Seldom Second Chances (6b/13)
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wl_fanfictionTitle: Seldom Second Chances
Author: Clay
Pairing: Ryan/Colin
Rating: NC-17 (for later chapters)
Summary: When a freak accident drops an impossible opportunity in Ryan's lap, it's up to him to decide whether to squander it, or to change his fate by going after the one thing he's always wanted.
Word Count: ~3000
Prompt & Author's Notes: Again, for the Thon Prompt 33: Strangled by the red string. As always, betaed by![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
asuka14.
Chapter Six (Part B)
Colin stared at him, his brow knit in confusion. He opened his mouth to speak, but no sound came out. Instead, he looked down at Ryan’s hand over his. Emboldened, Ryan stroked his thumb over the back of Colin’s hand, and Colin visibly shivered.
“Ryan…” he said at last. “W-what…” He shook his head uncertainly, still not meeting Ryan’s eyes, but he didn’t pull away, either. “What are you saying?”
“You know what I’m saying,” Ryan replied. He swept his hand around and under Colin’s, then curled his fingers forward until they were properly holding hands. He gave Colin’s hand a gentle squeeze.
Colin suddenly darted his eyes up to Ryan’s face, finally meeting his gaze squarely. Ryan found the look to be oddly speculative. It suited Colin’s intelligence—one of the things that had always drawn Ryan to him—but after Colin’s physical reaction, he had expected something more emotional.
He found himself holding his breath as he waited for Colin to say something.
After a few more seconds of studying him, Colin finally opened his mouth.
“Jesus Christ,” said a new voice, speaking up suddenly from Ryan’s other side.
Startled, he turned on instinct to see a man who was roughly the size of a full grown bull and seemed the very personification of the dive bar just sitting down on the stool beside him; he wore a thick, ginger beard and an oil stained work shirt and jeans, the shirt boasting an unraveling embroidery that must have said “Bill” once, but seemed to be down one letter. He was flagging down the bartender, not even showing Ryan enough respect to meet his eyes as he continued, “When’d they start letting fags in here?”
Ryan bristled. Of all the times for some asshole to come along and ruin the moment, this was on the top of his list. Colin was trying to pull his hand back, but Ryan gripped it tighter and refused to let go. He glowered at “Bil” and said, just low enough that only the three of them could hear, “That’s not what your mom said when I was fucking her up the ass last night.” Oh, it was beyond childish, he knew, but anger was his ruling force right now, and what was more, he’d lost count of the number of beers he’d consumed. Anything more cerebral eluded him.
The bartender, who had just set down a double shot of dark whiskey, gave Ryan a startled look. He quickly glanced to the newcomer and then stepped back, obviously wanting no part in what was about to happen. From the bartender’s reaction, Ryan got the impression that Bill had a reputation.
Without even touching his whiskey, Bill turned slowly to Ryan. He eyed him up, taking in Ryan’s stick thin body, fitted t-shirt and clean jeans with a disdainful expression. “Excuse me?”
“We don’t want any trouble,” Colin said hurriedly, finally managing to rip his hand from Ryan’s grasp.
Bill was still staring at Ryan. “I’d listen to your girlfriend if I were you.” Suddenly recognition flashed over his face, and he smiled, showing off a missing incisor. “I know you,” he said. “Read about you in the paper.”
“Really?” Ryan asked, feigning astonishment. “You know how to read?”
Surprisingly, Bill didn’t rise to the bait. Instead he grabbed his whiskey up from the bar and downed it in one smooth swallow. He wiped the back of his hand across his mouth, replaced the glass on the counter, and said, “They caught you with a different faggot last night, didn’t they? I bet you like to take it up the ass.”
Ryan gave him a nasty smile. “Then your mom and I have something in common, don’t we?”
“Buddy, you best to shut your filthy cock sucking mouth before I shut it for you.” Suddenly Bill was on his feet, his fists balled at his sides. “I got no problem taking this outside.”
