Endgame of Thrones (Ryder Blade Season Finale)

I

Funny, isn't it? How the most insignificant things can throw your life for a loop. Something like, say, a word said to the wrong person at the wrong time. 

Or a rash action you didn't think through the implications of.

Or even something as small as a photo.

A photo you had tucked away where you thought no one would ever find it.

A photo of you and your dead biological son, currently in the hands of your living, adoptive son.

The photo itself is nothing controversial. It's a shot of me and Freddy, aged about nine or ten, crouching by the shores of Lake Placid. I am smiling and squinting against the sun, and Freddy has a smile on his face almost as big as the fish he's holding. Caught that sucker all himself, too. I was a proud Dad that day. Which is why I had the photo developed from my digital camera and it sat on my bedside table for the next ten years, until Christmas Eve happened. After that, I couldn't bear to look at it, so I stashed it away with the rest of Freddy's favorite things, in a box, in my closet.

And now, almost three years later, it has somehow found its way into Ryder's hands.

'Hey yo, Dad,' he says, holding the picture up to me. 'when was this?'

I don't answer him, obviously; this is one conversation I will be putting off as long as I possibly can. Instead, I walk over and snatch it from his hand, angrily.

'In your room. The Blade went to get a shirt...y'know, for the video and stuff?' I nod; I gave Ryder permission to borrow one of my shirts for his latest video'ed farce. 'Yeah. And it was just like, there. On the floor.'

'It couldn't have been on the floor,' I snap. 'I had it in a--'

I halt myself, the pieces of the puzzle suddenly coming together in my brain. Of course. I had forgotten Ryder knows about the box, although he is still in the dark as to who the things in it belong to. Still, I saw the box half-open and stored out of place; I know he went through it. It's not that far-fetched that the photo would have fallen out while he was looking at all the rest of the stuff.

'It's not nice to go through other people's stuff, Ryder,' I scold. 'Even if you find it on the floor.'

To his credit, the boy does look contrite. 'Sorry, Dadhead. It's just...The Blade was gonna just put it somewhere, y'know? Like on your bedside table or something. But then he started looking at it, and he saw Little Blade, and he started trying to think about how old he was there, and...well..he can't.' Ryder seems genuinely distraught by this turn of events, an emotion I am not used to seeing from my adoptive son. 'So, like, you can have a cow if you want...The Blade just wanted to ask you about this vacation.'

'There's nothing to know, Ryder,' I deflect, trying to keep the waver out of my voice. 'We went fishing.'

I shrug. 'Sometimes. He always used to ask, but sometimes I was busy...'

Mike throws me a sudden look, and I know I must have screwed up; by the time I realize how I did, though, it is too late.

'He?[/'i] You mean The Blade?' Ryder laughs. 'Hey yo Dad, that's The Blade's thing, yo! Don't steal The Blade's swag!'

Phew. Crisis averted. 

'That's right, Ryder.' I attempt a laugh, and it comes out just the right side of nervous. 'I've been around you for too long.'

Ryder laughs too, and I'm ready to declare the situation over and let everyone move on with their day. Just as I am about to resume my seat at my desk, though...

Shit.

Shit shit shit shit SHIT.

I look over at Mike, and find him trying to catch my eye. The look on his face says it all.

We can't put this off any longer.

He's starting to ask questions.

My heart is beating a mile a minute as I turn back around to face Ryder, once again trying very hard not to babble.

To my utmost relief, Ryder does not put up a fight.

'I won't,' I assure him, having every intention of doing the exact opposite. Mike throws me a glare again, but this time, I glare right back. The atmosphere in the room gets uncomfortable for a long minute, and it is with no small measure of relief that I see Jamie pop his head in the door.

Ryder looks at Jamie, then back over at me, and back around at Jamie.

'Yeah,' he mumbles, his eyes still trained on mine. 'Yeah, The Blade's good to go.'

With that, he turns back around and heads out after Jamie. I allow myself a sigh of relief, only for it to be cut short as Ryder's head appears around the corner yet again.

Just as quickly as it popped up, his head disappears once more, and a moment later I hear his footsteps tramping down the stairway towards the media room. I wait a long moment, to make absolutely sure no one is lingering around, before I rise up off my chair and look over at Mike.

'Get your coat,' I tell him. 'We're going for a walk.'

