Title: Friend of the Devil (Title borrowed from the Counting Crows. And, um, The Grateful Dead.)
Author: Heath07
Rating: R
Summary: Summer looks for solace in an unexpected place. (Summer and Trey.)
Disclaimer: I don't own anything to do with The O.C.
Notes: Beta by cianconnell and overnighter. Anything that you might like in this fic probably came from them. ;) My appreciation for both of them knows no bounds. They are truly amazing.
Part 1
Everything fell apart with one phone call. That was all it took for Summer's world to come crashing down around her.
She'd just returned from a long day of shopping—two pairs of jeans, the most fabulous blouse, a cute little Cartier watch she just couldn't resist, two pairs of Manolo Blahniks and one perfect pair of Jimmy Choos later—and had barely stepped in the door when she heard the ringing of the telephone. She'd dropped her bags by the door and thrown her keys on the table, her heel catching on the frayed corner of the rug, nearly tripping her as she reached for the phone. The voice on the other end was quiet, recognizable and oddly distant—someone she knew, but couldn't quite place. It wasn't until she heard the words "Ryan's dead" that it clicked in her mind she was speaking to Kirsten Cohen.
The words echoed in her head like muffled, tinny screams.
The weakness took her by surprise. It hit her in the back of the neck like a brick scraping against her bones. She touched her head. A dizzy panic coursed through her body, and then she was falling, landing hard on the ground. The phone fell out of her hand. She heard the plastic bounce off the wood floors, the sound shattering any hopes for the future. Faintly, she could still hear Kirsten's voice on the other line, calling her name, but she didn't have enough strength to pick the phone back up.
Curling into a ball, she stared out over the kitchenette floor and zeroed in on small clod of dirt and dust that had gathered under the refrigerator—she should fire the damn maid. Summer laughed harshly at her callousness. She just felt so detached.
It wasn't real. It couldn't be.
She must have fallen asleep sometime near midnight--the echo of the dial tone lulling her--or maybe it was later than that even. All she knew was that the sun was out and warming her back, which was a good thing, because the floor was fucking freezing and she had a cramp in her calf.
She was stiff and sore when she finally pulled herself together enough to pick up the phone, stand, hang it up and continue the eight-foot trek to her bathroom. The light was harsh and hurt her eyes—eyes rimmed red from tears she didn't remember crying, and stained black from mascara smudges.
"You look like hell," she said aloud to her reflection and -- then the tears came. They were silent and fell gracefully down her cheek. Summer wanted to smash the mirror.
Running the water, she opened the medicine cabinet and pulled out a bottle of aspirin. She looked at the pills, counting them in her mind, wondering how many it would take…
No!
She slammed the cabinet closed and filled a glass with water, not even disgusted by the tap water—she had a whole fridge of Perrier, but expensive water wasn't even a priority. Not any more. And why had it been in the first place? It was so fucking stupid. Water was water. Ryan used to tell her that. Why hadn't she believed him until now?
Oh God, she felt sick. Sitting on the edge of the bathtub, Summer gripped her stomach and thought back to last night's conversation. Ryan was gone, that much she knew for sure. But what else? What had Kirsten said before that? Summer closed her eyes and tried to remember and when the truth hit her, she leaned forward, dry heaving beside the toilet. It wasn't just Ryan, it was Theresa, too…and the baby—no, not a baby anymore—their boy. Ryan's son. They were all dead. An accident…or something. Ryan tried to help probably, tried to be the hero…
She told him, didn't she? She told him that one day there would be something he wouldn't be able to fix and he'd get hurt. But did he listen?
Summer leaned back, slipping on the tub rim and falling into the basin, knocking her head on the soap rack as she went. Laughing and crying, she felt stickiness on her palm as she touched her head. Blood. Good, she thought. It served her right for being angry at Ryan for being dead.