Colin grabbed the back of Ryan’s shirt and whispered, “Ryan, no.”
Forcing himself to relax, Ryan reached out and picked up his beer bottle. “No, sorry, I don’t want to do that,” he said, smiling. He kept his eyes on Bill as he took a long drink from the bottle.
This in turn seemed to relax Bill, whose shoulders visibly lowered as Ryan continued to drink. “Well all right th—”
“I’d rather do it right here!” Ryan cried suddenly, cutting him off. He jumped to his feet, took the half empty beer bottle by the neck, and swung it straight toward Bill’s jaw.
Unlike the movies, the bottle didn’t shatter on impact. Instead it hit against flesh and bone with a dull thud, sending Bill’s head snapping around with the force of it. His body followed right after, and he spun a quarter turn, but stayed on his feet. The momentum of Ryan’s swing tore the bottle from his hand, and it flew through the air, bounced off the back wall of the bar, then spiraled across the counter top, spraying foam on anyone within a good 10 feet of it.
There were some shouts and girlish shrieks, and then everything went deadly silent. The only sound was the soft, fizzing disintegration of beer foam and the clunk of the bottle as it rolled off the bar and hit the floor.
Bill turned slowly back around to face Ryan. His cheek was flushed red, with a pale welt already forming in the center. His hands formed into fists again, his knuckles white. Ryan watched this, feeling like everything was going in slow motion as Bill reared one massive arm back, screaming, “You mother fucker!”
The arm started its forward momentum. Ryan could only stare, dumbfounded, at the meaty fist coming straight for his face, when suddenly his whole world went reeling sideways. Something had hit him hard on the right, shoving him out of harm’s way, and he stumbled over his own feet and dropped, his eyes still locked on his would be murderer.
Bill was staggering, too, when his punch only connected with thin air. His momentum kept him moving forward until he found himself sprawled over a line of bar stools, flailing like an upside down turtle, wiggling his arms uselessly as he fought to regain his feet.
“Come on!” Someone yelled in his ear just as the patrons all started to talk at once.
Suddenly Ryan registered the vice like grip on his arm, and he looked up to see his savior, Colin, fighting to pull him up. Without thinking, he gave a short nod and scrabbled to his feet. Once there, Colin grabbed his hand and tugged him to the door. “Run!” he demanded at the same time that an old, grizzled bar fly screeched, “Fight!”
It was like a bomb had gone off. Suddenly people were screaming and cheering, bottles and glasses were flying through the air, and they even had to dodge a stool as they ducked and wove their way through a moving wall of frantic bodies. A large man seemed to come out of nowhere, blocking their exit. He aimed a sloppy punch at Ryan, who ducked it easily and wove around him, making sure he never let go of Colin’s hand.
But suddenly Colin came to an abrupt halt, and Ryan jerked to a stop, too, before looking back at him. Bill loomed large over Colin, gripping the back of his shirt and keeping him from escaping. Growling, Ryan let go of Colin’s hand just long enough to throw a single punch, putting everything he had into landing his knuckles right against Bill’s already swollen cheek. Bill howled in pain, and Ryan grabbed up Colin again before making a final sprint for the door.
They burst out into the cool Ventura night with half of the bar's patrons hot on their heels.
“Where?” Colin shouted, hesitating for a precious second to look up and down the street, but Ryan tugged him along without looking, picking a direction and just running with it—literally.
“This way!”
And not a moment too soon. Barely a second later, Bill, surrounded by a posse of equally intimidating meat heads, came tumbling onto the street. It only took them a moment to spot Ryan and Colin sprinting away, and then the chase was on again. The crowd yelled and jeered loudly behind them as the two wove their way through pedestrians in a desperate attempt to reach safety.
Bill’s posse was persistent, but their method of bulldozing their way through the street traffic instead of slipping around them like Ryan and Colin were doing was slowing them down significantly. Ryan and Colin made it back to the Ventura Inn with a decent lead, and Ryan hurriedly fished out the Aston Martin’s keys. They could have barricaded themselves in their motel room, but all Ryan could think was that the posse would end up taking out their frustrations on the car instead. All things considered, getting away as quickly as possible seemed the better idea.
