Chapter 7 Ryan
RYAN
The parking lot of the Blueberry Hill DMV smelled like hot asphalt and nervous sweat. Ryan gripped the steering wheel of his faded navy Subaru Outback, knuckles white, while the examiner—a woman in her fifties with reading glasses perched on her nose—made notes on her clipboard.
“Parallel parking,” she said. “Between the orange cones.”
He’d practiced this a hundred times in the church parking lot with anybody in the family who’d go with him, but mostly with Will or Evan.
Breathe. Check mirrors. Signal. He eased the Outback backward, adjusting the wheel the way Will had drilled into him, feeling the car respond to each small correction.
The examiner made another note.
Twenty minutes later, Ryan pulled back into the parking space where Will waited, leaning against the brick building with his arms crossed and a barely concealed grin on his face.
“How’d it go?” Will asked as Ryan climbed out, though his expression said he already knew.
Ryan held up the temporary license, the paper still warm from the printer. “Passed.”
Will’s grin broke wide open. He pulled Ryan into a brief, back-slapping hug—the kind of hug Ryan had seen other kids get from their dads but had never experienced himself until this family. “Never doubted you for a second. Happy birthday, kid.”
Sixteen. He was sixteen years old, he had his license, and he was about to drive his own car—the car he’d paid for himself with money saved from tutoring and any job he could take one—back home. Well, back to what had become home.
“You want me to drive?” Will offered, already moving toward the passenger side.
“Not a chance.” Ryan slid behind the wheel again, running his hands over the worn steering wheel. The Outback was twelve years old, had a dent in the rear bumper, and made a worrying rattle when he accelerated past sixty. He loved it completely.
The drive back to the house took fifteen minutes on the winding mountain roads.
Ryan kept his speed steady, hyperaware of every turn, every approaching car, every rule he’d memorized.
Beside him, Will sat relaxed, one arm resting on the window frame, not offering advice or corrections. Just trusting him.
“Tara’s going to cry,” Will said as they turned onto the long driveway.
Ryan laughed, but his chest felt tight in a good way.
Three days ago, he’d stood next to Will as his groomsman, watching Tara walk down the aisle in her cream-colored dress.
A year ago, he’d runaway from a foster home, wondered if he’d ever have a home again.
Now he had a family, a house, a car, and a driver’s license.
Life was weird sometimes.
He carefully parked beside Ally’s truck, killed the engine, and was out of the car before Will had even unbuckled his seatbelt. The front door of the new house—the house that would become the inn’s main building, but for now was just his mom’s house—flew open before he reached the porch.
“Well?” Tara stood in the doorway, hands clasped together, practically vibrating.
Ryan held up the paper license.
Tara shrieked and threw her arms around him, laughing and crying at the same time, exactly as Will had predicted.
Over her shoulder, Ryan could see the others gathered in the living room—Evan and Emily on the couch with baby Grace, Christina lowering herself into an armchair, and Ally emerging from the kitchen with a grin.
“Told you he’d pass,” Ally called out. “Pay up, Evan.”
“I never said he wouldn’t pass.” Evan was already reaching for his wallet. “I said he’d pass by a smaller margin.”
“Ninety-two percent,” Ryan said, unable to keep the pride out of his voice. “Missed one question on the written and lost points for taking the turn onto Main Street too wide.”
“Ninety-two is excellent.” Emily shifted Grace to her other arm so she could clap. “That’s better than Evan did.”
“Hey—”
“You failed the parallel parking twice.”
“The cones were too close together.”
Everyone laughed, and Ryan felt himself relax into the warmth of it. This. This was what he’d been missing after his mom died. People who teased each other, who showed up for the small moments, who cared whether he passed his driver’s test.
“Dinner’s almost ready,” Tara said, finally releasing him and wiping her eyes. “But first—presents.”
“You didn’t have to—”
“Hush.” Tara steered him toward the living room. “Sit.”
He sat. Angus immediately appeared from wherever he’d been napping and pressed his brown head against Ryan’s knee, tail wagging. Ryan scratched behind his ears, the familiar gesture grounding him as Ally disappeared into the kitchen and returned with a wrapped box.
“This is from me.” She set it in his lap. “Open it.”
Inside was a dog car harness—heavy-duty canvas with padded straps and a seatbelt attachment. Ryan looked up at Ally, confused.
“So Angus can ride with you safely,” she explained. “I know you’re going to take him everywhere, and I don’t want him flying through the windshield if you have to brake suddenly. No offense.”
“None taken.” He ran his fingers over the harness, imagining Angus buckled into the passenger seat, ears flapping in the breeze from an open window. “This is perfect. Thank you.”
Evan handed over a heavy, flat package next. “From me and Emily. Not as exciting, but practical.”
Floor mats. Heavy rubber ones designed for mountain weather, with deep grooves to catch mud and snow. Ryan thought about the Outback’s current mats—threadbare carpet that had seen better days—and felt his throat tighten.
“These are great,” he managed. “Really.”
Christina waved from her armchair, not bothering to get up. “Mine’s in the kitchen. It’s not exactly portable.”
“Cake?” Ryan guessed.