II

Boss be tripping right now. Don't take a genius to see that. Hell, I worked with the guy for more than a year, I seen him in all kinds of moods, and even I ain't never seen him this nervous. Even when he 'bout to go on a date with his lady he ain't this nervous. He tripping balls right now. For real. Sweating, shaking, the whole nine yards. It's almost kind of funny. Big, badass Mob dude, and this is what he scared of. Telling a twenty-year-old kid he adopted.

'What do we do, Mike?' He been asking that all the way here. 'We're going to have to tell him, aren't we? We can't keep hiding it from him anymore. He's starting to catch on.'

I really wish I could have told him otherwise. For real. But I can't. They ain't no other way.

Boss runs his hands through his hair, like he been expecting me to tell him something different. Find something he could do to put off telling R-Dogg the truth about where he come from.

'Why now?' He talking to himself  more than to me. 'Why FUCKING NOW!?' He kicks a pebble, goes flying across the grass. 'We don't need this right now! He doesn't need this right now! He's got his fucking World Visionary Championship match coming! What we've been working for for six fucking months! I sure as fuck don't need it!'

He give me this look, all red-eyed and shit, and I kind of feel sorry for the guy. 

'Mike, why did I let Ryder go in my bedroom?! I didn't think...' He gets angry again, kicks a tree. 'I didn't think! I didn't think! I didn't fucking THINK!'

'Hey...hey...Boss...take it easy, yo!' Normally, I know Boss ain't like being touched and shit, but I figure this one time, maybe he won't mind. I'm still hella careful, though; I just lean over and touch his shoulder. He ain't do nothing to stop me; in fact, he seems kind of glad I did. I pull him away from the tree, and we go to sit down on this bench a little way off.

'I'm sorry, Mike,' he tell me, soon as we're sat down. 'I went a little overboard back there.'

''S no biggie, Boss. Happens to e'rrbody.' I mean that, too. I get like Boss when I'm for-real angry. Like when Tonya say she was gon' leave me. I was hella mad then. I can see where the dude's coming from.

I nod. 'Yeah. You need to tell him, Boss. Kid can't go 'round thinkin' he somebody he ain't for the rest of his life.'

Boss puts his hands in his hair again. 'There's got to be something we can do. We've got to stall for a couple more weeks. Until after his match. Think, Michael. Think!'

'I know!' Boss stands up from the bench, slaps his hand on his knee. 'We'll up his dosage again! Wipe his memory right back up! Start over!'

'Not now, Mike! I gotta call Tony!' Boss gets his phone out of his pocket, and I see he serious. I gotta act now, or shit could get real real quick.

'Sorry, Boss,' I mumble, as I reach forward and swipe the phone off Boss before he done dialing the good doctor. He gives me this look like he ready to cut me in half right now, but I ain't give a fuck.

Suddenly, Boss stops, like he just realize something.

'Wait a minute...start him back up?' He grimaces. 'That's right. We stopped giving him the solution, didn't we?'

Boss blinks. 'Seriously?! That long?!'

All of a sudden, Boss seems embarrassed. Like he ashamed of himself for not thinking 'bout what he was doing.

'I...I'm sorry, Michael,' he says. 'You're right. That wouldn't have helped anybody.'

'You cool, Boss.' I hand him back his phone. 'This shit getting' to you. You ain't think straight. It happens.'

Boss nods. 'Thank you.'

We hug it out, then Boss goes right back to talking about Ryder.

Boss give me this weird look again. 'How do you mean?'

Suddenly, I figure just how to explain this to Boss. 

Boss nods. 'The one you were dating?'

Boss frowns. 'I...actually, I don't see. What's your point?'

Boss nods again. 'Actually, I do. And you're right. The longer we drag this out, the more painful it's going to be when we do it, right?'

I smile. 'See, Boss? You ain't dumb when you ain't wanna be...'

Boss punches me in the arm, but not hard, just messing. 'Watch your mouth, buddy. Remember who  pays for your living...'

I could have said something about that. But I ain't. It don't matter anyhow. All that matters is, Boss is 'bout to do the right thing, and I helped him get there. 

Only thing is, R-Dogg's probably not going to take it real well...

But nah.

He strong. 

He a big boy.

He gone be just fine.

III

When we get back to headquarters, Ryder is waiting for us at the door. And if the look on his face tells me anything, it's that he has not forgotten our conversation from earlier.

Shit.

'Fine.' He shrugs. I can tell he knows what I'm doing, and he knows I know he knows.