As soon as the keys were in his hand, Ryan hit the unlock button, and seconds later they both literally ran into the car, rebounding off it with outstretched palms before scrabbling for the door handles.
Ryan had gotten in the driver’s seat, and the moment he sat down, his head started swimming. “I’m too drunk to drive,” he said suddenly. The adrenaline from their fight and flight had cleared his mind, but suddenly he was feeling foggy again, and he started to laugh desperately, looking over at Colin.
“I don’t think so!” Colin said holding up his hands to fend off the key that Ryan hadn’t even realized he’d been offering. “Just drive!”
Something about that was even funnier, and Ryan found himself cackling madly as he struggled to jam the key into the ignition. It took a few tries, but eventually he got it in, revved the engine, put the car in reverse, then slammed his foot on the gas pedal. He shot backward, and spun the wheel. The car whipped around in the flash of an eye, and Ryan, startled, slammed his foot down on the brake just in time to avoid hitting a parked car.
Breathing hard, he looked behind him, then to Colin, who was staring back with wide eyes. They just looked at each other for a moment before they both started laughing again.
Ryan pulled the car out into the street, but stopped as soon as he was out there and put the car back into park. Bill was racing toward them, his posse hot on his heels. “You’re dead!” he screamed. “You’re both fucking dead!”
Ryan grinned wildly and revved the engine. Bill pulled up short about 20 yards away, and he stood there snarling, his legs spread and bent slightly at the knee, like he planned on bum rushing the car.
“Ryan…” Colin warned, grabbing Ryan’s bicep.
Ryan didn’t answer him. He revved the engine again, a blatant dare. The rest of Bill’s posse scattered behind him, shouting as they vacated the street, but Bill didn’t move. He stared straight into Ryan’s eyes, daring him right back.
“Your funeral,” Ryan muttered, then threw the car into drive and slammed his foot down on the gas pedal.
Bill stayed put for exactly two seconds, then cursed and lunged to the side just as Ryan and Colin roared past them.
“Shit, Ryan!” Colin yelped, twisting around to look behind them. Ryan breathed hard, watching in the rear view mirror as Bill climbed back to his feet, unscathed. He took a step toward the disappearing car, but then stopped. Ryan kept driving, and soon Bill was out of sight.
Colin eventually turned back around and slumped into his seat, giving a breathy laugh. “Oh my god,” he said. He swiped an arm across his forehead, wiping away the beaded sweat. “That was….” He shook his head. “It was—”
“Fun?” Ryan asked as he fished out a cigarette, lit it, then passed it over to Colin.
“Insane!” Colin said, and he took the cigarette with slightly shaking fingers before taking a deep drag.
Ryan lit a cigarette for himself, chuckling. “Insanely fun,” he quipped back.
Colin shook his head again, but he was smiling now. He cracked his window and blew out a plume of smoke before taking another drag. The cool evening air whipped past the car, drawing the smoke out and into the night. “Okay, yeah,” he said at last, then started laughing again.
Ryan slowed the car as they turned down a side street, looking for somewhere to hide out for a while before they returned to the motel.
The bar and hotel had been on the outskirts of the city to begin with, and even further out now, they seemed to have hit the straight up slums. The roads were narrower here, the sidewalks cracked, and half the buildings were boarded up. Even the street lights seemed to feel the desolation of the place; only one out of three was lit, and half of those were flickering, ready to go out at any moment.
They turned off the side street, heading back in the direction of the city proper. A police cruiser passed them as they drove, the cops eying them up suspiciously.
“Evening, officers!” Ryan called, waving to them.
Colin cringed and put one hand over his face, wanting no part of Ryan’s insanity, but the cops just rolled their eyes and gave each other a look like Ryan was an idiot for having such an expensive car in such a bad area. They were right, he knew, but after the flight from the bar, he was feeling invincible.
