Someone, Anyone (M&M, CC/UC, AU, Adult) COMPLETE, 01/20/16

Fics using the characters from Roswell, but where the plot does not have anything to do with aliens, nor are any of the characters "not of this Earth."

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Eva
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Re: Someone, Anyone (M&M, CC/UC, AU, Adult) Part 81, 10/17/1

Post by Eva »

Oh, no, no, no,no!!!! I knew it was wrong to have a party. I trusted Michael but I didn't trust the others. The thing would be to big to handle and see, Max had the chance to break in and grabe Dylan. F**ck!
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keepsmiling7
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Re: Someone, Anyone (M&M, CC/UC, AU, Adult) Part 81, 10/17/1

Post by keepsmiling7 »

Michael has matured and Liz complimented this.
Max was really down on him self.......and with good reason.
He's out off college, admitted faking studying to impress Liz.
Now poor Liz.......she will be doing this on her own, it's good she's realized it.
To say Max is in his own person hell is an understatement.
Now he's gone off the deep end with Dylan.
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Carolyn
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Re: Someone, Anyone (M&M, CC/UC, AU, Adult) Part 81, 10/17/1

Post by sarammlover »

And just like that....all hell will break loose!!!! I was positive Max was on a different path. I wanted to desperately to believe in him. I wish Liz was enough for him, but until he wants to be a better person, he can't be saved. He has to want it.

I am surprised Michael thinks what they are doing is fun. He doesn't seem like he is having fun. I wish he would have taken Kyle up on the offer to have the party at his house instead.

I am HOPING Max doesn't get away with Dylan out of the house. I sure hope someone is there to stop him.

Now we have to wait for a week before finding out! AHHHH!
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April
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Part 82

Post by April »

Eva:
Oh, no, no, no,no!!!! I knew it was wrong to have a party. I trusted Michael but I didn't trust the others. The thing would be to big to handle and see, Max had the chance to break in and grabe Dylan. F**ck!
Michael has messed up big time here. This is not good. :(


Carolyn:
Now poor Liz.......she will be doing this on her own, it's good she's realized it.
Liz is a smart, capable girl. She's scared right now, but in the end, this might be the best thing for her. Max is not the guy she thought he was, and he's in no condition to be anyone's father right now.
To say Max is in his own person hell is an understatement.
Now he's gone off the deep end with Dylan.
He's definitely gone off the deep end BIG-TIME.


Sara:
And just like that....all hell will break loose!!!! I was positive Max was on a different path. I wanted to desperately to believe in him. I wish Liz was enough for him, but until he wants to be a better person, he can't be saved. He has to want it.
Max is a very tragic character right now. It's not like he's the devil or anything. He's a misguided man who's dragging himself down, and now unfortunately bringing others with him. What he's doing right now is very scary and very dangerous for Dylan.
I am surprised Michael thinks what they are doing is fun. He doesn't seem like he is having fun. I wish he would have taken Kyle up on the offer to have the party at his house instead.
Michael's at this weird transition point in his life, where part of him is having fun, and part of him is completely over it.


Thanks for reading and leaving feedback! I appreciate it!

This is a MAJOR part today, and I'm going to drop off the song "The Lightning Strike" by Snow Patrol. Super dramatic music for some super dramatic stuff. You can listen to it here or click on :? when you see it.









Part 82








The room became eerily quiet as Michael poised himself for his last shot. He aimed, gently flicked the ball forward, and watched as it bounced off the table and into the farthest cup. Everyone shouted, and he threw his arms in the air. “Woo! That’s what I’m talkin’ about!”

“Holy crap!” Antonio yelled. “A perfect game a beer pong. Never thought I’d see the day.”

“Take notes, boys,” Michael bragged. “That’s how it’s done.”

Jase made a big deal out of pretending to bow to him. “I bow down to the master.”

Damn straight, Michael thought. No one ever beat him in beer pong. He still had it.

“Quite a talent you got there,” Kyle remarked as he poured himself another drink.

“Yeah, really,” Michael agreed as the rest of the guys set up the game all over again.

“You playin’ again?” Jase asked him.

Michael thought about it for a second, then figured he had nothing left to prove. “Nah, I’ll sit this one out.” Might as well give one of the other guys a chance to step up and attempt to be half as awesome as he was.

“You sure?” Jase said.

“Yeah.” For some reason . . . he was very sure.

Frowning, he took a step back from the table, looking around. Something didn’t . . . feel right.

“You alright?” Kyle asked him, holding out a red cup.

“Yeah.” He took it from his friend, peering down at the familiar liquid inside. Something told him not to drink it, though. That weird feeling . . . it just wasn’t going away.

Probably nothing, he assured himself. But he set the drink down on the counter anyway. “I’m gonna go check on Dylan,” he told his friend.

“Alright.”

He forced himself to take the stairs at a normal, casual pace, because running up them would have heightened the sense that something was wrong. When he got to Tina’s room and opened the door, he fully expected to see her and Dylan, talking or playing inside. But the room was empty. The bed was unmade and definitely looked like people had been lying in it, but there was no one there.

What the . . .? He searched for a logical explanation. His bedroom. Had to be. That’s where they were.

He backtracked to his own bedroom door and threw it open, hoping to feel a sense of relief when he saw the two of them there. But the room was pitch dark, completely empty.

That feeling, that weird, unshakable feeling . . . it suddenly got a lot stronger.

“Dylan?” he called. “Tina!” He heard laughter coming from the bathroom, so he tried the door, but it was locked. “Tina!” he roared, pounding his fists against it.

She opened it, looking up at him innocently. “What?” Her phone was pressed to her shoulder so that whoever was on the other end wouldn’t hear.

“Where’s Dylan?” he demanded.

“In my room,” she replied.

“No, he’s not. Where is he?”

“What?” She set the phone down, stepping out of the bathroom and past him. She went into her room and looked, as if she didn’t believe him. “I don’t know,” she whimpered. “I left him in here, like, ten minutes ago.”

“Ten minutes?” Michael took off down the stairs, his footsteps thundering with urgency. Tina followed him, and when Kyle spotted them, he left the beer pong game and ran along, too.

“What’s wrong?” Kyle asked.

“Dylan!” Michael called, racing into his tiny bedroom. Maybe he’d just wanted to sleep there instead . . .

. . . or maybe not, because that room, just like the other two, was completely empty.

“I don’t understand,” Tina squeaked out. “Where is he?”

“You lost Dylan?” Kyle shrieked.

“Dylan!” Michael blared again, pushing past both of them. “Dylan!” He ran out into the back yard, hoping, praying . . .

“Dylan!” No luck. He wasn’t back there, either.

“Oh my god, oh my god!” Tina cried. “Where is he?”

“I don’t know, you tell me!” Michael yelled at her. “You were supposed to be watching him!”

“I was!” she insisted.

Dylan!” He stood in the middle of the back yard like an idiot, clueless, panicked, desperate. Ten minutes was a long time for Dylan to be alone. Anything could have happened. He could have gone anywhere.

“Okay, think,” Kyle said, ever the calm one. “Where would he go?”

“That’s just it, I don’t--” Before Michael could finish his sentence, he heard the sound of a car horn honking loudly from the front of the house. On instinct, he ran around the side of the house, his sister and his best friend still trailing him, and finally—finally . . . he saw something.

Dylan was right there, in the back of a car, looking out the window worriedly. And standing by the driver’s side door . . .

Max.

“Daddy!” the little boy called.

“Dylan!” Michael called. He thought about running forward, but Max looked like he could get in that car and drive off any minute. So he stopped dead in his tracks and stayed back, deciding it was best to try to talk some sense into the guy instead. “Max, what’re you doin’?” he asked shakily.

Max shrugged nonchalantly. “Just spendin’ some time with my kid.”

Dylan pounded his little fists against the window, crying now. “Daddy!”

“Let him outta the car,” Michael begged fearfully, his heart breaking when he looked at Dylan. “Please.”

Max didn’t move a muscle.

“Come on, look at him,” Michael said. “He’s scared.”

“He’ll be fine,” Max proclaimed. “You got your chance to be his dad. Now it’s my turn.” He sat down in the front seat and slammed the door shut.

“No!” Michael screamed, racing forward. He felt like he was going in slow motion. He heard the car starting up right as he got to it and tried pulling open door. It was locked, though, and he only got to give the handle one good pull before it slipped away from him as Max slammed on the gas and peeled away from the curb.

Daddy!”

“DYLAN!” His gut instinct was to chase it. He tried in vain to run after the car for a block, but there was no way he could keep up. It disappeared into the night, taking Dylan along with it, leaving him sputtering to a stop in the middle of the street.

Holy shit.

He nearly stumbled over his own two feet as he ran back to his house, trying to grasp what had just happened. It seemed too unbelievable to be real.

Tina was on her knees, sobbing, and Kyle already had his phone out and was calling the cops.

“Keys!” Michael yelled at him.

Kyle fished his keys out of his pocket as he began to relay the situation to the operator, and Michael seized them. He climbed into his friend’s truck, started it up, and backed it out of the driveway haphazardly, not caring if he hit someone else’s car, or even just someone else in general.

“Michael, wait!” Tina cried out. She tried to run out onto the street, but Kyle grabbed her shoulder and pulled her back.

Michael put the truck into drive and floored the accelerator, zooming off in the same direction Max had, blood pumping, heart racing.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Isabel felt emotionally exhausted after getting off the phone with Liz. The girl was a hysterical wreck right now, understandably. Isabel had only been able to decipher half of what she’d said through her sobs, but from what she gathered, Max had pretty much sabotaged an already delicate situation.

She went up to her brother’s room that evening, thinking he must have come back there. Besides her and Liz, he didn’t really have anyone in Roswell. If Liz couldn’t talk to him, maybe she could.

Knocking on his door, she said, “Max,” hoping he’d tell her to come in.

No response.

She knocked again, more impatiently this time. “Max, it’s just me.” She sighed, waiting. “Look, I just got off the phone with Liz. She’s . . . really worked up.” That was quite possibly the understatement of the year.

The persistent silence on the other side of that bedroom door made her wonder if she was even talking to anyone at all. “Max?” She opened the door and stepped in hesitantly. No one. She flipped on the light switch anyway.

Great, she thought. So Max was out there all alone on an emotional rampage. That wasn’t particularly healthy.

Isabel reached into her pocket for her phone, contemplating calling him. But then she remembered something. The very white, very dangerous something in that nightstand drawer.

She pulled open the drawer, her breath catching momentarily when she saw his stash. It was only half as full as it once had been. So either he had half of his cocaine supply with him, or he had already done it.

Shuddering inwardly, she shut the drawer again. She didn’t want to see her brother go down that path, but what if it was too late to stop him?

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Max blinked his eyes rapidly, trying to stay focused on the road in front of him. It had begun to rain pretty hard, so visibility was low, and he knew he had to pay attention to what he was doing. But he kept seeing flashes in his vision. And he kept feeling like he needed to scratch his back. And jump out of the car just for the heck of it. And all sorts of other crazy things.

The high had dulled, but it hadn’t even come close to wearing off.

“You alright back there, Dylan?” he asked, peering into the rearview mirror.

Dylan had stopped crying, but he was curled up in a ball now, looking out the window, shaking. “I wanna go home,” he whimpered.

I didn’t mean to scare you, Max thought. He felt bad about that. “I’ll take you home later,” he promised. “After we hang out for a while. Just you and me.”

Suddenly, Dylan got a little spark back in him again. “No!” he yelled defiantly. “I want my daddy!”

Max’s jaw tightened, and he groaned in frustration. “Yeah, well, you’ve got him,” he grumbled in discontent.

“I wanna go home!” Dylan repeated, starting to kick the back of Max’s seat now. “Daddy! Daddy!”

“Dylan, stop it!” Max scolded. “I can’t—I gotta focus!”

“Daddy!” Dylan yelped again. “I want my daddy!”

“That’s me, Dylan!” Max roared. “I’m your daddy.”

Dylan started to cry, then scream, and soon enough, he was doing a mixture of the two. It was loud, almost too loud for Max to handle, and combined with the way he kept kicking the seat . . . Max felt like he was going to lose it.

“Stop!” he yelled again. “Just stop it!” This was probably the only night he would ever get to spend with his son. He didn’t want to waste it dealing with a temper tantrum.