I feel a huge weight lift from my heart, and make to move past him.

And that's when he springs the trap.

Suddenly, the weight is right back there inside my chest. I should have known. I should have known it wouldn't be that easy. But if there's one thing I still tend to do, even at the age of fifty-three, it's delude myself.

I sigh. 'Ryder, why are you so hell-bent on this all of a sudden?'

He shrugs again. 'The Blade just wants to know. Why are you so afraid to tell him?'

Ouch. Score one for the twenty-something.

'I'm not afraid, Ryder,' I snap, trying to save face. 'It's...it's just not the time.'

Ouch. Kid 2, old man 0.

I look over at Mike, and he's looking over at me again. He nods, and I sigh.

We walk over to the sitting area, and sit opposite one another. I motion for Mike to sit with us, but he shakes his head, and goes to stand behind Ryder instead. I bring my eyes back down to my adoptive son's face, and see surprise, fear, excitement, anticipation and nervousness reflected there all at once. For all his posturing and preening and gloating, Ryder is still very much a kid; moments like this make me acutely, painfully aware of that fact.

He's just a kid, and I'm about to shatter his world.

He regards me quizzically. 'Uh...sure, Dadhead. Is it about that photo?'

I sigh, steel myself. 

This is it, Charlie. 

You're about to dive in. 

No turning back. 

No backsies. 

No way out.

Before I ever have the chance to finish, Mike's eyes are glowering daggers down at me. I find myself looking up at the man sheepishly as he shakes his head in disapproval – my subordinate! Somewhere, Don Amuso is cursing me out. Still, I respect this man enough to value his opinion – and this time, his opinion just happens to be right. I can't keep pushing this issue away hoping to postpone it. I have to get it done and over with. Right now. 

No more lies, Charlie. Time to come clean.

And I do.

IV

No.

No way. 

NO WAY.

No freakin' way.

This ain't real.

The Blade is dreaming.

The Blade is dreaming, and in a minute he's gonna wake up, and find out this was all a nightmare. That his life wasn't all a lie.

Except it doesn't feel like a dream.

It feels real.

Mad real.

Too real.

Da---the dude shakes his head.

No. No it ain't.

Bullcrap. Why is this dude so full of crap?

Mike! Big Dogg wouldn't lie to The Blade!

'Course it's crap. He's gonna tell The Blade it's crap, this dude's just joshing, or he's cuckoo for Cocoa Puffs or something.

Dad. Dad is joshing.

...right?

No.

NO!

'NO!'

The Blade ain't feeling too kosher.

The Blade thinks he's gonna hurl.

The Blade...

…

...The Blade's gonna need a minute.

V

Loud music starts up from the other side of the door. That kind of fast and guitar-driven and shouty music Ryder usually listens to. Except this time, he's only playing it to drown me out.

The music goes louder. I'm starting to get genuinely angry.

Still no reply. I turn to Mike.

I swear, this cocksucker's getting too damn uppity for his own good.

'Michael,' I say, gracing him with my most withering look. 'Break. It. Down.'

Mike shrugs. 'If you're sure, Boss.'

He rears up, his hands touching the wall, then springs forward, a mass of compact muscle hurtling at the wooden door. If this was one of the main doors of the complex, he might have only injured himself; those are made of reinforced steel. But for the living quarters, we used standard wooden doors; this one doesn't stand a chance.

Before the fracas of the door breaking loose from its hinges has even died down, I feel something push past me. I glance towards the stairway just in time to see Ryder flying down it as fast as he can, with no regard for life or limb. Before I can so much as begin to react, he has reached the landing, and a moment later, I hear that most ominous of sounds: the front door to the living quarters opening. 

I look towards Mike, in a panic. I try to say something, give an order, but the word catches in my throat. Fortunately, this is one of those instances where words aren't necessary; as soon as I look at Mike, I can tell he's right there with me.

'I got this, Boss,' he says, as he shoots down the stairs in pursuit of my runaway son.

VI

Man, this sucka fast.

Either that, or I'm getting old. Might be both. Either way, he giving me a workout. Gold's Gym ain't got nothing on this kid.

What he ain't thinking of is that I used to be a boxer, and I did some shit with the Marines back in the day, too. Sucker thinks of that, they don't try and out-run me. But R-Dogg ain't thinking right now. R-Dogg reacting. Me? I'm still thinking. And that's how I know I'm 'bout to win.