“Jesus, Ry,” Colin said, giving him an exasperated look. “Jail! Remember jail? Please don’t get us pulled over.”
“Why?” Ryan asked, purposely swerving the car side to side as soon as the police were out of sight. “It’s not like we’re drunk off our asses.”
Colin stared at him for a long moment, then burst out laughing. “Christ,” he muttered, shaking his head.
Like usual, Colin’s laughter was infectious, and soon Ryan was laughing hard enough that he had to pull the car over to the side of the road, tears blurring his vision. They stayed there even after they regained their wits, each having another cigarette as they mulled over their individual thoughts.
Further down the street a group of kids were talking and laughing, shoving each other as they made their way down the sidewalk, happy and carefree. Ryan could barely remember ever being that young.
“So…” Colin said suddenly. Ryan glanced to him curiously, but Colin was staring out the window at the trail of smoke winding away from the end of his cigarette. “What were you saying back at the bar?”
Ryan froze. Oh, that. Like the alcohol, his confidence had worn off significantly, and instead of answering, he jerked forward and flipped on the radio. “Hotel California” pumped through the car’s gorgeous sound system. Colin gave him a tired look, but didn’t say anything.
Ryan just kept his eyes locked on the radio's display, ignoring the heat of Colin’s glare. Amusingly, he’d turned it on just as Don Henley was crooning “And I was thinking to myself this could be Heaven or this could be Hell.” Somehow, spending so much time with Colin over the past 12 hours had been both.
After another moment, Colin sighed heavily, then said, “I love this song.”
“Me too,” Ryan agreed. He smiled slightly. “This one time Matt and the guys…” But he trailed off, unable to remember if that had happened yet. Maybe now it never would.
Instead, he started singing quietly. Colin joined him a few lines in. They’d started softly, but got louder and louder as the song progressed. Ryan lifted his head and finally looked at Colin, only to find him smiling. Ryan smiled back. They belted out the end of the song in perfect unison.
They were still smiling at each other as another song came on, but Ryan leaned forward, turning the radio back off.
“You know,” he said as he straightened. He wasn’t looking at Colin anymore. “We…not me and you, but people, people always talk about the good old days, but…” He licked his lips. “These are the good old days, and we don’t even know it. It’s never going to get better than it is right here.”
He looked at Colin. “Right now.”
Colin was watching him curiously. “You don’t know that.”
“What’s going to happen after the show ends?”
Colin opened his mouth to answer, then snapped it shut again, as though he was rethinking his answer. Finally he said, “Everything ends. We’ll do something else.”
Ryan stared at him hard. “Together?”
Colin narrowed his eyes, frowning slightly, and Ryan would have given anything to know what was going on in his head. “Will you want to?” he asked.
Yes, Ryan wanted to tell him. He watched Colin somberly. Maybe not right away; they would both need a few years away from each other to avoid getting burnt out, but eventually yes. At least every now and again—at least before a decade had passed and they’d grown so far apart that there was no coming back from it. He wanted to tell him all of this, but he couldn’t find a way to do it without bringing down the mood.
Colin seemed to pick up on it anyway. He tossed his cigarette out the passenger window, blew out a puff of smoke, and licked his lips. “Can we at least talk about the bar now?”
Still caught up in his funk, Ryan barely heard him. “What about it?”
Colin watched him somberly. “You took my hand,” he said. “You implied…well,” he gave a brief, mirthless smile, “I guess that’s my question. What were you implying back there?”
Oh, right. Ryan frowned as he mulled the question over. What had he actually said? With all the excitement, it was hard to remember, but he knew what he'd wanted to say. If only he could gather the courage to speak the words aloud. Sucking in a deep breath, Ryan closed his eyes. “I—” he started, but suddenly a chill shot down his spine, and he somehow knew that something was wrong.
He opened his eyes slowly just as a loud click sounded just outside the driver’s side window. Turning, he found himself staring down the barrel of a gun.
To be continued...