Summer searched the faces of the people who knew Ryan the best -- faces of the people who loved him – but she held back her tears and kept her shoulders straight. It was the best she could do. Hell, it was all she could do. There was a fear brewing too close to the surface, a fear that if someone even looked at her the wrong way, she would break down and they would know. All her secrets would spill out. And she couldn't let Ryan be remembered that way. She had to preserve at least that. So she sacrificed her tears and felt the strain on her heart because she'd loved Ryan, and she owed it to him to keep it together.
She watched the others console Marissa. Because she had once been the center of Ryan's world, it was okay for her to sob. For Summer, it was not. No one could know about her secret pain. No one could know about the agony that she felt and couldn't show. That was the punishment she deserved for being the other woman.
Three caskets. Oh God, one was so tiny -- too small to even imagine the body that would fit inside. Summer didn't want to think about it. The horror of it – the cold hard fact of that little white box strewn with flowers and a small stuffed teddy bear – drove home to her the enormity of what she'd done – what they'd done. Standing in the warm sun, surrounded by fresh air and the untenable earth, watching as people grieved, Summer felt the full impact of her actions. It ate at her. This was the kind of person she was, now -- someone who knowingly deceived people, someone who fell into bed with someone else's husband. She had become a person she couldn't stand. A homewrecker.
She turned her head and looked at the sun until spots formed over her eyes and she had to look away. Everything was black and blurry.
She didn't hear his approach, but felt his arm bump into hers. She looked up, straining to see through her spotty vision, as he slowly came into focus. She took in the wrinkled brown suit -- loose tie and disheveled hair -- and knew she was standing next to Trey Atwood, the forgotten brother.
Summer took a step to put some distance between them, but Trey just leaned in, his face so close to hers that she could see where he'd cut himself shaving that morning.
"Hey," he said, his voice gravely, and somehow older than she remembered. Of course they were both older now; it was only right he should sound different.
"Hey," she replied, keeping her eyes forward.
"Fuck, ain't that a shitty way to go? Guess the old Atwood luck finally caught up with him after all. Poor bastard."
The click of Trey's lighter broke through the muted cries of the mourners. She turned her head and watched a billow of smoke escape from the side of his mouth. As the smoke rose, the sun hit it, turning it into an ethereal glow just above his head. It looked like a halo…no, more like a crown –like he'd just won the award for being the world's biggest jackass.
"That's just so awesomely poetic," she snapped without even thinking, her voice rising. "It's amazing how you've managed to capture just the right mix of insensitivity and assholishness. It's perfect for a funeral, really. I'm surprised they didn't ask you to write the eulogy, too. I can see it all now: a bunch of dim-witted quips peppered with a few "a guy walks into a bar" jokes – or were you saving those for the reception?" Summer shook her head. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I think I'm going to hurl."
Trey half-turned, jerking the cigarette out of his mouth. He grabbed Summer by the upper arm and swung her around to face him. "What's your problem?"
Summer scoffed, ripping her arm out of his grasp. The anger she felt took her by surprise and filled her with courage.
"What's yours? Isn't there a liquor store you can go rob or something? There must be five between here and your trailer park – or whatever hole you crawled out from."
Trey held up his hands and tilted his head to the side, like he was trying to figure her out. Summer didn't like the way his eyes roamed down her body.
"Christ. No need to be so hostile. What? You like on the rag or something?"
"Ooh, real nice. Classy. Just…shut up," she hissed, noticing for the first time that Seth was watching them.
She didn't want to cause a scene and have him come to her defense. That was the last thing she needed, and yet she couldn't help herself from being goaded into this petty infantile argument.
"I can't believe you came here after everything that happened. Do you really think Ryan would want you here?"
The scorn in her voice wasn't subtle – it was a direct invitation for Trey to leave.
Trey shrugged, noticed the cigarette he'd been neglecting and raised it to his mouth. He hesitated like he was going to speak, but took a long drag instead. And that was all it took for Summer to see a glimmer of --well, of something-- pass through his eyes.