It still takes me all the way to the front gate to catch up with him, though. Kid put up a hell of a fight. If he been just a little faster opening the front gate, I be chasing him all the way across Manhattan right now.

As it is, I catch up to him, pin him to the wall. He starts thrashing like a mad dog, so I bring my other hand round and pull his arms together. I pin his legs with my knee, too, just to make sure dude can't kick. You never know.

'Let go!' Kid's still trying to break loose, even though I gone and pretty much made him my bitch. I speak in his ear, try to calm him down.

'NO!' He somehow slips off my hold, turns around, pushes me away. 'There is no Ryder! Ryder is a lie! All this...' He waves a hand around. '...all this is a stinkin' lie!'

'Oh yeah?!' R-Dogg is crying now, for-real crying, big wet tears running down his cheeks and all that shit. 'What part ain't a lie?'

'Don't call him that!' Ry's voice is going high-pitched, he crying so hard. 'He ain't Dad! He's just...he's just some dude! You're all just random dudes!'

'Oh yeah?' Now it's me who's starting to get pissed off. 'If that dude ain't real, who was the VoW Xcel Champion for like a year last year?'

Ry goes to respond, but I don't give him the chance.

That shuts him right the hell up. He still looking like he wants a fight, with his fists up and shit. But I know I scored a hit. I seen it in his eyes. 

He still ain't saying nothing; he just standing there looking at me, shaking.

'You real, and I'm real, and Boss is real. And this...' I wave my own hand around. 'This is real, dawg. This all been real for over a year.'

I go to give him a hug, but he pushes me away.

Aw, hell no he ain't just said that!

All right, dawg. You asked for it.

Gloves off.

It's go time.

I leap at him, pin him right back up against the wall again. This time, I ain't playing; I wrench my shit in hard.

'Listen, bitch boy,' I growl. 'You my homeboy, and I'd take a bullet for your sorry, whiny white-boy ass. I ain't care if you believe it or not. That's how it is. But you keep being a pussy, I'mma break your arm. You feel me?'

'You'd take a bullet 'cause you're paid for it,' he spits. 'You don't really care!'

Right. That's it. Dude's pushing it.

'Listen up, you fucking bitch made little white-boy punk!' I wrench my hold in, and he screams. I ain't give a fuck. He had it coming. 'Boss ain't paid me shit since last year. I told him not to. Last thing I got from him was my Christmas bonus. I been protecting your sorry ass for free since then. And you know why? 'Cause I love you. And I know he love you. And ain't none of us wants nothing to happen to you.' He looks like he about to talk. I ain't let him. 'Nah, bro, Don't even go there. This ain't about you makin' him money. If it was, your ass would'a been on drugs right now. But it ain't. And you know why? It's 'cause he cares about for real. We all do. Now...'

I release the hold, just a little, just to see what happens. He don't try nothing stupid. Dude ain't dumb.

'Now,' I repeat. 'You gonna keep on being a bitch boy, or are we gonna go talk to Boss and try to work this shit out like a family?'

I back off, give the dude some space, wait for him to say something. But he doesn't. What he does is, he comes over and hugs me.

And that right there is all the answer I need.

VII

It takes Mike a while to bring Ryder back up. The two of them stay down there a long time, to the point where, if I didn't hear their raised voices shouting at each other, I might have been worried. As it is, I make a conscious choice not to interfere. Mike can handle his own business; he doesn't need an old man to help him.

And sure enough, about forty-five minutes after Ryder ran out of his room, him and Mike are coming back into the living area. Ryder's cheeks are red, his eyes puffy, and Mike is sweating, but otherwise, you would have almost thought they'd gone out for ice cream.

Ryder doesn't answer; instead, he rounds up on me.

'Whoa. Easy there, bucko!' I bring my arms up in a gesture of surrender, then point at the same armchair he had been sitting in before. 

Ryder does, and I nod.

And proceed he does.

I blink. 'Didn't I tell you that before?'

He shakes his head. That's funny, I could have sworn I'd told him...

He nods. 'Okay. Next question. Who are my real parents?'

Oh boy. Tread carefully, Charlie Falcone.

'Oh really?' I walk over to my laptop, access an encrypted folder, turn the screen around to face him. His eyes widen as he looks at the official case file for one JACOBS, JORDAN A., given up for adoption at the Angel Guardian Home in Brooklyn on January 8, 1995, when he was thought to be only a few days old.