Author: Clay
Pairing: Ryan/Colin
Rating: NC-17 (for later chapters)
Summary: When a freak accident drops an impossible opportunity in Ryan's lap, it's up to him to decide whether to squander it, or to change his fate by going after the one thing he's always wanted.
Word Count: ~3000
Prompt & Author's Notes: Again, for the Thon Prompt 33: Strangled by the red string. As always, betaed by
asuka14. Chapter Six (Part B)
Colin stared at him, his brow knit in confusion. He opened his mouth to speak, but no sound came out. Instead, he looked down at Ryan’s hand over his. Emboldened, Ryan stroked his thumb over the back of Colin’s hand, and Colin visibly shivered.
“Ryan…” he said at last. “W-what…” He shook his head uncertainly, still not meeting Ryan’s eyes, but he didn’t pull away, either. “What are you saying?”
“You know what I’m saying,” Ryan replied. He swept his hand around and under Colin’s, then curled his fingers forward until they were properly holding hands. He gave Colin’s hand a gentle squeeze.
Colin suddenly darted his eyes up to Ryan’s face, finally meeting his gaze squarely. Ryan found the look to be oddly speculative. It suited Colin’s intelligence—one of the things that had always drawn Ryan to him—but after Colin’s physical reaction, he had expected something more emotional.
He found himself holding his breath as he waited for Colin to say something.
After a few more seconds of studying him, Colin finally opened his mouth.
“Jesus Christ,” said a new voice, speaking up suddenly from Ryan’s other side.
Startled, he turned on instinct to see a man who was roughly the size of a full grown bull and seemed the very personification of the dive bar just sitting down on the stool beside him; he wore a thick, ginger beard and an oil stained work shirt and jeans, the shirt boasting an unraveling embroidery that must have said “Bill” once, but seemed to be down one letter. He was flagging down the bartender, not even showing Ryan enough respect to meet his eyes as he continued, “When’d they start letting fags in here?”
Ryan bristled. Of all the times for some asshole to come along and ruin the moment, this was on the top of his list. Colin was trying to pull his hand back, but Ryan gripped it tighter and refused to let go. He glowered at “Bil” and said, just low enough that only the three of them could hear, “That’s not what your mom said when I was fucking her up the ass last night.” Oh, it was beyond childish, he knew, but anger was his ruling force right now, and what was more, he’d lost count of the number of beers he’d consumed. Anything more cerebral eluded him.
The bartender, who had just set down a double shot of dark whiskey, gave Ryan a startled look. He quickly glanced to the newcomer and then stepped back, obviously wanting no part in what was about to happen. From the bartender’s reaction, Ryan got the impression that Bill had a reputation.
Without even touching his whiskey, Bill turned slowly to Ryan. He eyed him up, taking in Ryan’s stick thin body, fitted t-shirt and clean jeans with a disdainful expression. “Excuse me?”
“We don’t want any trouble,” Colin said hurriedly, finally managing to rip his hand from Ryan’s grasp.
Bill was still staring at Ryan. “I’d listen to your girlfriend if I were you.” Suddenly recognition flashed over his face, and he smiled, showing off a missing incisor. “I know you,” he said. “Read about you in the paper.”
“Really?” Ryan asked, feigning astonishment. “You know how to read?”
Surprisingly, Bill didn’t rise to the bait. Instead he grabbed his whiskey up from the bar and downed it in one smooth swallow. He wiped the back of his hand across his mouth, replaced the glass on the counter, and said, “They caught you with a different faggot last night, didn’t they? I bet you like to take it up the ass.”
Ryan gave him a nasty smile. “Then your mom and I have something in common, don’t we?”
“Buddy, you best to shut your filthy cock sucking mouth before I shut it for you.” Suddenly Bill was on his feet, his fists balled at his sides. “I got no problem taking this outside.”
Colin grabbed the back of Ryan’s shirt and whispered, “Ryan, no.”