Dylan did not stop.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Oh god, was all Kyle could think as he answered questions on the Guerin front lawn. Oh god. The police had so many questions about what had happened, and he was the only one there who could answer them. The rest of the guys had cleared out the moment they heard sirens, but music was still blaring from inside. Neighbors were peeking out their windows and standing outside on their porches, trying to figure out what was going on. And Tina . . . she hadn’t gotten up from where she’d nearly collapsed in the front lawn, and she hadn’t stopped crying. The cops were trying to ask her questions, too, but she was so inconsolable that she could barely answer them.

“So you say the man who took the boy . . . was his father?” an officer asked Kyle for what felt like the twentieth time.

“Yes,” he replied impatiently. “Technically.”

“His biological father?”

“Yeah, but he’s not a part of his life.” How many times had he told them the facts? As far as Kyle could tell, only one of the four vehicles that had originally shown up there had left to go search for Dylan and Max. Four officers had arrived on the scene ten minutes ago, and two of them were inside combing the house for clues. He’d tried to tell them that they wouldn’t find anything other than evidence of underage drinking.

“And the boy was asleep in your room?” the officer asked Tina.

Her whole body jolted with tears, and she nodded. “It’s all my fault!”

“No, come here, Tina,” Kyle said, bending down. He managed to scoop her up onto her feet, but she had to hold onto him for support.

“Do you have any idea where he would’ve taken the child?” the officer asked.

“No,” Kyle responded frustratedly, feeling like this was all a waste of time. “I don’t even know him.”

“Did he say anything? Anything at all?”

Kyle sighed. “He just said it was his turn. I don’t know where he’s taking him, but I know he’s not supposed to have him. You have to find them. Please.” It wasn’t even just Dylan he was worried about. If something happened to him, something bad . . . Michael wouldn’t live through it.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Trundling down the stairs after Michael, Isabel tried to wrap her head around what he was telling her. “What do you mean he took him?”

“He took him, Isabel!” Michael bellowed. “What part of that don’t you understand? He took him right outta my house, drove off with him down the street.”

“Oh my god.” Her stomach clenched. This was it, wasn’t it? Max had reached his breaking point. He’d snapped. It had become blatantly apparent to her in the weeks since he’d strolled into town that he was not at all the uber-confident, suave man he projected himself to be. He was a boy hanging on by a thread, but apparently he wasn’t hanging on anymore. He’d just . . . let go.

She’d never dreamed all his frustration and anger and confusion would amount to this. He was acting like a crazy person. And if what Liz had told her about him getting kicked out of college was true, then he was probably feeling like he had nothing left to lose at this point.

“I gotta find him,” Michael said, sounding like a man on a mission. “If you hear from him or if he comes back here . . .”

“Yeah, I’ll let you know,” she agreed. Something told her Max would be steering clear of the house, though. He had to know that anyone who found him would try to stop him, talk some sense into him.

As Michael was about to leave, she called out his name to stop him. “Michael!”

He turned back around, looking impatient, like he just wanted to get back out there and keep driving around, keep looking.

She shifted uncomfortably, feeling like she was about to betray her brother by divulging his dirty little secret. “He might be . . . on something,” she mumbled shamefully. She had to tell him, though, didn’t she? If Max was as high as she suspected, Michael had to know. He had to know Max wasn’t thinking clearly, that he was capable of . . . anything. He had to be prepared.

Looking like he’d just been punched in the gut upon receiving that juicy tidbit of info, Michael rushed back out the door, even more worried now than he’d been when he’d shown up. Isabel stayed inside, shaking, listening as he started up Kyle’s truck and took off.

She wished she would have said something. To anyone. Warned Michael how unstable Max was. Told her mom about the drugs he’d been keeping stashed away. Calmed Max down before he’d gone and done this. Anything.

But she’d done nothing, nothing but sit back and be the ultimate bystander, delighting in her brother’s shenanigans, loving that his mere presence alone had been enough to disrupt Michael and Maria’s perfect little utopia of happiness. But everything had been harmless. He hadn’t really been a threat to them, and especially not to Dylan.

Until now.

There was no telling what he would do, especially since there was no one holding him back.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

No, Max thought, gripping the steering wheel tightly as rain pelted the windshield. Not yet.

He could feel it happening, just as he’d felt it so many times before: the crash. That moment when he came down from his high. It wasn’t a gradual thing for him. Never had been. It was always blunt, sudden, and depressing as hell. One second, he felt powerful, and he believed he would keep feeling powerful . . . until he realized he wasn’t. Until he felt weak.

He felt weak now. And nauseous. Pissed off and a whole bunch of other things. It probably didn’t help that Dylan was still yelling in the back of the car like a banshee, still kicking at his seat, still complaining about how he wanted his daddy.

“Please stop,” Max begged. “I’ll take you back home, okay? I don’t . . .” He actually started to cry, and that only made him feel weaker. “I’m sorry.” He hadn’t meant to do any of this. He just wasn’t himself when he was on cocaine. It amplified every negative thing about him, stimulated him in a way he wasn’t proud to admit to.

“I wanna go home!” Dylan shouted at the top of his little lungs.

“Didn’t you listen?” Max roared. “I said I’ll take you home! Just stop! Stop yelling!” It was too loud. It hurt.

Dylan finally did stop screaming and kicking, but it was only to be replaced with crying. Hearing him cry made Max feel even worse. Not only had he basically kidnapped his own kid, but he’d hurt his feelings. For some reason, he felt like that was the greater evil. He could bring him home and hope that he somehow forgot about all of this. But he couldn’t get him to stop crying.

Max squeezed his own eyes shut as he squeezed the steering wheel. Make it stop, he thought. Everything was just too much.

When he opened his eyes again, he was blinded by headlights. “Fuck!” he swore, quickly veering back over to the correct side of the road. The rainy conditions made it difficult to correct, though, and he swerved too far to the right, slamming into the railing of a bridge. He managed to hit the brakes. Their screeching sound coalesced with Dylan’s, and Max shut his eyes again, bracing himself for the car to go over the side.

But it didn’t. It stopped right on the edge of the bridge. The headlights beamed down into the water.

Holy shit, he thought, raking his hands through his hair. The car was still running, so he turned it off, even though smoke was coming from the hood. He shut it off and looked back at Dylan to check and see if he was okay. “Hey, are you alright?” he asked.

Dylan was pouting, touching a little cut on his head. It wasn’t much, but it was bleeding. He’d hit his head on the window. There was a tiny crack in the window.

Oh god, Max thought, reaching back for him. But Dylan recoiled.

“I’m sorry,” Max apologized again. As if it would do any good. “I’m so sorry.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

It was raining so hard Michael could barely see the road, but he wouldn’t stop. Wouldn’t even slow down. Dylan was out there somewhere with Max, counting on him. He needed him.

He drove aimlessly, no destination in mind, just wandering and looking, hoping that he would just happen to find them. Or better yet, that he would get a phone call from Kyle, telling him some good news, that the police had found Dylan and he was already home, warm and safe and sound.

He got a few phone calls from Kyle, but only ones where he asked if he’d found them yet.

No. He hadn’t.

He passed one cop car during his drive, one that didn’t appear to be searching at all, and that made his blood boil.

Naturally, he felt scared more than anything else. What if Max was taking Dylan out of town? What if he was taking him somewhere where he’d never find him again? What if the drugs impaired his ability to drive? What if Dylan was hurt?

It was all his fault.

“It’s not gonna get too wild. Trust me.”

He grunted angrily, remembering his promise to Tina. Not too wild? Yeah, right. This was the wildest night of his life.

“I can be a dad and be a high school senior at the same time.”

He shook his head, pissed at himself for being so arrogant, so careless. He should have never had that stupid party. No wonder people doubted him.

“I got this.”

People like Amy, who had offered to watch Dylan. People like his dad. Even his mom. Maybe even Maria.

“We’re gonna be fine here. And you’re gonna have a blast.”

He’d promised Maria . . . he’d promised her so many things. She trusted him to take care of her child, and he’d assured her he could handle it. Over and over again. He should have been able to handle it. There was no reason, no excuse . . .

There was no reason for any of this.

If something happened to Dylan because of him . . .

He couldn’t even think about it. All he could think about was finding Dylan, scooping him up into his arms, and taking him home. Tucking him into bed and watching over him all night. And the night after that. And the night after that. He would never let anything bad happen to him ever again.

So he had to keep driving.

It seemed like it took him a long time, but in reality, it probably wasn’t more than half an hour. He drove out to one of the back roads leading out of town, chancing a guess that Max, either consciously or subconsciously, would have headed in that direction. And then he saw it, saw it through the downpour.

A car. Crashed right on the side of the bridge. Stopped precariously, right on the edge.

That had to be them.

He brought Kyle’s truck to a stop just a few feet behind and left the headlights on to give him some visibility as he got out. “Dylan!” he yelled, wiping the rain from his eyes.

Even though it was hard to see, he could see Dylan clear as day. “Daddy!” he yelled, running toward him.

Michael met him by the car and picked him up, holding him so tightly, relief coursing through him. “Oh, thank God.” He cried because he was so happy. He’d never been happier to see anyone in his whole life.

Max was looking under the hood of the car, apparently trying to get it running again. He gave Michael a few unhappy looks, then shut the hood and flapped his arms against his sides as if he were resigned to his dangerous adventure being over.

Holy crap, Michael thought, surveying the scene. Dangerous may have been an understatement. One foot further, that car might have plummeted over the bridge. The railing was an old, rickety wooden thing, and there was a gaping hole in it now from where the car had collided.

“Go get in the truck,” Michael told his son, setting down on his own two feet again. “Go get in there, alright?” He’d deal with Max.

Dylan scampered, making splashing sounds on the rain-sloshed streets, and Michael watched as he opened the door and climbed in. It took him a minute, because he was small, and he literally had to use all fours to get in there. But he did it. He was safe.

Michael was caught off guard when, as he turned back around, Max’s fist slammed into his face. The force of the hit sent him stumbling backward, out to the center line. He tried to keep his balance, but Max was too quick, and he hit him again.

“Daddy!” he heard Dylan scream from inside the vehicle.

Michael fell down, getting soaked, and Max towered over him, poised as if he wanted to hit him again.

“He’s my kid!” Max growled. “And you just took him! You just took him from me!”

Michael glared at him, getting back on his feet. “I don’t hear him callin’ you daddy,” he snapped.

“Yeah, that’s your fault!” Max roared. “That’s your fucking fault!” He lunged for Michael, but Michael saw it coming this time. He slipped out of the way and tackled Max, football style, slamming him down against the pavement. Max groaned as his head hit the concrete hard.

“Daddy!” Dylan yelled again.

Even though he didn’t want Dylan to see this, Michael couldn’t help but hit Max. Three times with his right hand. One. Two. Three. Each hit harder than the last. He got blood from his nose, and when Max coughed, he spit up blood, too.

It took everything he had to stop.

He stood up, kicking Max in the side, and took a few steps back towards the truck. “If you ever come near Dylan again, I’ll kill you,” he vowed. And it was a promise he intended to keep.

Max coughed some more, slowly moving up into a sitting position. Michael kept backing up, getting closer and closer to that truck. And when he finally turned around and reached for the door . . .

Big mistake. Max sprang to his feet and charged at him, slamming his whole body against the driver’s side door.

Dylan screamed again.

Michael fought back against him, moving the fight away from the truck, away from Dylan. He tried to swing, but Max ducked his punch this time. High or not, the guy knew how to fight.

Struggling against each other, they ended up on the other side of the bridge. Just when Michael thought he had the upper-hand again, though, Max pushed him forward with so much force, he almost toppled right over the railing. He caught himself, the railing digging into his stomach, and he stared down at the water, water that normally would have been calm but sounded much more intense because of the downpour.

Gasping for breath, he licked his lips when he tasted blood in his mouth, too. Shit. He had to get out of here, had to get Dylan out of here before things escalated any further, before it got any worse.

He turned around to see that Max had backed off a bit now. He looked . . . defeated, even though the fight was pretty evenly-matched. “I’m sorry,” he apologized suddenly, much to Michael’s dismay.

Michael grunted. Whatever. He didn’t give a fuck about this guy’s shitty apology. No sorry could make up for anything that had happened tonight.

“I didn’t mean for any of this . . .” Max trailed off, shaking his head, blinking the rain out of his eyes. “I don’t know what I’m doing.”

Michael looked over Max’s shoulder, where Dylan was slowly climbing back out of the truck. “Dylan, get in the truck!” he yelled. The situation was almost diffused here, and as soon as it was, he wanted to get in that driver’s seat and get his son home. No more delays, no more crisis.

