Disclaimer: That '70s Show copyright The Carsey-Werner Company, LLC and Twentieth Century Fox Home Entertainment, LLC.

CHAPTER TWO
EMETIC

December 23, 1979

Point Place, Wisconsin

Jackie and Fez's Apartment

…

Jackie had little time to read Eric's letter. She'd rushed downstairs to the mailboxes as soon as she was dressed and plucked out the envelope. The Formans would be driving by the building any minute to pick up her and Fez. They were going to the Kenosha Christmas County Fair, all of them—Donna, Steven, and his stripper-wife included—but she pushed that fact from her thoughts and thanked God Eric hadn't dawdled in writing her back.

Jackie, his letter began.

Don't play games. Tell Hyde how you actually feel. Be honest with him, but don't expect him to return the favor. He lives up to his name and hides. I'd bet my monthly ration of ketchup that his marriage to the stripper is camouflage, and he won't come out of hiding until he thinks it's safe or worth it.

—Eric

P.S. Don't show this letter to Hyde. Donna knows where you live, and I've given her instructions in case you try to screw me over.

P.P.S. Send me a picture of the stripper.

Jackie stuffed the letter back into her mailbox. She couldn't risk Steven finding it on her—but not because of Eric's threat. She knew too many of Donna's secrets and could blackmail her into submission. No, Steven had to remain ignorant of Jackie's intentions, of how dedicated she was to resolving their relationship.

She locked the mailbox and met Fez outside the lobby stairwell. "Jackie," he said, "you have outdone yourself."

"I know." She combed fingers through her hair. She looked damn good today. Not glamorous-good but Steven-good. She'd put together an outfit that was sexy because of its casualness. A thin cardigan covered the top of her navy-blue jumpsuit. Her pant legs went into calf-high boots, and her hair was silky straight instead of curled. "I think he's beginning to crack, Fez," she said. "He's gone from outright ignoring me to burning me. That has to be a sign, right?"

"The sonuvabitch had no right to ignore you at all." Fez glowered. "I'm enjoying all the sex-talk between you and his whore—so is the little man in my pants—but you must have boobs of steel. You're listening to stories about Hyde sleeping with a woman who is not you."

His compliment heated Jackie's cheeks. Her breasts were actually soft and supple, but she had developed a thick skin. "I'm also giving that skank advice about what Steven likes—in front of him—as if I'm completely over it. Have you seen how his beard is growing back? I think it's in direct response to me."

"I think it's because he stopped shaving."

"Yes, he stopped shaving because of me," she said, but a honk outside kept her from saying more. The Vista Cruiser had pulled up to their building. Mr. Forman wasn't known for his patience, so she and Fez hurried through the lobby's front door.

The winter air froze Jackie through her clothes. She wasn't dressed appropriately for the weather, but the Vista Cruiser would eliminate that problem, at least for a little while. Concerning her more was what she'd find inside the car—Steven with his arm around his stripper-wife—but only Donna was sitting with him in the back seat. Donna and her thick winter coat.

"Samantha's not coming?" Jackie whispered to Fez.

"Doesn't look like it … damn it! I was hoping for a Christmas strip-tease."

"You go sit in the front with the Formans." She urged Fez forward then strolled nonchalantly to Steven's side of the car. She opened the door and said, "Scoot over."

"Nope," Steven said and barely glanced at her. "Not movin'. But Red's got some rope in the trunk. We could tie you to the 'Cruiser's roof."

She frowned with mock-sympathy. "Sorry. Your wife told me about that one time you tied her up. According to her, you're not very good with knots."

"Yeah..." a cruel smirk pulled at his lips, "wouldn't want your splattered body blocking traffic on the highway."

"Well, you're about to have a choice concerning my body." She shoved herself into the car, onto his lap, and he jerked toward Donna, as if Jackie were covered in thorns. His elbow nudged Jackie in the side, and she landed on his vacated, warmed-up spot of the back seat. "Thank you, Puddin' Pop," she said and shut the car door.