Forcing himself to relax, Ryan reached out and picked up his beer bottle. “No, sorry, I don’t want to do that,” he said, smiling. He kept his eyes on Bill as he took a long drink from the bottle.
This in turn seemed to relax Bill, whose shoulders visibly lowered as Ryan continued to drink. “Well all right th—”
“I’d rather do it right here!” Ryan cried suddenly, cutting him off. He jumped to his feet, took the half empty beer bottle by the neck, and swung it straight toward Bill’s jaw.
Unlike the movies, the bottle didn’t shatter on impact. Instead it hit against flesh and bone with a dull thud, sending Bill’s head snapping around with the force of it. His body followed right after, and he spun a quarter turn, but stayed on his feet. The momentum of Ryan’s swing tore the bottle from his hand, and it flew through the air, bounced off the back wall of the bar, then spiraled across the counter top, spraying foam on anyone within a good 10 feet of it.
There were some shouts and girlish shrieks, and then everything went deadly silent. The only sound was the soft, fizzing disintegration of beer foam and the clunk of the bottle as it rolled off the bar and hit the floor.
Bill turned slowly back around to face Ryan. His cheek was flushed red, with a pale welt already forming in the center. His hands formed into fists again, his knuckles white. Ryan watched this, feeling like everything was going in slow motion as Bill reared one massive arm back, screaming, “You mother fucker!”
The arm started its forward momentum. Ryan could only stare, dumbfounded, at the meaty fist coming straight for his face, when suddenly his whole world went reeling sideways. Something had hit him hard on the right, shoving him out of harm’s way, and he stumbled over his own feet and dropped, his eyes still locked on his would be murderer.
Bill was staggering, too, when his punch only connected with thin air. His momentum kept him moving forward until he found himself sprawled over a line of bar stools, flailing like an upside down turtle, wiggling his arms uselessly as he fought to regain his feet.
“Come on!” Someone yelled in his ear just as the patrons all started to talk at once.
Suddenly Ryan registered the vice like grip on his arm, and he looked up to see his savior, Colin, fighting to pull him up. Without thinking, he gave a short nod and scrabbled to his feet. Once there, Colin grabbed his hand and tugged him to the door. “Run!” he demanded at the same time that an old, grizzled bar fly screeched, “Fight!”
It was like a bomb had gone off. Suddenly people were screaming and cheering, bottles and glasses were flying through the air, and they even had to dodge a stool as they ducked and wove their way through a moving wall of frantic bodies. A large man seemed to come out of nowhere, blocking their exit. He aimed a sloppy punch at Ryan, who ducked it easily and wove around him, making sure he never let go of Colin’s hand.
But suddenly Colin came to an abrupt halt, and Ryan jerked to a stop, too, before looking back at him. Bill loomed large over Colin, gripping the back of his shirt and keeping him from escaping. Growling, Ryan let go of Colin’s hand just long enough to throw a single punch, putting everything he had into landing his knuckles right against Bill’s already swollen cheek. Bill howled in pain, and Ryan grabbed up Colin again before making a final sprint for the door.
They burst out into the cool Ventura night with half of the bar's patrons hot on their heels.
“Where?” Colin shouted, hesitating for a precious second to look up and down the street, but Ryan tugged him along without looking, picking a direction and just running with it—literally.
“This way!”
And not a moment too soon. Barely a second later, Bill, surrounded by a posse of equally intimidating meat heads, came tumbling onto the street. It only took them a moment to spot Ryan and Colin sprinting away, and then the chase was on again. The crowd yelled and jeered loudly behind them as the two wove their way through pedestrians in a desperate attempt to reach safety.
Bill’s posse was persistent, but their method of bulldozing their way through the street traffic instead of slipping around them like Ryan and Colin were doing was slowing them down significantly. Ryan and Colin made it back to the Ventura Inn with a decent lead, and Ryan hurriedly fished out the Aston Martin’s keys. They could have barricaded themselves in their motel room, but all Ryan could think was that the posse would end up taking out their frustrations on the car instead. All things considered, getting away as quickly as possible seemed the better idea.