“Oh god!” Max cried suddenly, pressing his hands hard to the sides of his head. “I didn’t mean to hurt him.”

Michael hadn’t failed to notice that little cut on Dylan’s forehead, but that paled in comparison to the nightmares he would have about this night for many nights to come. “Yeah, well, you did,” he accused, trying to make his way past him.

Max wasn’t done yet, though. He grabbed Michael by the shirt and tossed him back against the railing, holding him there. Michael felt his heart rate speed up with adrenaline and worry. He wasn’t used to this, being on the losing side of a fight, but that was what it was starting to feel like. Max was stronger, or more determined, or less rational. Or all of the above. Whatever it was, it was making him not give up.

“Daddy!”

“Dylan . . .” Michael could barely even look at him. If he really was about to get tossed over that bridge, he didn’t want his little boy to see it. “Please go get back in the truck.”

Dylan did not do as he was instructed, though. He did slink behind Max’s car, though, cowering down, as if he were hiding but unable to look away.

“I just wanted to be his dad,” Max whimpered. “For one night. I just wanted to be someone. You know?”

Michael tried to steady his breathing, not wanting to give Max the satisfaction of seeing him afraid. “Yeah,” he said calmly. “I know.”

“For one night,” Max growled, letting go of him. “And I screwed it up.”

Michael contemplated shoving his way past him, trying to knock him down. He wasn’t sure if he could get to Dylan and get in that truck, though, without Max stopping him again. Or would he just let him go this time? Maybe it was over.

He didn’t know what to do.

He met Dylan’s eyes. He was standing up again, still so small, still so scared.

“Just let me take him home,” Michael begged. “Please.”

“I was gonna do that. I was gonna . . . take him home.”

“No, you’re not.”

Max glared at him. “I was gonna take him, okay? I was never gonna leave.”

Michael didn’t believe him. This road did lead out of town, after all. Maybe the plan had been to bring him back tomorrow. Or maybe there had been no plan. At this point, it didn’t matter to him. All that mattered was Dylan.

Dylan was backing up a bit.

“Get in the truck,” Michael told him again. He’d be there in a minute.

“I’m so sorry,” Max reiterated, shaking his head sadly. “I really am.” He had the balls to look Michael right in the eye and ask, “What’re you gonna do now?”

What he was going to do and what he wanted to do were two entirely different things. He wanted to beat this guy down to nothing, even if he got beaten down in the process. But what he was going to do was put his hands up in front of himself non-confrontationally and slowly slink away, be as non-threatening as he could. And hopefully that would all diffuse the threat that was Max Evans.

“I’m taking him home,” Michael repeated evenly. “Okay?”

It took Max a minute to think about that, process it, and agree to it. But when he did, he nodded dazedly. “Okay.”

“Okay.” Michael didn’t take his eyes off him, afraid that if he did, he’d come at him again. But Max suddenly looked like he had no energy left, like he was depleted.

Good.

Just as he let himself believe it was over, he heard a scream.

He looked over Max’s shoulder just in time to see Dylan slip and fall backward, right through the hole in the railing Max’s car had caused. Right off the side of the bridge and into the water below.

( :? )

“DYLAN!” He slammed past Max, racing across the bridge to the other side, even though he knew it was too late. He didn’t hesitate, launching himself over the side, Dylan’s scream echoing in his mind until he plunged into the water.

It was deep. Cold. It wrapped around him like icy fingers, squeezing tight, pulling him deeper.

He immediately rose to the surface, calling desperately, “Dylan!”

Nothing.

From up above, still standing on the bridge, looking down over, Max yelled the same thing. “Dylan!”

Michael took a deep breath and dove down under the surface, kicking his legs to go deeper. He swirled his arms around him helplessly, trying to find his little boy. His little boy, who was only three years old, who didn’t know how to swim. He hadn’t been able to teach him yet.

It was too dark to see anything in that water, so all he could do was swim around and hope he felt him, hope he could grab onto him and get him back up for air.

He didn’t feel anything.

Soon enough, air was an issue for himself, and he had no choice but to swim back up to the surface. “I can’t find him!”

“Dylan!” Max yelled again. “Oh, god!”

“Get some help!” Michael shouted, diving back down again. Another swim. He didn’t know if he was getting closer or getting farther away.

He reached over to the left, over to the right, out in front of him, down below. All he felt was freezing cold water. No Dylan DeLuca. No little boy who couldn’t breathe right now.

He wanted to keep swimming, keep searching, and his adrenaline allowed him to stay underwater longer than he normally was able to. But inevitably, he had yet another need to come up for air, even though he was empty-handed.

He gasped for oxygen as he treaded water, scanning the surface for . . . anything. He could hear Max on the phone, talking to an 911 operator, barely coherent.

It would be too late by the time they got there. He had to find him.

And suddenly, he did.

Floating face down in the water a few feet away.

Dylan!” He surged forward in the water.








TBC . . .

-April
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LOVE IS MICHAEL AND MARIA.
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Eva
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Re: Someone, Anyone (M&M, CC/UC, AU, Adult) Part 82, 10/24/1

Post by Eva »

O.M.G!!!!!!!!!!

And that's all I can get out today!!
Take a look at Eva's world
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Re: Someone, Anyone (M&M, CC/UC, AU, Adult) Part 82, 10/24/1

Post by keepsmiling7 »

Of course you left us there!

Max's high on cocaine was a disaster. He has no control over his life now......
Isabel should have warned others that Max was unstable.
But poor little Dylan.......will he survive the fall off of the bridge into the water????
Thanks,
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Re: Someone, Anyone (M&M, CC/UC, AU, Adult) Part 82, 10/24/1

Post by sarammlover »

Ok whoa! What an update. That was a pretty pivotal update. I think Michael did the right thing. I think Max is a total freak. I am glad Isabel told Michael about Max being high. I just hope they get to Dylan in time. I hope he is ok. What a crazy update!!!!! Great job!~
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Part 83

Post by April »

Oh, finally, I'm so glad this board is back!

I'll post an update or two per day in order to get this board caught up with the other boards I post on.









Part 83








Am I really here?

Michael sat in the waiting room, trying to wrap his mind around everything that had happened tonight. It didn’t seem real. Yet here he was, at the medical center.

No. The emergency room wing of the medical center. Couldn’t forget that part. Because it was an emergency. Or at least it had been.

They had him stabilized now, but still . . . just imagining what it must have felt like to be Dylan in that water, unable to get to the surface, unable to breathe . . . he must have been so afraid. Panicked.

Thinking about it made Michael feel like he couldn’t breathe, either. And that feeling . . . it felt like something he deserved.

Tears stung his eyes as he replayed it all in his mind. Lifting Dylan’s head out of that water, frantically swimming him to the shore. Even though he’d tried to start CPR right away, he’d been doing it wrong, so Max had had to come running down the bank with his phone so the 911 operator could tell him how to do it right.

When he remembered that sound Dylan had made when he’d first coughed up water, then sputtered for air . . . he did start to cry. Partly tears of relief, because he was so thankful his little boy hadn’t died. But partly tears of guilt, because . . . he really could have. He’d been this close.

When Kyle returned to the waiting room with Tina, Michael could barely even acknowledge their presence. He was glad they were there, but what had happened tonight made it almost impossible to even say one word to anyone else. Especially Tina, who was way too young to be dealing with any of this. And probably way too young to be watching Dylan all on her own while he hosted some stupid party downstairs.

He raked his hand through his hair, feeling like it was all his fault. He could blame Max all he wanted, but the reality was, none of this would have ever happened if he hadn’t been . . . being an idiot. A loser. A fucking clueless kid.

“Got you some coffee,” Kyle said, attempting to hand him a Styrofoam cup. But Michael shook his head to decline it. He wasn’t a coffee drinker under normal circumstances, and he definitely didn’t need it right now. He wasn’t drowsy by any means, probably wouldn’t sleep for a week.

“I’ll take it,” Tina offered, holding out her hand.

“No, you won’t.” Kyle kept it for himself, sitting down on Michael’s right. Tina took the empty spot to his left, sighing heavily.

“Thanks for bein’ here,” Michael told them. Even though words were difficult right now, at least he could muster that much. He really didn’t want to be alone, and with Maria and his parents out of town, they were all he had. Not that his dad would have been there even if he’d been in town. He didn’t care about anything except his next drink. His mom would have been there, though. He’d have to call her. And he’d have to call Maria, obviously. Definitely.

He probably should have done that already, but he hadn’t. Because he was dreading it.

“I hope you don’t mind, but I called Tess,” Kyle told him. “She’s on her way.”

He sort of did mind—Tess wasn’t exactly someone he pictured being good in a crisis. But whatever. The crisis was over now. He’d gotten Dylan out of that water in time, and the CPR had worked, and now he was going to be fine. Tragedy averted.

It was still an emergency, though.

“How’s Dylan?” Tina asked meekly. “Can we see him yet?”

“Uh . . .” He wished he knew. “I don’t know. I keep waitin’ for them to come out and tell me something. All I know is he’s stabilized and he’s asleep.”

“Is he gonna wake up?”

Michael looked down at his sister, noting the fearful tears in her eyes. She was blaming herself for her part in all of this, too. “Yeah, he’s gonna wake up,” he assured her, putting his hand on her leg. He squeezed gently, a silent way of letting her know that it wasn’t her fault.

“Good,” she whimpered. “I can’t believe he almost . . .” She trailed off, shuddering, and twisted her body away from his, probably so he wouldn’t see her crying. She was trying to be strong for him.

“He’s gonna be okay, though,” Kyle jumped in again. “That’s all that matters.”

Michael frowned, wishing he could believe that. No, he thought. That’s not all that matters. So many things about what had happened tonight mattered. In the big picture, the long-run . . .

He was starting to have that breathless feeling again, so he got to his feet, feeling like he couldn’t sit and wait in there any longer. “I need to see him,” he decided.

“I wanna see him, too,” Tina declared, standing up.

“Wait a minute, Tina.” Kyle reached out for her hand and pulled her down next to him. “Just let your brother go, okay? You can see him later.”

Tina nodded reluctantly and curled up into Kyle’s side, crying quietly.

Maybe she shouldn’t be here, Michael pondered. But it was too late to take her home now.

Leaving her under Kyle’s watch, he left the waiting room and headed down the hall in the same direction he’d seen them take Dylan. He peeked into rooms as he went, seeing a little more than he bargained for, but never seeing Dylan.

As he approached the end of the hall, a doctor came out of the farthest room. Same doctor who had treated Dylan when he’d shown up. Doctor . . . something. He couldn’t remember his name and didn’t really care to.

“How’s he doin’?” he asked.

“He’s still the same,” the doctor replied. “Tired, sleeping. But stable. He’s gonna be alright.”

Michael breathed a sigh of relief. “You sure?”

“I’m sure,” the doctor promised. “From what I can tell, you got him out of that water just in time. You saved his life.”

If only he could have felt some kind of pride in that. But how could he? It was his fault Dylan’s life had been in danger in the first place. “Can I see him?” he asked.

“He needs to rest,” the doctor told him.

“I know. I just wanna sit with him.” Was that really too much to ask? “Please. He’s my son.”

The doctor looked at him sympathetically, then nodded. “Of course,” he said, stepping out of the way. “Let me know if you need anything.”

“Thanks.” Michael took a deep breath as he walked into the room, bracing himself for what he was about to see. For some reason, he expected Dylan to look . . . sick or something. But when he saw him lying there, he looked almost normal. Except, instead of wearing the jersey he usually fell asleep in, he was wearing a hospital gown. And instead of being curled up on his side, he was flat on his back. And he was hooked up to machines that monitored his breathing and his heart rate. And there was a little bandage on his forehead from the cut he’d sustained in the car crash.

Kidnapped, car crash, and drowning, Michael thought bitterly. Great. Was it possible to be a bigger failure than what he’d been tonight? Was it possible to let a kid down more than he had?

“Hey, buddy,” he said, brushing Dylan’s hair off his forehead. He wanted to tell him a joke, even if he wouldn’t hear it. Something funny. Something light-hearted. But he didn’t have anything like that in him. Not now. Maybe not ever again.

He felt choked up, but he held it in as best he could. “I’m so sorry,” he apologized, hoping Dylan could hear him. But sorry was lame. Sorry couldn’t cut it.