"Ryan was my brother. My blood. I'm not about to miss his funeral. Yeah, so we didn't always get along, but we were family. He understood that. None of these people might want me here –you might not want me here—but I came here to pay my respect. So I'm gonna do it. After I'm done you'll never have to see me again."
"Well, you finally got something right: no one wants you here. Ryan believed in you," she said, earnestly. "He gave you a second chance; he tried to let you prove that you'd changed, and what did you do? You screwed it all up. Because that's what you are Trey, a screw-up. Hello! You tried to rape Marissa, and you nearly killed him. So, yeah, sure, I can see how he'd want you here. Go right ahead and keep deluding yourself, because you're the only person buying into your sob story. Boo fucking hoo."
He glowered, crossing his arms and jutting out his chin. "Best watch what you say."
Summer gave him a withering glance. His dark eyes stared into hers, almost daring…or maybe begging her to push him. He might have even looked intimidating if she gave a fuck. Instead, she turned away.
"Why, what are you going to do?" she demanded, consciously lowering her voice as she noticed a familiar face here and there cast eyes in their direction. "Rape me in front of all these people?"
Trey sighed, and flicked his ashes to the ground, visibly retreating from the anger that was so close to the surface. She could see the strain on his face, how badly he wanted to just explode –it mirrored her own state of mind. She watched him struggle for a minute, but when he finally spoke, his tone was significantly softer.
"I'm not that guy anymore. People can change. I've changed. And, you really shouldn't run your mouth about things you know nothing about."
Summer rolled her eyes, and when she looked at him again she was surprised that he almost looked…hurt?
Hurt or not, Ryan's brother or not, he didn't belong. Hell, she didn't either.
Summer pushed back any feelings of sympathy that might have crept up on her. Who was she kidding? Feeling sorry for Trey was a waste of time. He sure as hell wasn't giving her feelings a second thought.
"Oh, I know all about you Trey Atwood. You shouldn't be here."
"Maybe you're right," he said, sighing. Running a heavy hand through his already tousled hair, Trey gave her a quick glance and then looked away. His face was unreadable. "But that's my kid brother being buried over there and, despite everything, I still loved him. I knew him better than anyone here. I have a right to say goodbye."
"Do you?" The words escaped before she could take them back and then, when she realized the power behind them, she didn't want to. If being angry at Ryan for dying wasn't an option then she sure as hell could be angry at Trey for just existing. It felt good to take it out on someone else. And Trey --with his cocky attitude and unkempt hair-- was the perfect target.
Instead of answering right away, he shrugged and took another deep drag from his cigarette, giving himself a moment to think about it.
"Maybe. Maybe not. But I'm here and I'm not going anywhere."
He threw down the butt and ground it into the dirt under the toe of his battered black Adidas sneaker. The image made Summer's stomach twist in a knot.
"You stink." She took a step away, and wrinkled up her nose for effect. "My God, you're drunk! Way to pay your respects, ass. What'd you do? Bathe in a bottle of Bacardi before you got here?"
"Close enough," Trey said, letting out a dry, humorless chuckle.
He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a silver flask.
"I've been hanging out with my old friend Jack. He's gotten me through some rough times in the past; you want?"
"Uh-huh. Yeah. I see exactly how much you've changed. Put that away. This is a funeral, not a backyard barbeque!"
Trey lifted a shoulder and shook his head before taking a long pull.
"Suit yourself, but it takes the edge off. Go on," he coaxed, shoving the flask under her nose. "You look like you could use it."
Fuck it, she thought and before he could react she grabbed it from his outstretched hand. She wiped off the rim --God only knew where his mouth had been-- and took a swig.
"Satisfied?" she said, handing it back and trying not to cough.
Trey just shrugged and took another hit.
Summer didn't know what to say. Not to Kirsten or Sandy, to Marissa or even to Seth, for that matter. She just wanted to get as far away from this place and as fast as she could. Unfortunately, Seth had other ideas.