As soon as the keys were in his hand, Ryan hit the unlock button, and seconds later they both literally ran into the car, rebounding off it with outstretched palms before scrabbling for the door handles.
Ryan had gotten in the driver’s seat, and the moment he sat down, his head started swimming. “I’m too drunk to drive,” he said suddenly. The adrenaline from their fight and flight had cleared his mind, but suddenly he was feeling foggy again, and he started to laugh desperately, looking over at Colin.
“I don’t think so!” Colin said holding up his hands to fend off the key that Ryan hadn’t even realized he’d been offering. “Just drive!”
Something about that was even funnier, and Ryan found himself cackling madly as he struggled to jam the key into the ignition. It took a few tries, but eventually he got it in, revved the engine, put the car in reverse, then slammed his foot on the gas pedal. He shot backward, and spun the wheel. The car whipped around in the flash of an eye, and Ryan, startled, slammed his foot down on the brake just in time to avoid hitting a parked car.
Breathing hard, he looked behind him, then to Colin, who was staring back with wide eyes. They just looked at each other for a moment before they both started laughing again.
Ryan pulled the car out into the street, but stopped as soon as he was out there and put the car back into park. Bill was racing toward them, his posse hot on his heels. “You’re dead!” he screamed. “You’re both fucking dead!”
Ryan grinned wildly and revved the engine. Bill pulled up short about 20 yards away, and he stood there snarling, his legs spread and bent slightly at the knee, like he planned on bum rushing the car.
“Ryan…” Colin warned, grabbing Ryan’s bicep.
Ryan didn’t answer him. He revved the engine again, a blatant dare. The rest of Bill’s posse scattered behind him, shouting as they vacated the street, but Bill didn’t move. He stared straight into Ryan’s eyes, daring him right back.
“Your funeral,” Ryan muttered, then threw the car into drive and slammed his foot down on the gas pedal.
Bill stayed put for exactly two seconds, then cursed and lunged to the side just as Ryan and Colin roared past them.
“Shit, Ryan!” Colin yelped, twisting around to look behind them. Ryan breathed hard, watching in the rear view mirror as Bill climbed back to his feet, unscathed. He took a step toward the disappearing car, but then stopped. Ryan kept driving, and soon Bill was out of sight.
Colin eventually turned back around and slumped into his seat, giving a breathy laugh. “Oh my god,” he said. He swiped an arm across his forehead, wiping away the beaded sweat. “That was….” He shook his head. “It was—”
“Fun?” Ryan asked as he fished out a cigarette, lit it, then passed it over to Colin.
“Insane!” Colin said, and he took the cigarette with slightly shaking fingers before taking a deep drag.
Ryan lit a cigarette for himself, chuckling. “Insanely fun,” he quipped back.
Colin shook his head again, but he was smiling now. He cracked his window and blew out a plume of smoke before taking another drag. The cool evening air whipped past the car, drawing the smoke out and into the night. “Okay, yeah,” he said at last, then started laughing again.
Ryan slowed the car as they turned down a side street, looking for somewhere to hide out for a while before they returned to the motel.
The bar and hotel had been on the outskirts of the city to begin with, and even further out now, they seemed to have hit the straight up slums. The roads were narrower here, the sidewalks cracked, and half the buildings were boarded up. Even the street lights seemed to feel the desolation of the place; only one out of three was lit, and half of those were flickering, ready to go out at any moment.
They turned off the side street, heading back in the direction of the city proper. A police cruiser passed them as they drove, the cops eying them up suspiciously.
“Evening, officers!” Ryan called, waving to them.
Colin cringed and put one hand over his face, wanting no part of Ryan’s insanity, but the cops just rolled their eyes and gave each other a look like Ryan was an idiot for having such an expensive car in such a bad area. They were right, he knew, but after the flight from the bar, he was feeling invincible.
“Jesus, Ry,” Colin said, giving him an exasperated look. “Jail! Remember jail? Please don’t get us pulled over.”