There was a little table and chair over in the corner, so he pulled the chair up next to the bed and sat down, prepared to sit there all night. To not move. To not sleep. To not take his eyes off that little boy, not even for a second.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Isabel hadn’t pictured spending any of her Saturday night at the police station. Not until her brother called her to bail him out, anyway. Part of her didn’t want to go, but what choice did she have? Max was one of the few people in the world who still cared about her. She owed it to him.

He told her what happened on the way home. He didn’t deny anything that Michael had said, fully owning up to taking Dylan out of the house and driving off with him down the street. But the shocking part was that that wasn’t even the worst of the story. When he told her about the crash, followed by Dylan’s near-death experience in the water . . . her stomach clenched just thinking about it. Luckily, by the sound of it, Michael had rescued him. But still . . .

She pulled her Corvette into the driveway, shut it off, and waited for Max to get out. Or to do something. Or say something. But he just sat there. He looked almost lifeless, lost, like he wasn’t even really there. And he probably wasn’t. In every way that mattered, he was probably still standing on that bridge, looking on helplessly while Michael saved his son.

“Max . . .” She started to say something, even though she didn’t know what to say, but she was cut short when the front door opened and their mother came flittering outside. She was in her pajamas and a silky robe, and she looked like a hysterical mess.

“Max!” she yelled. “Isabel!”

“Brace yourself,” Isabel cautioned her brother, and together they got out of the car.

“What’s going on?” their mother demanded. “I just got a phone call from the police. Something about a—an abduction?”

Possible abduction,” Max rephrased. “It wasn’t.”

Isabel frowned. It wasn’t? Then . . . what exactly had tonight been for Max?

“I just wanted to spend some time with my son,” he said weakly.

“Your . . .” Horror crashed onto their mother’s face. “You abducted your own son?”

“No, I didn’t . . .” Max shook his head frustratedly. “Never mind.” He brushed past her and headed inside.

“What . . .?” Diane watched him go helplessly, then returned her attention to her daughter. “Isabel,” she whimpered. “What’s going on?”

Isabel slid her hands into the back pockets of her jeans, sighing. “Max called me to bail him out. They arrested him for a DUI.”

“He—he was drinking?”

“No.”

“Then what--”

“Drugs, Mom,” she corrected. “He was driving under the influence of cocaine.” She actually felt bad for having to relay all this. It was obvious that each new revelation was breaking her mom’s heart.

What?” she gasped, crying now. “He did drugs?”

“He does drugs,” Isabel informed her. “He has a problem. He’s been clean until tonight, but . . . I know he’s been fighting it.”

Her mom cried harder, shaking her head as if she refused to believe it. “But I don’t—I don’t understand,” she sputtered. “If he did drugs, then what’s all this they were saying about an abduction? I don’t . . .” She trailed off.

Isabel swallowed hard, hating that she had to be the bearer of bad news. Or . . . worse news, really. “He took Dylan, Mom,” she said. “He took Dylan out of his bedroom and drove off with him. Michael came here before you got home, looking for him. And he found them. But Max’s car had crashed on this bridge, and Dylan apparently fell into the water.”

“Oh my god,” her mother gasped. “Is he okay?”

Isabel nodded weakly. “Max said Michael got him out of the water. And when the ambulance showed up, Michael got on there with him, and the cops hauled Max off.”

Oh . . .” Whimpering in agony, Diane sank to her knees, holding her face in her hands, sobbing right there on the front lawn. “Why is this happening?” she cried.

I don’t know, Isabel thought. Why had anything that had happened this year happened? All the bad things, even the good things . . . none of them really had any control over any of it. Their lives spun out of control around them, and they just got swept up in it and carried along for the ride.

“I’m sorry, Mom,” she said, giving her mother’s shoulder a quick squeeze before she stepped around her and headed inside the house. She knew her mom had viewed Max’s return as somewhat of a blessing: a prodigal son coming home just as her daughter was about to leave, just as her daughter was making some questionable choices of her own. The illusion of Max Evans was shattered for her now, and she was going to have to deal with the reality of having two fucked up kids.

Isabel wasn’t sure if she should leave Max alone or not. Maybe he wanted his space, but that was something she just couldn’t give to him. She needed to see him, figure out if he was going to be okay. He was her brother, after all. Despite what a monumentally terrifying mistake he’d made tonight, she loved him.

She went up to his room, surprised he’d left the door unlocked, and slipped inside, shutting it and locking it behind her. When she turned on the light, he immediately winced and said, “Shut it off.”

She did, shrouding the room in darkness again, and sat down beside him on the floor. It was as if he hadn’t had the strength or the energy to make it to his bed, so he’d stopped just short of it. “Are you okay?” she asked, knowing it was a stupid question.

“No,” came the obvious answer. “What have I done, Isabel?”

She sighed shakily, wishing she knew. “You tell me.”

Even in the dark, she could see him lower his head, as if he were ashamed. “I don’t even know what happened,” he confessed. “One second I was at Liz’s, freaking out about . . . that situation.”

Oh god. She’d almost forgotten about that.

“And then next thing I knew, I was high and on my way to Michael’s house.”

“Why?” she asked. “Why would you do this?”

“Because I wasn’t thinking,” he replied. “Because I couldn’t think. That’s what the drugs do to me, Isabel. They control me.”

She didn’t believe that. Granted, she’d never experienced a cocaine high before, and she never intended to. But as powerful as it was, Max’s own emotions had to be stronger. The drugs hadn’t forced him to take Dylan. It was a decision he’d made. “I think you hate to lose,” she concluded, “and that’s why you took him. Because you lost him to Michael.”

He didn’t deny it, didn’t say she was wrong. “Maybe,” he admitted. “I don’t know, Isabel. But it was wrong. I was wrong. And I almost paid the price for it.” She heard him choking back tears, and his voice was cloaked with regret when he moaned, “I almost killed my son.”

“But you didn’t,” she reminded him. There was nothing wrong with feeling guilty or even horrified, but she didn’t want him to feel like a monster. He wasn’t one.

“I didn’t even jump in after him,” he mumbled. “Michael did.”

“You were stoned,” she reminded him. He’d been in no shape to rescue a drowning boy.

“I was scared,” he argued. “Michael wasn’t scared.”

Yes, he was, she thought. She wasn’t about to tell Max that Michael had come over there earlier, searching for Dylan. The look on his face, the sound of his voice . . . Isabel had never seen Michael so scared before.

“I have to see him,” Max announced suddenly.

“Michael?’ she asked.

“No. Dylan.” He got up and started pacing around the room.

“Wait a second . . .” She pushed herself up so she could sit on the bed. “Can you even see him, Max? I mean, with everything that happened . . . are you even allowed?”

“They didn’t charge me with kidnapping him, Isabel,” he said. “They can’t. It’s not like Maria ever took out a restraining order against me. And I’m his biological dad.”

“But you went into somebody’s house, Max.”

“Yeah, while that same somebody was having a drunken high school party.”

Isabel frowned. “What?” Michael hadn’t told her that part of the story.

“Yeah, when I went over there, Michael and Kyle and all those guys . . . they were playing beer pong. No one was even watching Dylan, except maybe the little girl.”

“You mean . . . Tina?”

“Yeah. So I told the cops I took Dylan ‘cause I was worried about him there, ‘cause it didn’t seem like anybody was watching him.”

“So . . . you lied?” she concluded.

He flipped on the light, shrugging unapologetically. “Of course I lied. I couldn’t tell ‘em the truth.”

Slowly, she stood up. “And what is the truth?”

He lowered his head again, mumbling shamefully, “That I took him ‘cause I was jealous.”

Jealous, she registered, not at all surprised. Of Michael. Of what he and Maria and Dylan have together. It was something Max had never had, something he might never have now that he’d probably screwed things up with Liz, too. Of course he was jealous. And when he was jealous, he was reckless.

“He’s still my son,” Max said shakily. “And I’m still his dad. I need to see him. I just need to see that he’s okay.”

She understood that, and she was actually sort of glad to hear it, because it meant Max wasn’t becoming hollowed out inside. Although he had many dangerous urges and desires bubbling beneath the surface, there was still some good in him, too. Some remorse. Some concern. A lot of regret.

“Will you take me to the hospital?” Max asked. “Please.”

She shifted uncomfortably, not sure if she should. She would be loyal to her brother as much as she possibly could be, but part of her didn’t want to get involved anymore.

He gazed at her pleadingly, though, and she felt like she couldn’t say no.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Michael remembered seeing Dylan for the first time. He’d gone over to Maria’s to give her his mom’s phone number, trying to get her a job at the library after he’d gotten her fired from the Crashdown. He’d been standing on the rickety old porch, and she’d been standing in the doorway when, all of a sudden, running up behind her was this little blonde boy with a contagious giggle and ever-present smile. And he’d known right then and there that the little blonde boy was her son. He hadn’t known, however, that he would come to think of Dylan as his son, too, that he would love him so much he would gladly give his life for him. And he hadn’t known that he would someday put his life in danger.

There was so much he hadn’t known then. And there was so much he didn’t know now. Tonight was proof of that.

“Hey.”

He jolted when he felt a hand on his shoulder but relaxed when he looked up and saw Kyle standing behind him.

“Sorry,” his friend apologized. “Didn’t mean to sneak up on you.”

He probably hadn’t snuck. Michael just hadn’t been paying attention. Again. “Where’s Teenie?” he asked.

“She’s with Tess, out in the waiting room,” Kyle responded. “How you doin’?”

Truthfully, he was a mess, but he didn’t want anyone feeling sorry for him. “I’m fine,” he answered tersely.

“How’s Dylan?”

Michael sighed, wishing Dylan was sitting up and talking and smiling, doing something other than just sleeping. “He’s fine, too,” he said. “I wish he’d wake up, though.”

“Ah, he had a crazy night,” Kyle said. “Let him sleep.”

“Yeah.” Crazy nights like this tended to zap a guy’s energy. Except . . . there were no other crazy nights like this.

“So did you call your mom yet?” Kyle asked.

Michael shook his head. “No.”

“Hmm.” Kyle hesitated a moment, then asked the obvious question. “What about Maria?”

Michael’s whole body tensed. He knew he should have called her already, let her know what had happened. He knew it wasn’t right to leave her in the dark. But he dreaded the thought of ruining her week away, and disappointing her, and making her feel afraid. Because until she saw the bright and smiling Dylan they were both used to, she would be nothing but afraid.

“No,” he admitted. “I haven’t . . .” He hadn’t stepped up to the plate and done what he was supposed to do. Simple as that.

“You should call her,” Kyle suggested. “She’s Dylan’s mom. She needs to know.”

He sighed. Yeah. Yeah, he knew that. “I don’t have my phone,” he said, trying to use that as an excuse.

“Yeah, my phone’s dead, but there’s a payphone by the waiting room.”

“I don’t have any money.”

Apparently not about to let him off the hook, Kyle reached into his pocket and took out a few quarters, handing them to him. “There you go.”

Dammit, he was running out of excuses. The only one he had left was a truly heartfelt one. “I can’t leave Dylan alone,” he said hoarsely.

“I’ll stay with him,” Kyle offered.

Logically, he knew Dylan would be fine, even without Kyle sitting there. There was a full hospital staff on duty, security cameras all over the place, and probably some security guards not far off. But still . . . “I can’t leave him,” he said.

“Michael.” Kyle stepped in front of him, giving him a look. “You’ve gotta call Maria. I’ll stay with him the whole time. He’ll be fine.”

Even though he was still reluctant as hell, Michael knew it was inevitable that he would have to get up out of that chair. He’d put it off as long as he could, but Kyle wasn’t going to allow him to put it off any longer.

“Okay,” he said, rising to his feet. He let his eyes linger on Dylan for a while, then sucked it up and resigned himself to having to do what he had to do. Even if it devastated Maria. It wasn’t like he could keep this a secret from her.

He made sure Kyle had sat down in the chair and didn’t look like he was going anywhere before he headed down the hall, back in the direction of the waiting room. He found the payphone, wondered for a second who the hell used a payphone anymore, and picked it up, dropping two quarters into the slot before dialing Maria’s number.

It rang once. His stomach knotted up.

It rang twice. He squeezed his eyes shut.

She picked up on the third ring, sounding happy. “Hello?”

He could hear laughter in the background, like she was hanging out with Leah and the other girls in that band.

He felt like he couldn’t say anything. He didn’t want to ruin things for her, but in the back of his mind, he knew that it was all about to come crashing down for her.