"Summer. Hey, Summer! Wait up," he called and jogged over to her, holding his side like he'd just run a marathon. "Okay, you walk really fast."
There was a wheezing noise coming from the middle of his chest and Summer wouldn't have been surprised if he'd collapsed right in front of her. Seth was never one for physical exertion. It was probably the reason the sex was so bad when they were going out—or maybe it was just that they were only seventeen. She hadn't known sex didn't have to be such a task until Ryan came along. It was a novel concept, actually enjoying sex. Not that she was going to be having much sex now… And here she was again --at a fucking funeral, no less-- thinking of her own carnal needs. She was depraved.
"I think I'm okay now," Seth informed her, straightening up his lanky frame. "I, um, saw you over there. Was that Trey over there with you? Trey Atwood? Ryan's brother? Why, uh, why was he talking to you?"
"Well, yeah, but… He–we weren't…" she answered, flustered.
"Summer, c'mon, I saw you! What did he say to you? He didn't, like, upset you or anything, did he?" Seth reached for her, but Summer back away.
"He just came over and started talking to me -- wait, why am I even explaining this to you? We're not together anymore, Cohen, I don't have to tell you everything. In fact, I don't have to tell you anything. And even if we were -- I sure as hell wouldn't let you tell me what to do or who to talk to. I'm a big girl and I can take care of myself."
Okay, so maybe that was a little too harsh, but the release she'd gotten from being angry at Trey was slowly slipping and she was starting to feel everything that she'd been trying to ignore, again. Turning her frustration on Seth was the natural progression. He'd always served as her punching bag in the past; why should things be any different now?
Seth was stunned into silence. Summer felt very proud of herself –she just had to ignore the guilt that was tugging at her heart.
"No, yeah, you're right. I-I don't know what made me think… Summer," he said, distressed. "Hey, I'm sorry, okay? I just…I worry about you."
She sighed. Seth was exhausting even when he was just trying to help. He was looking at her with big, watery brown eyes and trying so fucking hard and she'd just smacked his hand away like their history meant nothing. He had this way, this way of trying to be Everything and Anything to her, and sometimes his efforts just fell flat. Sometimes he just couldn't be what she needed him to be. There were no coffee carts or hotdog stands for him to get up on and make her melt back into his arms. No grand gestures were going to make this okay –unless Seth could bring back the dead. That was a superpower that would have come in handy right about now.
And a part of her was aware that this was hard for him, too --probably even harder than it was for her. That he was, in some respects, devastated. Ryan was the first real friend Seth had ever had. Hell, he'd moved to Portland with Luke, of all people, just to prove a point – that Newport wasn't the same without him. They were brothers, even if there was no real blood between them.
What made it worse was that they were friends now. It was friendship that was pushing Seth to make sure that she was okay, to see that she got home safe and that no one was hurting her. She should be grateful, but she couldn't open herself up to that kind of emotional response right now. Because that meant examining herself and all the lies she'd spun over the long haul to make sure her trysts with Ryan were covered up.
It was overwhelming and would have swallowed her up in guilt.
No. She couldn't risk it.
At this very moment, all she wanted was to get away. And by preventing her escape, Seth was getting on her last goddamned nerve.
"You don't need to, Cohen. Really."
It came out more forceful than she intended and when she looked at him, she could see how much it stung.
"I kinda can't help it," he answered softly, dropping his eyes.
"Hey," she said. Seth lifted his head. He looked so desperately young when he met her eyes again. Great. It was like looking into a portal of the past. She'd just stripped him of the confidence and maturity he'd slowly acquired through the years and returned him to an awkward and decidedly unsure sixteen. She felt a brief pain, so sharp she almost gasped, right beneath her diaphragm.
Summer reached out and took his hand. The warmth of his palm was comforting and familiar. "I know, Seth," she said more gently, "but try." She dropped his hand and wrapped her arms around herself.