'The staff there liked you so much, they never let you get adopted. You were almost like their mascot. They all consider themselves your mothers.' I close down the file, walk back over to the couches and resume my seat. 'So there. There are your real parents.'

I can tell this had had an impact on him, as his next question takes several seconds to come. Even when it does, it consists of just one simple question:

I frown. 'Why? What do you mean, why?'

'Why?' He gestures around, encompassing the entire room. 'All this. Everything you did. Why?'

I sense I can't dodge out of this one. This requires the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help me God.

So that is what I give him.

I falter, try to go on, find out I can't. Fortunately for me, Ryder is anything but dumb.

I nod. 'Yeah. That's the boy in that picture. The one who won all those trophies. You remind me of him. Eventually, I started caring for you as more than a cash cow. That's when we stopped the treatments.'

This makes him angry again. He glowers at me, spits:

I don't know why I said that. I hadn't meant to. But it works. Ryder is so stunned, he forgets the attack he was no doubt preparing to mount on me. This gives me an opening, and I'll be damned if I don't explore it.

'Think about it. Who were you?! Who was Jordan Jacobs? A loser. A fuck-up. A nobody! A a two-bit dark match wrestler! You had headlines making fun of you in the local paper, for crying out loud! But Ryder Blade? He makes real headlines. He's a decorated Champion with a winning streak to rival anybody's in the business. He's about to go for a top title, at the top pay-per-view of a top independent company. And he deserves to be there. And he has a chance to actually win. And that was all after we got involved with you.' I sit back, feeling somewhat smug. 'Now you tell me...do you still want your life back?'

Ryder says nothing for a long moment, instead just sitting there with his head bowed, deep in thought. He is not used to truth bombs, and mine must have hit particularly hard. I'd say the old man just tied the game right there. 2-2.

When he does move again, it is to stand up, walk over to me and hold out his hand.

'This is all way too much to process,' he tells me. 'I'm gonna need some time to think. But whatever ends up happening, I just wanted to say...'

He pauses, looks into my eyes,

With that, he retreats upstairs, to his now door-less room, leaving me to ponder exactly what seemed off about this latest interaction. Well, aside from the fact that Ryder was now 'in the know.' It takes me a while, but eventually, it comes to me. And when it does, it hits me like a ton of bricks.

Ryder was using first-person singular.

He was saying I.

VII

I nod, and Ryder (he told me he wants to be Ryder, calling him Jordan would only muddle things further for him) presses the start button on the laptop's video playback software, causing the footage on the projector opposite to begin playing. 

Here we go.

The last instance of Ryder Blade, as he was before Fate of the Gods 2016.

The video starts with...a still image of Ryder lying underneath Ruby the Dog, Next to his head are three words: 

It looks like one of those images you see on the Internet, with a funny image and a caption. Also, heh. I get it.

From there, the feed cuts to a very brief shot of Ryder attempting to smoke a cigarette, only to devolve into a fit of coughing and remark:

Another jumpcut, and Ryder is smoking a bright green electronic cigarette, sitting ramrod straight on a chair and looking for all the world like the caterpillar from Alice in Wonderland. The way he is dressed, in a vest and shirt, indicates that this is clearly meant to be a Casanova English impersonation, but it does not take Ryder more than a moment to put that intent aside, as he angrily jettisons the electronic device and glowers at the camera:

Video Ryder holds a finger out towards the camera.

Despite the jokey nickname, my son is not being in any way facetious; his expression remains set as he continues:

This is where a Ryder Smirk would normally come out, but to everyone's surprise, no such thing occurs. Instead, Ryder's tone and expression remain intense as he continues:

Now the smirk comes out.

The smirk widens.

Video Ryder pauses a second, gathering his thoughts, before he continues.

Ryder begins to count on his fingers.

Ryder honest-to-goodness shakes his head and clucks.

Ryder pauses for effect before delivering the punchline for the metaphor.

Video Ryder leans into the camera, with an intense look.

Ryder points at himself, then delivers the 'coup de grace':

Almost as soon as the video wraps up, Ryder is walking over to me, grinning.

Ryder laughs. 'Whatever. Bet it still gets under Cassie's skin.'

I smile. 'I bet it does. Good work. I'm proud of you.'

Almost unconsciously, I lean forward and pull Ryder into a tight hug. For a tense moment, he does not respond, and I fear for the worst; but then I feel his arms wrap around my back, and his body pressing tight to mine.

And that's when I know things are going to be all right.