“Hello?” she said again. “Who is this?”

Here we go, he thought, forcing some words to come out. “It’s me.”

She recognized his voice right away. “Hey, you,” she said adoringly. “Whose phone are you on?”

“A payphone,” he replied.

“A payphone? I didn’t even know they made those anymore. What’re you up to?”

“Just . . .” Feeling like an awful person and an awful father, he thought. That’s all.

“Michael?” she said. “Are you okay?”

No, he wasn’t okay. Not by a long-shot. “You need to come home,” he said. He hadn’t meant for it to sound like an order, but obviously she couldn’t stay on the road.

“Do you miss me?” she asked teasingly.

“No.”

“No?” She laughed. “You don’t miss me?”

“No, I mean . . .” Of course he missed her. Of course he now regretted ever encouraging her to leave in the first place. “That’s not it.”

She didn’t say anything for a moment, and he heard the laughing in the background get softer, as if she were moving away from it or something. “What’s going on?” she asked. “Is everything okay?”

He almost started crying. Because he didn’t want to have to be the one to tell her that nothing was okay right now, that he’d screwed it up and Dylan had almost paid the price. “It’s Dylan,” he said. “He had an accident.”

“Oh my god,” she gasped. “What do you mean? What happened? Is he alright?”

So many questions at once. How was he supposed to explain it to her over a payphone? “He fell,” he told her, summarizing. Paraphrasing. Whatever you wanted to call it. He had fallen. Off a damn bridge.

That was all it took. Apparently she didn’t need to know more. “I’m on my way,” she said, immediately hanging up the phone.

Clutching the payphone tightly, he hung it back onto the receiver, still tense. Because when she got here, after however long it took to travel back from wherever she was tonight, he would have to tell her everything. And when she knew everything . . . she’d hate him for the first time in her life.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Maybe he was paranoid, but Max couldn’t help but feel like a criminal who was going to be swarmed by armed guards the minute he walked into the hospital. He wasn’t, though. There was no extra security, no grave concern. Which was good. Because he wasn’t there to cause problems. He just wanted to see Dylan, see him with his own eyes. He just wanted to see that he was okay. And then he’d leave. Not just leave the hospital, but leave this fucking town. He’d go figure his life out, and he wouldn’t come back until it was figured.

Isabel approached the desk for him, politely asking the receptionist, “Excuse me, can you tell me which room Dylan DeLuca is in?”

“And who are you?” the receptionist asked.

“I’m his aunt.”

Max hung back while Isabel got the room number, and he inconspicuously glanced into the waiting room. Michael’s little sister was there with Kyle and Tess. They were keeping her occupied by playing some kind of card game. No Michael in sight.

Which means he’s either taking or piss or he’s with Dylan, Max deduced. His money—if he had any—would have been on the latter.

He followed Isabel down the hall and around the corner. Things got quieter the farther away from the main entrance they got. As they neared the end of the hallway, she slowed down and pointed to the last door. “It’s that one.”

It was closed. As if Michael were trying to keep him out. Although, really, who could blame him?

“I’ll just be a minute,” Max said, trudging to the door. He pushed it open gently, not at all surprised to find Michael sitting next to Dylan’s hospital bed. Truth be told, he barely even noticed Michael, though, because all he cared to see was Dylan. Dylan, who was breathing. Asleep, but breathing.

Thank God.

Michael was on high alert, though. He sprang from his chair and stood in front of Dylan as if he were protecting him. “What the hell are you doin’ here?” he roared. “Get the fuck out!”

“I just came to see him,” Max said, holding his hands up in front of himself non-confrontationally, “to see if he was okay.”

“I’ll fuckin’ throw you out!” Michael promised, stomping towards him.

Max backed up a bit. “I just wanted to--”

“Kidnap him again?” Both of Michael’s hands shot out, and he shoved him backward.

Max stumbled out into the hallway, nearly losing his balance. Isabel rushed to him to help him stay upright.

“Security!” Michael yelled.

“Relax,” Max told him. “I’m going.”

But Michael wasn’t deterred. “Security!” he yelled again.

“Michael, calm down,” Isabel said.

“Calm?” he roared. “You want me to be calm? What the hell are you doin’ here, Is? Did you bring him?”

“I asked her to,” Max said, rolling his eyes as two overweight security guards came lumbering down the hall, each of them with their batons out.

“What’s going on here?” one of them demanded.

“This is the guy who took my kid tonight!” Michael told them. “He took him right outta my house.”

One of the guards pulled out his radio and mumbled something about possibly needing backup.

“He’s my son,” Max explained as calmly as he could, still holding up his hands to show that he was unarmed, that he was no threat and meant no harm here. “I just wanted to make sure he was okay.”

“Shut the hell up, you son of a bitch!” Michael bellowed, shoving him again. This time he fell back against the wall hard.

“Whoa there.” One of the guards grabbed Michael, holding him back.

“What the fuck?” Michael spat. “Get your hands off me! He’s the one you want!”

A few doctors joined the scene, apparently ready to help intervene if the need presented itself. “What seems to be the problem?” one of them asked.

“There’s no problem,” Max assured them. “My son’s in that room. I was just checking up on him. I’m leaving now.”

Your son?” One of the doctors gave Michael a questioning look. “I thought you were his father.”

Michael sighed heavily in frustration. “I am,” he insisted.

“He’s dating Dylan’s mother,” Max clarified. “I’m Dylan’s father.”

“Fuck off, Max!” Michael yelled, straining against the security officer’s hold. “What kind of father are you, huh? The kind of father that kills his kid?”

“What kind of father are you?” Max growled in return.

For that, Michael had no angry comeback.

“Alright, let’s everyone clear out of here,” the doctor who had already spoken up suggested. “This isn’t the place for a custody dispute. Back out to the waiting room.”

“No problem, I’m going.” Max reiterated. “Come on, Isabel.” He moved past his sister, expecting her to follow him immediately. But when he didn’t hear her behind him, he looked back and called her. “Isabel?”

She was looking at Michael with wide, confused eyes, almost as if she felt sorry for him but wasn’t sure she wanted to. But eventually, she followed him, slowly but surely, and they left Michael and his rage alone with the hospital staff.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Even after Max had disappeared from his sight, Michael was still seeing red. It felt like his blood was boiling. He’d never been so pissed at someone in his entire life.

“Get your hands off me,” he said, yanking his arm away from the guard.

“Watch it, kid,” they cautioned him.

I’m not a kid, he thought in agitation. Although, judging by tonight . . . maybe he still was.

“Let’s disallow access to this room and put a guard out front,” the doctor who had been treating Dylan all night suggested.

“What?” Michael spat. “Now I can’t go in there?”

“I’m sorry, I was under the impression that Dylan was your biological son,” the doctor apologized. “It’s family members only.”

“I am his family,” Michael insisted vehemently. “That sick fuck who just walked outta here . . . he hasn’t been a dad to him one day in his life.”

“Is the child’s mother on her way?” the doctor asked impatiently.

“She’s outta town. I called her, and she’s coming home. But you gotta trust me, she’d have no problem with me being in there. That’s what she’d want.”

Despite his protests, one of the guards shut and locked the door to Dylan’s hospital room.

“You gotta be kidding me,” Michael grumbled. “You’re really not gonna let me back in there?”

“Until Dylan’s mother shows up, we won’t be allowing him any visitors,” the doctor explained.

“No, you can’t do that!” Michael shouted. “He’s gonna wake up all alone! He’ll wonder where I am. Please, you can’t.”

“I’m sorry,” the doctor apologized again, “but this is the policy.”

“Screw the policy! I wanna be with my son!”

“Please escort Mr. Guerin back to the waiting room.”

“Oh, come on!” Michael reluctantly shuffled forward when the second security guard gave him a little shove. This was bullshit. But there was nothing he could do to stop it. He could get as pissed as he wanted, but until Maria got there, he was pretty much banished. None of these people cared about Dylan. None of them cared that he would wake up all traumatized about what had happened tonight, and it would only get worse when neither his mom nor his dad were there to comfort him.

“You calmin’ down now?” the guard asked as they rounded the corner.

“Whatever,” Michael grumbled, catching sight of Isabel as she was about to leave. Max must have already walked out. “Hey!” he called.

The guard grabbed his arm, as if he was on high alert.

“That’s my ex-girlfriend,” he said. “Just let me go talk to her.”

The guard loosened his grip, then stepped back a few paces. “You stay out here,” he reminded him.

Michael grunted in exasperation and stormed towards Isabel. He kept his voice low so as not to create any more of a scene and ground out accusingly, “Why the hell would you bring him here?”

“He wanted to see if Dylan was okay,” she said. “He got his license revoked tonight. He can’t drive.”

“So you offered to drive him.”

“I didn’t offer; he asked. He didn’t mean any harm.”

“Oh, kinda like how he didn’t mean any harm when he snuck into my house and snatched Dylan up?”

Isabel rolled her eyes. “Look, I’m not condoning what he did . . .”

“You must really hate me,” Michael interrupted.

She gave him a confused look. “What?”

“To bring him here. You just wanna make things hard on me. You probably love it that they won’t even let me back in there to see Dylan now. You want me to be miserable.”

“Michael, what’re you talking about?”

“I’m talkin’ about you bein’ a bitch, Is!” He was too loud, but he didn’t care. “No wonder I cheated on you.”

“Oh, grow up, Michael.” She tried to move past him, but he grabbed her shoulders and pushed her back against the wall.

“Hey, hey, hey!” Kyle came rushing out of the waiting room, getting in between them. A few seconds later, that hefty guard was trundling down the hall again, reaching for his cuffs this time.

“What’re you doin’, man?” Kyle said. “Back off, alright?”

Shaking with anger, he looked at Isabel in horror. He’d never pushed or shoved a girl before. He just wasn’t that type of guy. And he hadn’t even meant to do it now. He was just so angry that he felt like he couldn’t control himself.

“I’m sorry,” he apologized.

“Whatever, Michael.” Isabel quickly scampered away from him and towards the exit.

“Alright, kid, you’re outta here,” the guard ordered.

What?” he shrieked.

“No, let him stay,” Kyle begged. “He’s just on edge right now.”

“If he stays, he stays in handcuffs,” the guard said.

Michael’s mouth dropped open. He was stunned. Did these people not get it that he wasn’t the bad guy here? “Are you fucking kidding me?” he blared.

“Nope, I’m not.” The guard spun him around and yanked both hands behind his back.

Just then, Tina came out of the waiting room with Tess, and when she saw him being handcuffed, she started to scream. “Michael!”

I’m sorry, Teenie, he thought, blinking back tears as the cuffs clicked into place. I’m sorry you have to see all this. He felt humiliated in every possible way right now. Very much like a boy and not at all like a man.

“Shh, it’s okay, Tina,” Tess said, pulling her into a hug, blocking her view of what was going on. “Everything’s gonna be fine.”

Michael felt a tear spill over despite his best efforts to keep it in. This was the worst night of his life.








TBC . . .

-April
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LOVE IS MICHAEL AND MARIA.
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Re: Someone, Anyone (M&M, CC/UC, AU, Adult) Part 83, 01/14/16

Post by keepsmiling7 »

I'm so glad RF is back.......but at least you kept posting over there to keep up caught up.
Thanks,
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April
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Part 84

Post by April »

I'm glad it's back, too, Carolyn! :D








Part 84








It had taken hours for Liz to fall asleep, and unfortunately, right after she finally managed it, her cell phone rang. She rolled over onto her stomach and reached over onto her end table for it, not willing to move too much. “Hello?” she mumbled.

There was a slight pause, and then his unmistakable voice. “Hey. It’s me.”

She propped herself up on her forearm, immediately wide awake again. “Hey,” she said, confused as to why Max would be calling her at—what time was it? She glanced at the clock—5:00 a.m.

“I just wanted to say I’m sorry,” he said.

“For tonight?”

“Just . . . for everything.”

She frowned. An apology, huh? This wasn’t like Max. But she supposed she should just be grateful for it. Maybe he had calmed down, and maybe now they could talk again and work things out. Except . . . she wasn’t sure she wanted to work things out anymore. Part of her needed some space.

“I’m gonna be leavin’ town tomorrow,” he revealed suddenly, much to her dismay.

“What?” Where would he go? He couldn’t rely on his dad anymore, and he didn’t have college to fall back on. What was he planning to do? And what about her? Was this the end for them? “Max . . . what about the baby?” she asked.

