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The electric buzz of the television
drones on, registering only on the periphery of
Ryan's mind. He is aware
of the energetic play-by-play spouting out of the announcers, of the cracking
of bats against balls, and of the cheers and boos ripping through the crowd.
But none of it is penetrating his mind tonight.
The television's light spills out
over Ryan as he slouches in the leather armchair, head propped up in one
hand as he stares blankly ahead. Nights like this are what make him crazy.
The days are easier to handle: There are things to get done and people
everywhere. But the nights, especially in the empty house, are getting
to be too much for him.
He throws back another slug of scotch.
If everything had gone correctly -- the way he'd hoped -- things would
be so different now. All he wanted from King's Bay was
Claire. He was so
sure that he could make her see how special what they had was, that she'd
realize it and drop everything to come back to him. Even though he'd been
withholding the truth about her attack and she'd been with
Tim and there
were a million other things in the way ... Ryan just kept thinking that
if he could make her feel that passion again, none of that would matter.
He did make her feel it, too, he
knows that much. He's seen that flicker of remembrance dance over her eyes
so many times during their encounters; he felt that electric pull, even
if only for a split-second, the one time he kissed her; and he's heard
it in her words as she reams him out time after time. He knows that she
remembers.
But none of that is enough now. It
certainly doesn't seem like it. Even with Tim gone, nothing has
happened. For so many years, all Ryan felt for Claire was this incredible
longing. If he could have her, everything would be perfect.
And now that she's back in his life,
he feels something else boiling inside. Hatred. For her? No, not possible.
It's hatred of the situation they're in. Hatred for Nick, for forcing him
to continue in their line of business. Hatred for Tim, for being such an
enormous part of Claire. Hatred for ... for everyone and everything that's
standing in their way now.
He doesn't even hear the doorbell
at first. It blends into the muted tapestry of noises coming from the TV,
and it rings a second time before Ryan realizes that something is off.
Even then it takes him a long moment to become aware that someone is at
the door.
He doesn't want to answer it. The
groan as he pulls himself from the chair indicates as much. Yet he moves
out of the chair nonetheless, and makes his way to the front door.
The foyer is dark as he crosses it
but it is flooded by the porch lights as soon as he opens the door. And
Ryan stands there, covered in light now, completely silent, his face a
stony mask.
"Hey,"
Stan says. "You, uh, you alone?"
"Yeah, I am," Ryan says after a momentary
hesitation. He thinks of asking what Stan is doing there but finds that
he doesn't want to say anything more than is absolutely necessary.
"What, the big guy went out and left
you here?" Stan offers an awkward grin.
Ryan doesn't return it. When it becomes
clear that Stan isn't going to move this along, though, Ryan has to take
the bait. "What are you doing here?" he asks, infusing as much coldness
as he can into the question.
"I wanted to see you."
"What is with these visits? You just
drop by unannounced every couple of months and then disappear again--"
"You might be seeing a lot more of
me now."
"What?"
Stan pauses, clearly relishing the
drama of having an announcement to share. "Looks like I'm gonna be settling
in King's Bay."
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