“Why?” Ryan asked, purposely swerving the car side to side as soon as the police were out of sight. “It’s not like we’re drunk off our asses.”
Colin stared at him for a long moment, then burst out laughing. “Christ,” he muttered, shaking his head.
Like usual, Colin’s laughter was infectious, and soon Ryan was laughing hard enough that he had to pull the car over to the side of the road, tears blurring his vision. They stayed there even after they regained their wits, each having another cigarette as they mulled over their individual thoughts.
Further down the street a group of kids were talking and laughing, shoving each other as they made their way down the sidewalk, happy and carefree. Ryan could barely remember ever being that young.
“So…” Colin said suddenly. Ryan glanced to him curiously, but Colin was staring out the window at the trail of smoke winding away from the end of his cigarette. “What were you saying back at the bar?”
Ryan froze. Oh, that. Like the alcohol, his confidence had worn off significantly, and instead of answering, he jerked forward and flipped on the radio. “Hotel California” pumped through the car’s gorgeous sound system. Colin gave him a tired look, but didn’t say anything.
Ryan just kept his eyes locked on the radio's display, ignoring the heat of Colin’s glare. Amusingly, he’d turned it on just as Don Henley was crooning “And I was thinking to myself this could be Heaven or this could be Hell.” Somehow, spending so much time with Colin over the past 12 hours had been both.
After another moment, Colin sighed heavily, then said, “I love this song.”
“Me too,” Ryan agreed. He smiled slightly. “This one time Matt and the guys…” But he trailed off, unable to remember if that had happened yet. Maybe now it never would.
Instead, he started singing quietly. Colin joined him a few lines in. They’d started softly, but got louder and louder as the song progressed. Ryan lifted his head and finally looked at Colin, only to find him smiling. Ryan smiled back. They belted out the end of the song in perfect unison.
They were still smiling at each other as another song came on, but Ryan leaned forward, turning the radio back off.
“You know,” he said as he straightened. He wasn’t looking at Colin anymore. “We…not me and you, but people, people always talk about the good old days, but…” He licked his lips. “These are the good old days, and we don’t even know it. It’s never going to get better than it is right here.”
He looked at Colin. “Right now.”
Colin was watching him curiously. “You don’t know that.”
“What’s going to happen after the show ends?”
Colin opened his mouth to answer, then snapped it shut again, as though he was rethinking his answer. Finally he said, “Everything ends. We’ll do something else.”
Ryan stared at him hard. “Together?”
Colin narrowed his eyes, frowning slightly, and Ryan would have given anything to know what was going on in his head. “Will you want to?” he asked.
Yes, Ryan wanted to tell him. He watched Colin somberly. Maybe not right away; they would both need a few years away from each other to avoid getting burnt out, but eventually yes. At least every now and again—at least before a decade had passed and they’d grown so far apart that there was no coming back from it. He wanted to tell him all of this, but he couldn’t find a way to do it without bringing down the mood.
Colin seemed to pick up on it anyway. He tossed his cigarette out the passenger window, blew out a puff of smoke, and licked his lips. “Can we at least talk about the bar now?”
Still caught up in his funk, Ryan barely heard him. “What about it?”
Colin watched him somberly. “You took my hand,” he said. “You implied…well,” he gave a brief, mirthless smile, “I guess that’s my question. What were you implying back there?”
Oh, right. Ryan frowned as he mulled the question over. What had he actually said? With all the excitement, it was hard to remember, but he knew what he'd wanted to say. If only he could gather the courage to speak the words aloud. Sucking in a deep breath, Ryan closed his eyes. “I—” he started, but suddenly a chill shot down his spine, and he somehow knew that something was wrong.
He opened his eyes slowly just as a loud click sounded just outside the driver’s side window. Turning, he found himself staring down the barrel of a gun.
To be continued...
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Date: 2014-10-23 12:08 am (UTC)Thank you this makes the story exciting Oh, I hate to wait, but will wait
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