He grunted. “Probably better off without me.”

She sighed, thinking that maybe, in a really sad, really unfortunate way . . . that was true. The Max Evans she’d seen tonight was not ready for the responsibilities of fatherhood. As much as she feared the idea of having to raise a child alone, maybe it would be easier, in a way. With Max, it might be like having to raise two kids. “Where are you gonna go?” she asked.

“I don’t know. I just need to leave.”

She lay down on her back, holding the phone tightly to her ear, feeling a little lost for words. “I don’t know what to say,” she admitted.

“You don’t have to say anything,” he mumbled. “Listen, you’re gonna hear some things about me, about something I did tonight. And trust me, when you do, you’ll be glad I’m gone.”

Her frown intensified. That sounded bad. “What did you do?” she asked.

“Isabel can tell you. I don’t wanna talk about it,” he dismissed. “I just wanted to say . . . I don’t know, goodbye, I guess.”

She felt tears leaking out of the corners of her eyes, and she quickly wiped them away. “Just like that, huh?” It probably was for the best, but it still made her sad. She and Max had been together for nearly five months now. She’d loved him. But now that she had a better idea of who he really was, she couldn’t deny loving him a little less.

“I’m sorry,” he reiterated. “Goodbye, Liz.”

She didn’t have it in her to say goodbye back. So she just lay there and waited as he ended the call. When there was only silence, she tossed her phone down to the foot of the bed, and she curled up on her side to cry harder.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Come sunrise, Michael felt exhausted, but he couldn’t have slept for one second if he’d tried. He kept worrying that Max was going to show up again, that he’d try to take Dylan out of his hospital bed the same way he’d taken him out of Tina’s bed. It was irrational, he knew, to worry about that when an armed guard was standing outside Dylan’s door. But he worried anyway.

The guard who had cuffed him was more of a glorified babysitter at this point. He must have had orders not to leave Michael’s side, because wherever Michael went, he went. To the vending machine, the drinking fountain, even the bathroom. He kept checking his watch, though, like his shift was about to end. He was probably thrilled to get out of there.

Time seemed to drag by, and Michael had nothing to do but sit out in the waiting room and . . . well, wait. Wait for Maria to get there. No one was even talking anymore. Tina had curled up in a corner chair a few hours ago and was fast asleep. Tess and Kyle had nodded off around 5:30. Tess was using Kyle’s shoulder as a pillow, and he didn’t seem to mind.

He felt his eyelids starting to get heavy, and as he fought to keep them open, he saw a familiar figure walk in and approach the front desk: his mom.

“Hi,” she said to one of the nurses on duty. “I’m here to see Dylan DeLuca.”

“Are you his mother?” the nurse asked.

“No, I’m his . . . um . . .” She twirled her hands around as she struggled to explain. “He just . . .”

Michael got to his feet and called, “Mom.”

She spun around, smiling tearfully when she saw him. “Hi, honey.” Opening her arms, she came to him and engulfed him in a hug, seemingly confused when he didn’t hug her back. But how could he when his hands were behind his back?

“What is . . .” She stepped back a bit, looking down at his hands. “Honey, why are you in handcuffs?”

He grunted. “Beats me.”

She looked perplexed and a little bit outraged when she turned to the guard and asked, “Excuse me, why is my son in handcuffs? Did he do something wrong?”

The guard cleared his throat and explained, “He got a little violent when some people showed up here. Pushin’ and shovin’.”

“When Max showed up here,” Michael made sure to add in.

“Oh, goodness, he’s been through enough. Just take the handcuffs off of him, please,” his mother entreated.

“I’m sorry, ma’am,” the guard apologized, “but hospital policy--”

“I don’t care about hospital policy,” she cut in. “Take these handcuffs off my son.”

“Ma’am.”

She spoke sternly, pronouncing each word separately and slowly. “Take. These handcuffs. Off. My son.”

Apparently the guard was intimidated or sensed not to mess with her or something, because he motioned for Michael to turn around. Took him about two seconds to take out a key and release the handcuffs. Michael rubbed his wrists once they were off and shook out his shoulders. God, he’d been in those damn things for hours.

“Thank you,” his mother said, motioning for the guard to leave now. Once again, he complied. Then she turned back to Michael and stroked his cheek. “How are you holdin’ up, honey?” she asked.

He shrugged, sugarcoating it. “I’m alright.”

“And Tina?” She glanced over at her daughter with concern in her eyes.

“She fell asleep a few hours ago,” he explained. “Tess and Kyle have been lookin’ after her.”

“That’s nice of them,” she said.

“Yeah.” He sat back down, and when she took a seat beside him, he asked, “How did you know to come here?”

“Well, Kyle called me,” she replied. “He said you’d probably be mad at him for it.”

Michael snorted, then shook his head. “Nah, I’m glad you’re here.” There was something comforting about having an adult there, especially his mom. She could usually make him feel better.

“So how’s Dylan?” she asked. “Kyle told me everything that happened.”

Michael sighed. “Yeah, he’s . . .” He shuddered, wishing he could give her a more accurate report. “Actually, I don’t know how he’s doing. Last time I checked, he was sleeping, but . . . they won’t let me in there now ‘cause . . .” He swallowed the lump in his throat. “I’m not family.”

She gazed at him sympathetically, reaching over to put a hand on his shoulder. “I’m sorry,” she said. “This must be tough on you.”

Tough? he thought. No, that didn’t really even begin to describe it. It was literally painful to not be sitting next to that hospital bed. If Dylan opened his eyes and no one was there . . . it just wouldn’t be right.

“Have you eaten anything?” his mother asked him.

He shook his head. “No.”

“Well, you should,” she suggested. “Let’s go to the cafeteria. I bet they’re serving breakfast.”

He wasn’t hungry in the slightest, but he figured he, much like the guard, didn’t have much of a choice. If his mom wanted him to do something, he’d do it. And she wanted him to eat.

They were the first ones in the cafeteria. Actually, they had to open it a half an hour early for them. Michael loaded up his plate with pancakes, eggs, and sausage, but then he barely ate any of it. A bite here, a bite there. None of it tasted very good.

“Is that all you’re gonna eat?” his mother asked as she cut her pancakes into smaller bites.

He pushed his plate aside, muttering, “I’m not hungry.”

She gave him a look. “Since when?”

He shrugged. Since getting his ass kicked by Max. Since jumping off a bridge to save Dylan. Both of the above.

“Well, I’m gonna eat up,” she said, drizzling more syrup onto her pancakes.

He watched her dazedly for a moment, then asked, “Where’s Dad?” Not that he cared.

“Oh, he, um . . .” She suddenly didn’t look very hungry, either, and she stopped drizzling. “He’s coming back tonight like we originally planned.”

“Seriously?” Michael grunted. He knew his dad had never been Maria’s biggest fan, but he couldn’t haul his ass back to Roswell for the near-death of his future grandson? Ridiculous.

“It’s probably for the best,” his mother said. “He wouldn’t bring the best energy here.”

“Yeah, I guess.” Still, it pissed him off. His dad was such a fucking loser. “Does he know everything that happened?”

“I just told him everything Kyle told me.”

“Which was . . .?” He wanted to know which, if any, parts of the story Kyle had left out.

“Well, that Max came by and took Dylan out of Tina’s room, and you looking for them and found their car crashed. And then Dylan fell off the bridge, and you jumped in after him.”

Michael nodded. More or less accurate. More or less. “Did he tell you how Max was able to sneak inside and take Dylan in the first place?” he asked her, knowing she’d inevitably find out. It’d be easier to tell her first, Maria second.

“No,” she said quietly. “How did that happen?”

Michael sighed, embarrassed to admit his own mistake. “We were having a party. Me and Kyle and all the guys.”

His mother’s eyebrows arched.

“We were playing beer pong. I was having Tina watch Dylan, and I was playing . . . beer pong.”

“You were . . .” She trailed off as she processed all that. “Oh.”

“Yeah.” What he would have given to go back in time, shoot down the stupid party and spend the whole night playing with Dylan instead.

“Well, that’s . . . that’s not good,” she acknowledged. “But when you realized something was wrong, it doesn’t sound like you hesitated. Kyle said you were really brave.”

He grunted. “Sure.”

“Michael.” She gave him a serious look. “You jumped off a bridge to save that little boy. You risked your life for his own, and you saved him. I’m so proud of you for that.”

Proud? His mind could barely even comprehend the word. Was she just trying to make him feel better, or did she really mean what she was saying? Because it didn’t make sense to him. However he thought about it, he didn’t feel any less guilty. “Do you think Maria will be proud of me?” he asked, just to put things in perspective.

She pressed her lips together tightly, worriedly, and didn’t say anything. He nodded. Yep, that look pretty much summed it up.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Maria knew she must have looked like a freak show when she got to the hospital. The girls in the band had graciously driven her back to Roswell from Las Vegas. It had been an all-night drive. Eleven hours. Eleven hours of anxiety and uncertainty. Eleven hours of not knowing if Dylan was okay or how badly he was hurt. Eleven hours of hoping for the best but fearing the worst.

She’d tried to call Michael numerous times, but he must not have had his phone with him at all. So she just drove, or rather Leah drove, and she sat in the passenger’s seat, all coiled up with worry, trying to muster up some thanks for the girls she had begun to call friends as they promised her that everything would be alright.

When she crashed through those hospital doors, she felt desperate to see her son. There were two nurses at the reception station pouring over someone’s charts. They looked just about as stressed as she was, as though the evening shift had been a tough one on them. But Maria was too worked up to be polite or patient, so she blurted out, “Dylan Deluca. Which room is he in?”

One of the nurse’s took the chart, and the other sat down at the computer. “Dylan DeLuca,” she echoed. “And who are you?”

Wasn’t it obvious? Maybe not. Maybe they thought she was an older sister or something. “I’m his mom,” she replied.

It took a minute too long for the nurse to get fully focused and find out which room he was in, then a minute or two more to actually get back there. Maria wanted to walk fast, but the nurse escorted her at a less than brisk pace. Plus, the room was at the end of the hallway, almost like a mirage that never seemed to get any closer.

“Here you go,” she said, motioning towards a door with a security guard out front.

“Who’s this?” he asked.

“She’s his mother,” the nurse explained.

“Oh. Of course.” The guard stepped aside, opening the door for her, and Maria stepped past him, confused. She wasn’t about to ask questions, though. There was sure as hell no harm in a little extra security.

He left the door open but didn’t come in with her. Which was good, because Maria didn’t want anyone else around. Except for maybe Michael, but he wasn’t there. There was a chair next to the hospital bed, though, as if he’d been sitting there a while. Dylan was curled up, halfway on his back, halfway on his side, and he was sucking his thumb.

Oh, thank God, Maria immediately thought. It was so much less frightening than she’d pictured. No casts, no bruises, no gigantic gashes. Just a small little cut on his forehead, swollen and bandaged and barely visible.

“Oh, Dylan . . .” She bent down over him and kissed his head, so thankful he seemed to be alright. She was about to sit down in the chair when he started to stir, and she wanted to be closer, so she sat down on the edge of the bed instead.

Slowly, he opened his eyes. He had lots of crusty, gunky pieces of goo in the corners, like he’d been sleeping for a while. “Mommy?” he managed hoarsely.

“Hey, baby.” She smiled at him happily. Because she was happy. She was happy he was okay.

“You home?” he asked, his voice squeaky.

“Yeah, I’m home.” She wished now she’d never left. “I’m here now.”

He smiled, too, apparently glad to hear that. “Where Daddy?” he asked.

“I don’t . . .” She looked around, expecting him to come down the hall at any minute. “I’m not sure.”

“Where we go?” he whimpered.

“We . . .” She tried to keep her tone upbeat and cheerful so as not to alarm him . “. . . are at the hospital. Because you had an accident. You fell.”

He frowned, seeming to have no idea what she was talking about. “I did?”

“Yeah.” She frowned, too. He didn’t remember? It must have been pretty bad for him to end up here. Why would he not remember that?

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Unable to suppress a yawn, Michael traipsed down the hall with his mother. He felt like a zombie, and he probably looked like one, too.

“Tired, huh?” his mom surmised.

“Yeah. I didn’t sleep last night.”

She put her arm around his waist, pulling him to her side as they walked along. “You need to eat and sleep and take care of yourself, Michael.”

“No, I just wanna take care of Dylan. Except I can’t do that, ‘cause they won’t let me anywhere near him.”