“Chocolate cake. Three layers. Don’t let Evan eat it all before you get a piece.”
“That was one time,” Evan protested.
“You ate half of the cake at Christmas.”
“It was really good cake!”
Tara cleared her throat, drawing everyone’s attention. She was holding an envelope, turning it over in her hands with an expression Ryan couldn’t quite read.
“This is from me and Will,” she said. “I know it’s not very fun to unwrap, but...” She handed it over.
Ryan opened the envelope and pulled out a receipt. He read it twice before the words made sense.
Four new all-season tires. Already paid for. Installation scheduled for next week.
“The ones on there now are practically bald,” Tara said quickly, as if she needed to justify it. “And you know winter here is no joke. I just—I’d worry if you were driving around on those tires when the snow comes this winter. So.” She shrugged, trying to look casual and failing completely.
Ryan stared at the receipt. His mom had driven on bald tires for years because they couldn’t afford new ones. He remembered the way the car would slide on wet roads, the white-knuckle drives through rainstorms, the constant fear that this would be the day their luck ran out.
“Thank you,” he said, and his voice came out rougher than he intended. “This is... thank you both.”
Tara’s eyes were wet again. “You’re welcome, sweetheart.”
Will’s hand landed on Ryan’s shoulder, warm and solid. “Can’t have my apprentice sliding off the road on his way to work.”
“About that.” Ryan looked up. “I was hoping maybe I could work with you more for the summer? On the inn?”
Will’s face creased into a smile. “I was counting on it. Those window frames aren’t going to build themselves.”
“At least window frames don’t fly into desserts,” Evan muttered.
Ryan’s face heated. “We’re not talking about the drone.”
“Oh, we’re definitely talking about the drone.” Ally settled onto the arm of the couch. “I just got the frosting stains out of that dress last month.”
“The dress was beige! You can barely see—”
“It was my favorite dress, Ryan.”
“The navigation system was perfect. It’s not my fault Christina moved the cake.”
Christina held up her hands. “Six inches. I moved it six inches.”
“Six inches was enough! The calibrations were very precise.”
“Precise enough to dive-bomb directly into the punch bowl,” Will added, grinning.
“That was an emergency landing! The frosting got in the rotors!”
Everyone was laughing now, even Ryan, the embarrassment fading into something warmer. This was what families did—they remembered your disasters and teased you about them forever, not to be cruel, but because it meant you belonged to the story. You were part of the history.
“For the record,” Emily said, bouncing Grace on her knee, “I thought it was impressive. Right up until the icing explosion.”
“Thank you.” Ryan pointed at her. “Finally, someone with perspective.”
“Perspective covered in frosting,” Evan said, and the laughter started all over again.
Later, after chocolate cake and coffee and a detailed explanation of Ryan’s summer gaming plans—Jake and Marcus from the high school, two guys from one of his college classes who didn’t care that he was younger, had a full day of gaming scheduled for Saturday—Ryan stepped out onto the porch with Angus at his heels.
The sun was setting over the lake, painting everything gold and pink.
His Outback sat in the driveway, keys heavy in his pocket.
Tomorrow he’d drive himself to the store for the first time.
Next week, he’d have new tires. This summer, he’d spend learning to build window frames and hang drywall and do all the things that made a house become something real.
His mom would have loved this. The thought arrived softly, without the sharp edges it used to carry. She’d wanted so badly for him to have a normal life, to find his people. Not to feel like a weirdo because he was so smart.
The screen door creaked behind him. Tara appeared with two glasses of lemonade, handing him one before settling into the porch swing.
“Big day,” she said.
“Yeah.” He took a sip. The lemonade was tart and sweet and cold, exactly right. “Thanks again. For the tires. For... everything.”
“You’re family. That’s what family does.”
He’d heard those words before, from people who hadn’t meant them. But Tara meant them. Will meant them. This whole patchwork group of people who’d somehow decided he was worth keeping—they all meant it.
His phone buzzed. Jake, in the group chat.
Yo, Ryan—want to hit the game store Saturday before we play? Marcus found this new co-op game, looks sick
Ryan typed back, grinning.
Saturday works. I’ll drive over
Wait, since when can you drive??
Since today. Just passed my test
The typing bubbles appeared immediately.
DUDE, pick us up We need to see the car
“Friends?” Tara asked, nodding at his phone.
“Yeah.” The word felt good in his mouth. Natural. “They want me to pick them up Saturday.”
“I’ll bring snacks over for all of you.”
“You don’t have to—”
“I want to.” She smiled at him over her lemonade. “I like your friends.”
Ryan looked back at his phone, at the group chat exploding with messages about Saturday’s plans, wishing him happy birthday and congratulations on passing his test. Behind him, through the window, he could hear Evan arguing with Christina about something, Ally laughing, the comfortable sounds of family.
He typed one more message.
Fair warning—my mom is going to make us cookies and snacks And no, I will NOT be demonstrating my drone
Then he pocketed his phone and stayed on the porch a while longer, watching the last of the sunset fade over the mountains, Angus warm against his legs, the taste of chocolate cake still sweet on his tongue.