felt. Smiling reassuringly at the teen.

Ryan grimaced fleetingly in response, but said nothing.

As Ryan ate, Sandy recalled his conversation with Dr. Kim. From hints she had dropped it was clear that she felt pressured fromHarbor parents to take action against the teenager. To his relief, she had assured Sandy that there would be no automatic suspension or expulsion from the private academy.

Of course, she also had made it clear that if charges were ultimately brought against Ryan, everything would change.

Ryan finished his toast in silence, and placed his hands on the countertop, ready to push away. "Can I go now?" he asked. "I'd like to lie down for a little while."

Sandy grudgingly nodded, eyeing the second piece of toast sitting untouched. "Okay, but you need to take your next medication, and I want you back in here for dinner. Clear?" He kept his voice gentle, but firm.

Ryan took the tablet and bottle of juice that Sandy handed him, downing the medication quickly. "Clear," he answered, sliding off the stool, and escaping to his room.

Sandy watched the adolescent retreat to the pool house, and begin to lower the blinds closest to the house. Sandy stood staring as the blinds slowly blocked his view, thinking them symbolic of the less tangible but more effective emotional barriers his foster-son so often slid into place.

He stood transfixed for several minutes, before returning to his office.

There were more phone calls to be made. More people to see. The police. The ADA. Ryan's PO. Trey's PO. Child Services.

So many victories to be won. Because the price of losing would be far too high.

TBC