“Oh, honey . . .” She patted his back supportively. “I know it must be frustrating.”

Frustrating didn’t even begin to cover it, but it was good enough. “I’m glad you’re here, Mom,” he told her appreciatively. “And I’m glad Dad’s not.”

She smiled knowingly, sadly, as they turned the corner for Dylan’s room.

Something wasn’t right. “Where’s the guard?” Michael asked, growing alarmed when he noticed the door was open. Had Max come back? He hustled forward, stopping in the doorway when he saw just who was in that room: the one person no one would object to being there. Maria.

“Daddy!” Dylan exclaimed when he saw him.

He’s awake? Michael’s heart leapt with joy. It was so good to see that same sparkle in his eyes that was always there, hear that same giddiness in his voice.

Maria looked understandably less giddy. But not furious at him. Not yet.

“Daddy!” Dylan exclaimed again, trying to crawl out of bed.

“Whoa, hold on a minute.” Maria had to gently push him back down.

Michael shuffled into the room, so relieved. Dylan was going to be fine. He knew that now. “Hey, buddy,” he said, his voice thick with emotion.

“Hi, Daddy.”

He almost lost it. That word . . . Daddy . . . he almost felt like he didn’t deserve it anymore, but after Max had gone to such crazy lengths to try to stake a claim on it, he would never give it up. Ever.

“I’m so glad you’re awake,” he said, stepping around to the side of the bed Maria wasn’t on. He bent down and kissed the top of Dylan’s head, and for some reason, that made Dylan laugh.

His mom followed him into the room, stopping first to give Maria a hug. “How are you?” she asked.

“Fine,” Maria replied softly. “Better now.”

“Good.” His mom then turned her attention to Dylan, giving his little foot a squeeze. “And how are you, Dylan?”

“I’m good,” he proclaimed.

“Yeah, looks like. We’re all really happy to see that.”

Really happy, Michael thought, holding the little guy’s hand. You have no idea.

“I fell,” Dylan blurted.

Michael tensed, and Maria gave him a look.

“That’s . . . what I heard,” his mother continued on, glancing at him cautiously. But then she put that smile back on her face and kept it simple for Dylan. “Well, we’re all really glad you’re gonna be okay.”

“Yep.” He nodded his head affirmatively. Damn, kids were resilient. He’d just fallen off a bridge, and he didn’t even seem scared.

Michael looked at Maria again. She looked as tired as he felt, and equally as relieved. “I’m glad you’re here now,” he told her. He’d hated having Dylan’s room all locked up. Now that she was here, they couldn’t keep him away.

“We drove all night,” she revealed. “Had to. It sounded . . .” She trailed off, apparently not wanting to have this conversation in front of Dylan. And neither did he.

“I’m gonna go check on Tina,” Michael’s mother said, giving Maria one more quick hug before she headed out of the room. “I’ll be back.”

“Thanks,” Maria said softly. And then, when it was just the three of them, an awkward silence took over. Michael was so unused to it, but . . . he didn’t know what to say.

Luckily, it didn’t last too long, because one of the nurse’s poked her head into the room and exclaimed, “Well, well, well, look who’s awake!”

Dylan giggled, clapped his hands, and yipped, “Yay!”

Michael laughed a little, too. Yay for being awake? Yeah, he could get on board with that.

“How do you feel?” the nurse asked him.

“Good,” he replied. “I gotta go potty.”

“Well, you’re hooked up to all sorts of machines here, mister. So let me unhook you, and you can go potty, and then the doctor’s gonna come in and have a look at you, make sure you’re feeling as perky as you look. Okay?”

Apparently he didn’t like the doctor idea, because he just mumbled, “Okay,” unenthusiastically.

“Yeah, that—that sounds good,” Maria agreed, standing up. She gave Michael a questioning look and motioned out toward the hallway. “Can I . . . can I talk to you?”

Oh, here we go, he thought anxiously. He’d known this was coming. Couldn’t put it off forever.

He messed up Dylan’s hair, eliciting one more giggle, then followed Maria out into the hallway while the nurse made a big entertaining show out of unhooking Dylan from all the medical equipment he was attached to.

Maria shut the door once they were out, and for a second, he wondered if she was about to yell at him. But when she spoke, her voice was low, barely above a murmur. “What exactly happened tonight?” she asked.

He exhaled heavily, wishing there were some way to explain it that wouldn’t freak her out so much. “He fell,” he repeated.

“Off of what?”

He fell silent. He didn’t really want to say.

“Because when you said that, I was picturing, like, a cast or something,” she said. “A broken bone. Like he fell down the stairs or out of a tree.”

He didn’t fall out of a tree, Michael thought. That would have been easier.

“What happened?” she demanded, her voice growing louder now, more insistent.

He stood there like an idiot for a few more seconds, stuffing his hands in his pockets, looking down at his feet. And then he said the one word he knew would make the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end: “Max.”

She fell silent then, too, but not the stupid kind of silent; the shocked kind. Finally, she gasped, “What?”

“Max happened,” he reiterated. “He got high and he . . .” Michael swallowed hard, not sure he’d be able to keep going. “He came over to our house, and he . . . he took him.”

“I don’t understand,” she fretted. “What do you mean he took him? How could he--”

“Right out of our house, Maria. He took him,” Michael cut in. “He went upstairs and he took him, and before I realized it, it was too late, ‘cause he was drivin’ off with him.”

Her mouth dropped open in disbelief. “Oh my god,” she managed.

“So I drove off lookin’ for ‘em, and . . . I found them. He crashed the car on that bridge heading out of town.”

“On that . . .” Suddenly, her eyes widened in absolute horror, and it seemed to click in her mind. Like it just suddenly came together, and she got it. “That bridge?” she croaked out, tears immediately pooling in her eyes. “Michael . . .”

Tears came to his eyes, too, as he thought about it. It felt like the scene out of a movie, the kind that would be entertaining to an audience but not so fun to actually live through. And he and Dylan had lived through it. “I tried to get him in the truck, but . . . Max wouldn’t let up, and we—we were fighting and—and Dylan just got out and . . .” He felt his jaw start to shake as he pictured it over and over again in his head. “He just slipped.”

Maria clasped her hand over her mouth as tears came pouring from her eyes. She looked like she was in disbelief as she tried to process it. “Oh my god!” she cried suddenly. “Are you telling me he fell off a . . . a bridge? He fell off a bridge, Michael?”

“Yeah.” He had to say, this was one conversation he’d never envisioned the two of them having.

She shook her head wordlessly, as though she didn’t want to accept that. “He can’t swim,” she whimpered.

No, he thought sullenly, he sure can’t. “I jumped in after him,” he revealed, “and Max called 911. But I couldn’t find him at first. But I finally did, and I got him out, and I did CPR. And then he started breathing again--”

“Again?”

“Yes, and then they brought him here.”

“He wasn’t breathing?”

He shook his head sadly. “No.” He would never forget what it felt like to put his hands on Dylan’s chest and start an incorrect version of CPR. Never.

“Oh my . . . oh my god, I . . .” she sputtered, sinking to the floor. She covered her face with her hands and began to openly weep, letting it all out. “Oh god. Oh, god.”

“But he’s gonna be okay,” Michael assured her. “The doctor said he’ll be fine, and you saw him just now. He’s doin’ good.”

That seemed to be only a marginal comfort to her as she grappled with all this news. “But I don’t understand. How could he . . . I mean, how could Max just--”

“I don’t know. I mean, I don’t know how anyone could kidnap their own son.”

“No, I mean . . .” She threw her hands down at her sides, looking frustrated that it was taking her so much effort to get the words out. “How could he? Like, how could he sneak into our house and snatch Dylan up without you even noticing? I thought you were watching him.”

“I was.” He felt like a liar right after he said the words. “I mean, I . . .” Oh, shit. He couldn’t skirt around it any longer. He had to tell her the truth. “I was watching him, but then I had him go upstairs with Tina for a while. And she was watching him.”

“What?” she spat. “Why?”

“Because I . . .” He squeezed his eyes shut, forcing them open so he could look right at her when he confessed how royally he’d fucked things up. “I was downstairs with Kyle and some of the guys from school.”

“The guys,” she echoed suspiciously.

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

Oh, please don’t hate me, he begged internally, literally feeling his heart break as he said his next words. “We were having a party.”

Her questioning gaze turned into a full-on glare, and she got back to her feet, narrowing her eyes at him accusatorily. “What?” she ground out.

“I’m so sorry, Maria.” It wasn’t enough.

“You were having a party while my son was getting kidnapped?”

Oh god, when she put it like that, it sounded even worse. “I didn’t think--”

“He could’ve died, Michael!”

“I know!”

“Do you even care?”

“What are you—of course I care!” he spat. “I love Dylan!”

“Yeah, well, you have a funny way of showing it.” The anger was practically emanating off her as she turned her back on him and twisted the knob on the door again.

“Maria . . .” He reached out and touched her arm.

She shook it away from his grasp, glaring at him over her shoulder. “Just leave us alone,” she seethed. Her tone left no room for argument, or second chances.

His shoulders slumped, and he gave in, figuring he owed her some space. Right now, besides Max, he was probably the last person she wanted to see.

He could give her space. He could give her that. Yeah, he could go back out into that waiting room and wait some more, until she was ready to talk to him again, until she’d had time to calm down and realized he’d just made a huge mistake.

Still . . . it killed him to let her walk back in that room alone, and killed him even more when she shut the door in his face to keep him out.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

When Isabel headed downstairs to make breakfast—or brunch, actually—the house felt empty. It always sort of felt empty since it was so big and since so few people lived in it. But lately, since Max had been there, it hadn’t been quite so quiet.

She looked out the kitchen window, and there was her brother, sitting out on the sidewalk, a duffle bag and box on either side of him. He looked contemplative and confused, and even a little bit afraid. Like a little boy running away from home.

Forgetting about breakfast, she slipped on a pair of flip-flop sandals and went outside with her brother, sensing that she wouldn’t have many more opportunities to do so. “Are you leaving?” she asked, sitting down beside him.

He nodded. “It’s for the best.”

She wasn’t about to argue that point; it probably was. For Dylan and Michael and Maria. Maybe even for Liz. And definitely for Max himself. This town had been toxic to him. “Where are you gonna go?” she asked.

“I don’t know. Just away,” he replied vaguely. “I gotta get some help, figure things out.”

“Like rehab?” she guessed. It was probably a good idea.

“Yeah, maybe,” he mumbled. “I’m pretty sick, Isabel. You know, it’s not just an addiction anymore; it’s like a disease.” He sighed, his head drooping. “I don’t expect you to be able to understand, but . . .”

“No, I understand,” she assured him.

“Really?”

“Uh, craving something that’s harmful to you? Hello, I dated Michael Guerin.”

He chuckled a bit, and for the briefest of seconds, a smile appeared. But then it was gone. “He’s the one who saved Dylan,” he admitted. “Not me.”

Isabel frowned. It was weird to hear Max sound . . . jealous.

“I should’ve,” he practically whispered. “But I didn’t even jump in there after him. My son was drowning, and I just stood there and called 911.”

“Max . . .” She reached over and put a hand on his shoulder. “That was important, too.”

“No, I should’ve jumped in,” he argued. “I should’ve never . . . I never should’ve done any of it in the first place, Isabel. I’m so fucked up.”

She rubbed his shoulder sympathetically, unable to disagree. Last night, as horrible as it had been for everyone involved, had at least been a wake-up call. Maybe it was exactly what Max had needed for years now.

“That’s why I gotta go,” he said, looking down the empty street.

She nodded in agreement, though part of her did hate the thought of no longer having him around. He wasn’t just her brother; he was her confidante, her companion. Nowadays, with friends in short supply, he was one of the only people she felt like she could talk to. But he had to do what was best for him, and she wasn’t about to hold him back. Besides, she had Jesse and Courtney and Eric to hang out with all summer. And come August, it was Princeton time.

“Where’s Mom?” he asked suddenly.

“Oh, she, um . . . she took two gigantic sleeping pills late last night. It was the only way she could nod off. I can go wake her up, though, if you want.”

He shook his head. “Nah, don’t bother. I don’t wanna deal with some sappy goodbye.”

“Hmm.” She supposed she could understand that. Sometimes a clean break was just easier. “I guess that means you’re not saying goodbye to Liz then.”

“I already did,” he told her. “I called her last night.” A look of pain flashed onto his face for a few seconds, and she wondered what he was thinking about, what he was feeling. Did he love her? Would he miss her? Would he wonder about the kid they were having together and she was raising alone?