Seth nodded, but she doubted he really understood. That had always been their problem, to the bitter end. Seth listened but never really heard her.
"Do you need a ride, you know, back to my parents'? You are coming back with us, aren't you?" He sounded so hopeful. It was like kicking a puppy that had just been run over. "There's plenty of room in the limo."
There was a reception at the Cohen house. Summer couldn't even entertain the thought of going. All of those people that made up their past, shared and alone, poring over memories that were too painful and fragmented to ever capture the whole Ryan Atwood, was not something she was looking forward to. Ryan, the real Ryan, was here, lying with his real family.
"No, I drove here."
Seth's fidgeting was worse than normal and it was driving her insane. He couldn't seem to stand still. It was amazing how much she'd cared for him at one time and now, how close to the edge of hatred he could push her. She had to get away -- away from these people who she loved and who loved her, before she said or did something she couldn't take back.
"You sure?"
"Yeah, I'm fine." Summer pushed Seth gently in the direction of Kirsten and Sandy.
"Your family needs you. Now go."
They needed each other now, the Cohens. They were Ryan's real family, too, in a different way, lost in their own grief. She could see them waiting for Seth, on the edge of the lawn, trying not to intrude. Sandy gave her a careful wave and then put his arm around Kirsten. For some reason that small gesture made her want to cry.
Summer waited until Seth joined his parents before she started to walk away. She had only gone a few steps when she thought she heard someone call her name. Someone had. Trey was beside her, again, lighting up another cigarette, and matching his long legs to the careful stride of her stiletto heels on the soft earth.
"Hey -- can I bum a ride?"
Of course he needed a ride.
Summer looked back at Seth in the distance. He was still watching her. She turned to Trey.
"Sure," she said with a heartfelt sigh. "Why the hell not."
As she drove, Summer was careful to focus on the road, not on Trey. Occasionally, at a stop light, she would look over, but he never moved. He just stared out the window with his hands folded in his lap--an imitation of a perfect gentleman.
There was a stain on one of his sleeves.
It was blue and hazy around the edges -- ink maybe. From the frayed cuffs, to the missing button and the way it hung off his frame, it looked like something he might have picked up at a thrift store. Trey didn't seem like a guy who had much use for a suit, and by the style and cut, Summer guessed it was from the late 'Nineties. It was probably a Goodwill special, too –the castoff of some fresh-out-of-college MBA who'd traded up from Sears menswear to runway Armani. It fit him well enough, at least, but that ink stain –combined with the tattered sneakers -- made weird things happen to Summer's stomach again.
She was suddenly struck with the image of him –only a few bucks in his pocket-- searching racks of clothes that smelled like mothballs, looking for something decent to wear to his only brother's funeral. Not even having enough left over to buy a decent pair of second-hand shoes. Suddenly, Trey seemed much less intimidating and more sympathetic –or pathetic, at least.
She hadn't even realized where they were until Trey finally spoke up.
"It's right up there, on the left. The Mermaid Inn."
"Here? Jeez. Is this like the only hotel in Newport?"
It wasn't until they pulled into the motel parking lot that Trey finally looked at her. "You should come in," he murmured, looking down and making a show of unbuckling his seat belt.
Right. Like she was that fucking stupid. She could read his fucking intentions from a mile away. "No, that's okay."
"You shouldn't be alone…" he started, earnestly, then changed his mind, snorted and caught her eye. "Fuck it. We're old friends now. I don't really feel like being alone."
"How incredibly sad for you," she snapped, then smirked, as she turned her eyes back towards the steering wheel.
She could still feel his eyes on her, and she somehow knew that he wasn't leaving until she gave him a definitive answer. Finally, she looked up and tried --and failed miserably-- to smile.
"I'm fine, really. Thanks."
"I've got more of this," he said, pulling out the flask and gripping it between his thumb and middle finger as he waved it in front of her, enticingly. Summer hesitated. "Come on, you know you want to. We're both going to hell anyway, what's it matter?"
