Chapter 13 Ryan
RYAN
The pizza arrived fifteen minutes early.
Ryan grabbed the boxes from the delivery guy while Angus barked at the door. “Thanks, man.” Ryan had paid with the app on his phone, so he nodded and kicked the door shut with his heel, barely keeping Angus from bolting down the stairs.
Since Christina had moved downstairs to the cottage, he’d rearranged the living room into a gaming setup with two enormous screens, a custom PC he’d built himself, and enough chairs for six people. Tonight, for the first time, those chairs would actually be full.
He set the pizza boxes on the table and checked the time. Ten minutes until everyone showed up. His hands were sweating.
He wiped his palms on his jeans. Angus tilted his head, brown ears perked forward.
This was stupid. He’d been gaming with the same people online for months.
Jake, Mason, and Tyler from school. DevNull and Spectre—whose real names were actually Derek and Maria—from the community college.
They’d cleared dungeons together, trash-talked through team fights, and stayed up until three in the morning arguing about strategy. He knew them.
But knowing someone through a headset and knowing them face-to-face were different things. What if they decided he was just a sixteen-year-old kid who didn’t belong? What if the easy banter they had online turned awkward in person?
Angus pressed his cold nose against Ryan’s hand.
“Yeah, okay.” He scratched behind the dog’s ears, feeling the soft fur slide beneath his fingers. “I know, stop being weird about it.”
A knock on the door made him jump—but it was just Tara, balancing a tray of snacks in one hand and a pitcher of sweet tea in the other.
“Reinforcements,” she announced, squeezing past him into the apartment. She wore her usual paint-splattered jeans and a T-shirt. “I made those jalapeno poppers you like.”
“Mom, you didn’t have to—”
“Hush.” She set the tray on the table next to the pizza, surveying the room with an approving nod. “You’ve got everything set up nicely. I like what you did with the lighting.”
Ryan had strung LED strips behind the monitors—nothing fancy, just enough to give the space that dim, cozy glow that made gaming more immersive. He shrugged. “It’s whatever.”
Tara turned to face him, and something in her expression made his throat tight. She was looking at him the way she sometimes looked at Christina or Ally.
“What?” he asked.
“Nothing.” She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “I just remember when you first got here. You barely came out of your room. Now you’re hosting a party.”
“It’s not a party. It’s just gaming.”
“With friends. Your friends that you invited over.”
Ryan didn’t know what to say to that. After his mom died, after Harry made it clear he wanted nothing to do with him, Ryan had stopped expecting things to work out.
Gaming had been safe—a way to be around people without really being around them.
A way to have something that almost felt like friendship without risking the moment when everyone left.
But then he’d found Christina, and then they’d come here. And he’d met Tara and Will, and the rest of the family that had somehow adopted him. And somewhere along the way, he’d started believing that maybe he could have real things again.
“Thanks for the snacks,” he said finally, because that was easier than trying to explain any of the rest of it.
Tara squeezed his shoulder. “Have fun tonight. You deserve it.”
The door clicked shut behind her, and Ryan was alone again with the dog and the silence and the nervous energy buzzing under his skin.
Fifteen minutes later, the apartment was chaos—the good kind.
Jake had arrived first, all gangly limbs and nervous jokes, clutching a two-liter of Mountain Dew like a lifeline.
Mason and Tyler showed up together ten minutes later, already arguing about whether their school’s basketball team had any shot at regionals.
And then Derek and Maria walked through the door, and something in Ryan’s chest finally unclenched.
“Dude, your setup is sick.” Derek—DevNull—stood in front of the screens with his hands on his hips. He was twenty, with a scraggly beard and a faded t-shirt from some band Ryan had never heard of. “You built this yourself?”
“Yeah. Took about three months to get all the parts.”
“Respect.” Derek held out his fist, and Ryan bumped it.
Maria had already claimed the best chair—the one with actual lumbar support—and was scrolling through Ryan’s game library. “You got the new expansion? Nice. I’ve been wanting to try the necromancer class.”
“The necromancer’s busted,” Tyler said, grabbing a slice of pizza. Cheese stretched in a long string as he pulled it from the box. “I saw a video where some guy solo’d the final boss with just minion spam.”
“That’s because most people don’t know how to counter it.” Maria shot him a look. “You just have to—”
“Here we go,” Derek muttered, and Ryan laughed.
This was it. This was exactly what it was like online—the easy rhythm of conversation, the good-natured arguing, the way everyone talked over each other without anyone actually getting upset.
The only difference was that now he could see their faces, could reach over and steal a jalapeno popper off Jake’s plate, could feel Angus’s warm weight as the dog draped himself across Ryan’s feet.
They played for hours. The sun set outside the windows, painting the room in shades of gold and orange before fading to twilight.
Someone turned on more lights. Someone else ordered more pizza.
At some point, his mom dropped by again with chocolate chip cookies, still warm from the oven, the sweet smell cutting through the grease and cheese—and everyone thanked her with full mouths and distracted waves, eyes glued to the screens.
“Your stepmom’s cool,” Mason said during a loading screen.
Ryan didn’t bother correcting him. Stepmom, mom, whatever—the labels didn’t matter as much as they used to. “Yeah. She is.”
The game demanded their attention again, and Ryan leaned forward, fingers flying over the keyboard. His team was down by two objectives, but they’d been in worse spots before. He called out positions, coordinated their push, and felt the rush as everything clicked into place.
“Nice call,” Maria said when they won the match.
“That flank was disgusting,” Derek added, shaking his head.
Angus, sensing the celebration, scrambled up from his spot and began making the rounds, tail wagging as he shoved his nose into everyone’s hands. Tyler tried to sneak him a pizza crust, and Ryan let it slide—Angus deserved a treat for being such a good boy all night.
“Okay, one more match,” Jake said, cracking his knuckles. “And this time I’m not playing support.”
“You always say that,” Mason groaned.
“And you always need me to save your ass, so maybe next time don’t overextend.”
The argument dissolved into laughter, and Ryan leaned back in his chair. This was what normal felt like. Not proving he was the smartest kid in the room, not trying to earn his place through test scores and academic achievements. Just hanging out. Just being sixteen.
His phone buzzed with a text from Will.
How’s it going up there? Tara says you’re having fun.
Yeah, it’s good.
He hesitated, then added.
Thanks for adding the shelves.
The response came almost immediately.
Anytime, kid.
“Ryan, you queueing up or what?” Maria was already loading into the next match.
Derek had commandeered the jalapeno poppers and was methodically working through the tray.
Jake was trying to explain some new build he’d seen online while Mason and Tyler argued about who got the last slice of pepperoni.
Tomorrow he’d help Will with the inn repairs—there were some doors that had been sticking in the humidity that needed sanding down. But that was tomorrow.
Ryan set his phone aside, pulled his chair closer to the desk, and picked up his headset.
“All right, who’s ready to lose?”