“Do you want me to keep you updated on how she’s doing?” Isabel offered. “Because I can. Or . . .” She frowned. “Or are you not even gonna talk to me after you leave?”

“I’ll call you once in a while,” he promised. “But not right away. I just need . . .” He labored over his sentence, as if he couldn’t find the right word. But when he did, he winced as he said it, and his voice wavered. “. . . help.”

I’m sorry I can’t help you, Max, she thought, knowing she couldn’t even help herself. I’m sorry I probably made things worse.

“Tell Mom goodbye for me,” he said, getting to his feet as a yellow taxi rounded the corner. “And tell her I’m sorry.”

She stood as well, brushing the back of her shorts off, and allowed herself to get a little teary-eyed as he gathered up his things. Her brother was a mess, but he was still her brother. These past few weeks had been the most quality time she’d spent with him since she’d been four years old and too young to remember much. Despite all his wrong-doings and his plethora of problems, she really would miss him, even if no one else would.

“Take care of yourself, Max,” she said, giving him a quick hug.

He hugged her back, only letting go when the taxi came to a stop right in front of them. “Take care of yourself, little sister,” he said, smiling weakly as he opened the back door and tossed his things into the car.

She took a few steps back, folding her arms over her chest, watching as he got in and shut the door. He gave her one last look and managed a wave, and she managed one back. It wasn’t until the taxi drove off down the street and he disappeared from sight that she really let herself cry. Not loudly, not heavily, but just enough to feel it.

He was gone, a quiet exit for an otherwise dramatic visit. And now her long-lost brother was lost again.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Watching Dylan sleep in the hospital, Maria was reminded of what it had been like to watch him sleep in the little crib next to her hospital bed, right after he’d been born. He’d been so small, even though she’d carried him to full term. His legs and arms had been so pudgy and soft. She remembered not being able to fall asleep herself, because she didn’t want to stop watching him, didn’t want to take her eyes off of him for even a second. Sort of like right now.

Except this was different. He wasn’t as small anymore, but he was still so little and so young. Way too young to have dealt with everything he’d gone through last night. He hadn’t said one word about it to her, which, in a way, had her concerned.

There was a quick knock on the door, and right as she glanced over her shoulder, the doctor came in. Dr. Carl, as he’d told Dylan to call him. Apparently his last name was too hard to pronounce.

“Tired himself out again, did he?” the doctor remarked.

“Yeah, he just fell asleep,” she said, stroking her son’s hair off his forehead. “But we were playing games and telling jokes, and he was just talking my ear off.”

The doctor smiled. “Well, that’s a good thing,” he said. “Listen, Maria, your son’s doing well. I don’t see any need to keep him here another night, so I’ll draw up the paperwork, have you sign a few forms, and we’ll send him on home with you. How’s that sound?”

She breathed a sigh of relief. “That sounds great.”

“Alright. I’ll get that goin’ for you.”

Before he could leave, she stopped him. “Um, doctor?”

He spun back around. “Yes?”

She looked at Dylan again, wondering what he was dreaming about, wondering if it was a nightmare. “He hasn’t said anything about what happened,” she revealed. “Actually, I don’t really think he remembers any of it. Is that—is that something I should be concerned about, or . . .”

“Oh, no, not at all,” the doctor assured her. “All of Dylan’s scans and tests have come back fine. He’s not suffering memory loss. More like . . . selective forgetting.”

She made a face. “So . . . he doesn’t remember what happened because he doesn’t want to remember?”

“In a nutshell,” Dr. Carl confirmed. “It’s not uncommon for a patient, particularly one as young as Dylan, to block out a traumatic experience, erase it from his mind.”

A shiver raced up Maria’s spin. A traumatic experience. Hell, it traumatized her just thinking about it. No wonder Dylan didn’t want to remember.

“It’s not always a bad thing,” the doctor noted. “Usually, it’s for the best.”

She nodded in agreement, and instead of being concerned about it, now she felt grateful. If Dylan never had to remember last night for the rest of his life . . . that was fine by her. She could tell him he tripped and fell off the stairs. Bumped his head a little bit and that’s why he didn’t remember. If the memories started coming back, then she would be honest with him about it, but until then, there was no need to tell him about it.

“Thank you,” she told the doctor.

“Of course.” He smiled politely, then backed out of the room, shutting the door on his way out.

Maria sighed, raking her hands through her hair. She was exhausted, but she couldn’t imagine sleep would be a possibility tonight. Her mind was racing, and it would race well into the a.m.

“I love you, Dylan,” she whispered, holding her son’s hand. She felt incredibly selfish for ever leaving him, agreeing to go on that stupid little mini-tour. It hadn’t been worth it. She loved music, loved singing, but she loved her son so much more. If she had been here to take care of him, none of this would have happened. She wouldn’t have let it happen. She wouldn’t have let Michael have some stupid party . . .

It upset her to think about it, so she tried to just keep thinking about Dylan instead.

Merely a minute after the doctor had left, the door to the room opened again. She groaned, thinking it was Michael, but when she looked over her shoulder, she was surprised to find his sister standing there instead.

“Tina. Hey,” she greeted. “I didn’t know you were still here.” It was a long time for a little girl to spend in a hospital.

“My mom’s taking me home,” she explained. “She said I could stop in and see you, though. You and . . .” Her bottom lip quivered as she looked at Dylan. “Is he gonna be alright?” she whimpered.

“Yeah,” Maria assured her quickly. “He’s just sleeping right now, but you should’ve seen him ten minutes ago. Same old Dylan.”

Tina exhaled heavily. “Thank God,” she said, approaching the bed. “I was so worried.”

“I know. You really care about him.”

“He’s like a little brother,” Tina said, smiling. “Or nephew or . . . whatever.”

“Yeah. He really looks up to you.”

“Mmm-hmm.” Tina swallowed hard, suddenly looking like she was holding back tears. “Maria, I’m really sorry,” she choked out apologetically. “It’s all my fault.”

“What? No, it’s not,” Maria reassured her.

“No, it is,” Tina insisted as she cried. “I was supposed to be watching him, but I just left him in my room when Todd called, and I went into the bathroom to talk. And while I was in there, that Max guy just . . .” She trailed off, shrugging helplessly.

“Tina, this is not your fault,” Maria told her. “Not one part of it. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“But if I hadn’t been talking to Todd--” she protested.

“Tina.” Maria paused. She couldn’t very well explain to this little girl that her brother was the only person, besides Max, she blamed for this. She couldn’t sit there and tell her that it was his fault, not hers, because she would defend him at all costs, make excuses for him.

“I really appreciate you saying you’re sorry,” Maria told her. “But you don’t need to be.”

Tina wiped her nose with the back of her hand, nodding reluctantly, and Maria could tell she didn’t really buy that. She still felt guilty, and she still felt like it was her fault, and she probably would for a long time.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

There was a problem with the TV in the waiting room: It didn’t change channels. So that meant that Michael was stuck watching a Real Housewives marathon all day while he sat out there. He tried halfheartedly to pay attention, if only because it helped pass the time.

When he could no longer take it, he grabbed a magazine instead. Some trashy tabloid with a photo of one of the Kardashian’s asses on the front. But even that couldn’t hold his interest.

Tossing the magazine aside, he contemplated going to the cafeteria, or at least the vending machine. He had promised his mom before she left that he’d eat something. And he’d promised Kyle he would get some sleep. But he’d promised himself he’d just keep waiting. As long as he had to.

His stomach started to rumble, though, and just as he was about to resign himself to a vending machine excursion, the worst thing possible happened. Well, maybe the second-worst thing. Max would’ve been the worst.

Amy DeLuca walked in.

Oh, crap.

“Hi,” she said to the nurse at the reception desk. “I’m here to see Dylan DeLuca. I’m his grandmother.”

“Oh, sure,” the nurse responded politely. “Let me check and see what room he’s in.”

Michael rolled his eyes and got up. His bones actually creaked because he’d been sitting out there so long. “Amy!” he called.

She whirled around, looking none-too-pleased when she saw him. “Michael,” she bit out.

He shuffled towards her, questioning, “Who called you?”

She grunted. “Well, you sure as hell didn’t. I had to find out from Jim, who found out from Kyle.” She huffed, “You know, I would like to think that you might have the decency to call and let me know my grandson almost drowned, but I guess that’s expecting too much out of you.”

He stared at her in disbelief. This woman was so out of touch with reality. Did she seriously not understand that this was exactly why he hadn’t called? She only made things worse. But still . . . she had a point, and he knew it. Whether he liked it or not, she was Dylan’s family. She deserved to know when something happened to him. “I was gonna call,” he lied.

“Next month?”

He groaned in frustration. “I screwed up.”

“You’re damn right you did. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to go see my grandson.” She pushed past him, heading down the hallway on an apparent hunch since she never had gotten Dylan’s room number from the nurse. Of course Michael followed her, like a storm chaser following a tornado. That was basically what she was. She was going to walk into that room and cause chaos.

“Does Maria know you’re here?” he asked.

“Of course,” she replied, much to his surprise. “I already spoke with her. She knows I’m here to take her home.”

Michael made a face and stepped in front of her to halt her forward progress. “Wait.” That just didn’t sound right. “What’re you talking about?”

“Oh, she didn’t tell you?” Amy smirked, almost victoriously. “She and Dylan are coming home tonight. To their real home.”

“They already have a real home,” he pointed out.

“Yes, they do,” she agreed. “With me.” Sidestepping him, she left him standing there, slack-jawed, trying to wrap his brain around it. Since when did Maria seek refuge with her mom? Away from her, sure, but rarely ever with her. Only when she was desperate. Her mom aggravated her and stressed her out. He couldn’t believe she’d agreed to this, and part of him felt the need to try to protect her from it.

“No,” he decided, scurrying after Amy. “No, I’m not gonna let you do that.”

Amy stopped at the end of the hall, looking first to the left, then to the right, in the direction of Dylan’s room. “This way?” she guessed.

“Listen, Amy, if you think for one second . . .” He wasn’t able to finish his threat, though, because out from the room came Dylan, giggling gleefully as he rode along in a wheelchair a nurse was pushing. When he saw Amy, he exclaimed, “Gramma!” and tried to hop out of the chair while it was moving. The nurse had to hold him down.

“Hi, sweetie!” Amy cooed, rushing towards him. She knelt down in front of the chair, hugged him, and immediately set in telling him how much she loved him and missed him lately.

“Michael?”

He tore his eyes away from them when he heard Maria’s voice. She came out of the room and down the hall, ignoring her mom as she passed by and stopped in front of him. “What are you still doing here?” she demanded, her voice a whisper.

“Waiting,” he replied simply. Now he was starting to wonder what he’d been waiting for.

She let out a heavy sigh, dragged her fingers through her hair, and reminded him, “I told you to leave us alone.”

“And I did.”

“No, I meant . . .” She trailed off, giving him an impatient look.

Oh. Great. His worst fear was becoming a reality. She wanted to be left alone for a while, not just a day. Amy wasn’t completely full of shit after all. She really was taking Maria and Dylan home with her, and Maria really was okay with that.

“Are you serious?” he spat. “I can’t even be around you?”

“Michael . . .”

“Do you know they wouldn’t even let me see Dylan until you got here? ‘cause I wasn’t family.” He snorted angrily. “And now you won’t let me see him, either.”

“Any reason why I should?” she challenged.

“I just thought . . .” He trailed off, watching helplessly as Amy tickled Dylan, getting him to laugh so hard he started kicking his feet with excitement. “I thought you’d still at least come home with me so he could sleep in his own bed and—and feel . . . normal.”

She glared at him accusatorily. “Things aren’t normal, Michael.”

No. They weren’t. He knew that. But he wanted them to be.

Maria turned around and said, “Mom? I’m ready to go.”

Amy smiled with satisfaction. “Me, too.”

“Let’s head out then,” the nurse suggested, wheeling Dylan forward. Maria sulked out after them, and Amy brought up the rear.

“Now you know how it feels,” she murmured to Michael as she sauntered past.

His whole body tightened as he stood there and watched them go. He’d helped Maria make an exit from her mom’s house once. Very dramatic. Very much like this. Except this was worse. Because he needed her and Dylan more than Amy did. Without them, Amy was sad; but without them, he was lost.








TBC . . .

-April
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LOVE IS MICHAEL AND MARIA.
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