Summer's heart began to beat very fast.
"What? What the hell is that supposed to mean?"
Trey just smirked, like he knew the biggest motherfucking secret there ever was. "You think I didn't know about the two of you? Adultery's a sin…or I guess it is…I mean, if you believe in all that crap."
"You don't know what you're talking about!" she insisted.
He was bluffing. There was no way he could have known. They were always so careful, so secretive. Ryan wouldn't have let it slip to anyone, let alone Trey, would he?
"Ryan Atwood, all around good guy, cheating on his precious wifey with a high-priced piece of Newport ass? And poor Theresa, at home, alone, with a baby." Trey snorted, and his smile just kept getting wider. The ass. He was obviously deriving some sort of pleasure from this.
"Fine, so it's true. You can stop grinning like a damn fool now."
He looked so goddamned smug. She would have hit him for that –to wipe that snide grin off his face-- but she just couldn't muster up the strength. It wasn't like what he said wasn't true. She was a horrible person.
"She didn't make him happy."
Even to her own ears it sounded like an excuse, and more than a little pathetic. Her voice had lost the authority and the bite of just a few seconds ago, but he'd really hit her where it hurt most. She could feel the tears brimming in her eyes.
Trey leaned back in his seat and rested his head against the glass with a roll of his eyes.
"Ryan's never been happy."
"He was," she said, quietly. "When he was with me, he was."
It was the type of statement that would have made her throw up her dinner coming from anyone else. And yeah, she knew she was just driving home how pathetic she really was, but there was a need to justify it. Because if it hadn't been anything special. If it had been some cheap and tawdry affair, they were the worst of Chino and Newport combined. If none of it had been real… God, it made her like a fucking Newpsie or something.
Summer took in a long breath and smoothed her hand through her hair. When her fingers caught in a tangle, it occurred to her that she'd forgotten to brush it today. Giving Trey a quick glance, she mimicked his pose, wiping her nose with the back of her hand and pressing her face into the glass. Her skin felt too warm and the coolness of the glass was a welcome relief. She must have looked beyond glamorous. Right. She didn't care, though.
Not today.
They were both quiet for a few minutes, until Summer pulled herself together enough to speak again.
"He – He'd laugh and play," she started tentatively. "And I don't just mean in bed. I mean, it was more than that ---though, I'm not going to lie, there was a lot of that. And he was good at it."
She surprised herself with something that resembled a soft giggle.
Summer looked to see his reaction. He'd lifted his head and was watching her. When she felt she could continue, she cleared her throat and tried that smile she'd failed to produce earlier. It still didn't work right.
"I'd never heard him laugh like that before. Did you know he could be funny? Lame, but funny."
When she laughed, it felt hollow and echoed through her head—like when people inhaled helium at parties to make themselves sound like some twisted cartoon character.
Trey nodded and his smile seemed broken, too.
"Yeah, yeah I knew that. He used to like those jokes on the back of cereal boxes when we were kids, the really stupid ones, you know?"
"Really?"
He nodded, almost eagerly.
"Yeah. He used to drive me nuts. He was always reading. Anything he could get his hands on, he'd read it. He was always so fucking smart."
His words seemed to echo in the close confines of the car. So fucking smart. So fucking young. So fucking…gone. It was like reality had breached their moment of respite calm. Summer felt her stomach heave and roll as their eyes locked for half a second before Summer had to turn away.
Trey took it as a sign, and took a deep breath to steady himself before he exited the car with a drunk's charm and off-kilter grace.
He popped his head back in, before shutting the door.
"You sure you don't want to come in?" he asked, after a moment's hesitation. With the afternoon sun behind him, blinding her, and it must have been the tiny bit of alcohol coursing through her blood stream that made her think that he almost had Ryan's crooked smile.
Summer pulled the keys out of the ignition and shoved them into her purse with a sharp click. "Maybe just for a minute."