He mumbled something, and his discomfort gave her no small measure of satisfaction. They had a half-hour drive to the Kenosha Fairgrounds, a half-hour in close proximity to each other. Plenty of time to burrow under his skin.

She let out a theatrical sigh. "I can't believe Samantha ditched us. Where is she?"

"Stripper convention," Donna said.

"They have those?" Fez shouted from the front seat. "Why the hell am I going to the County Fair?"

"Red," Mrs. Forman said, and Mr. Forman turned on the car radio. Christmas tunes blasted from the speaker, and he drove away from the building.

Jackie pressed herself against Steven's arm, to get a better view of Donna. "Donna, guess what!" she said, but Steven elbowed her off him.

"Okay, this is my freakin' personal space." He gestured around his body. "You trespass, you die."

"I 'die'? Really?" Stinging tears and laughter fought for release, but she suppressed them both. His statement had no finesse. Even before they dated, he'd cushioned his hostility. But now? Any protectiveness he'd felt toward her seemed to be gone. "Anyway, Donna?"

"Yes?" Donna said flatly. "Wait, no. If this is about Danny, I don't want to hear it."

Jackie took no real offense. Donna had become an unwitting victim in this scheme, but as part of that scheme, Jackie had to feign umbrage. "I shared almost nothing of what Steven and I used to do way back when," she said, "and my advice helped you and Eric have the best sex of your lives. So you damn well better listen, Pinciotti."

Steven leaned his head back and groaned. "Kill me."

"Uh-uh." Donna jabbed a finger in his face. "This is your fault. If anyone gets killed, it'll me."

"My fault?"

"Yeah. Your stripper-marriage and stripper-sexcapades broke the lock on whatever inhibitions Jackie had left."

"No, she was slutty long before I met Sam," he said, "goin' from Kelso to me. Back to Kelso. Back to me … then back to Kelso. I'm just waitin' for her to move onto Fez and then maybe Bob."

"Oh!" Jackie's fist slammed down onto Steven's crotch. He let out a whimper and crumpled to the car floor.

"Jackie!" Donna glared at her, but then her face softened. "Huh. I might've done the same thing to Eric for..." She looked at Steven. He was curled in the fetal position. "Hyde, you earned that one."

Tears finally rose in Jackie's eyes, and she stared out passenger-side window. Evergreens and trees bare of leaves sped by. Wind shook their branches, and she shivered. Her cardigan wouldn't keep her warm at all today.

She hugged herself, and the unwanted memory of Steven holding her surfaced in her body. It made her tremble harder, shook the tears from her eyes. What did he have to be so angry at? She was the injured party in their relationship, not him. But he was angry and—more significantly—showing it. No emotional withdrawal, no Zen-like distance. If she could trigger his hostility, could she trigger other feelings in him, too?

"Red, pull over," Steven said after he recovered. "I gotta switch seats."

"What's that?" Mr. Forman said. "Can't hear you over the radio."

"I gotta switch seats, man! I can't sit back here with her."

"Sorry, son. We're making good time. I want to get to that fair before the entry line becomes intolerable."

Jackie allowed herself a secret smile. Mr. Forman was on her side, had to be. He couldn't be happy with Steven's latest life choices, and he was making Steven pay for them.

"Donna, you're gonna have to climb over me," Steven said.

"No way. I want the window. You can have it on ride way back."

"Shit."

"Don't be such a coward, Steven," Jackie said. "I won't punch you in the 'nads again—not unless you earn it again."

He turned his back on her. "Whatever."

The backseat became a no-talking zone afterward. The next twenty minutes crawled by like an hour, but the Vista Cruiser eventually pulled up to the fairgrounds. Mr. Forman parked in the expansive parking lot. Everyone exited the car, and a freezing gust of wind blew against them. Jackie zipped up her cardigan. She was definitely not dressed for the weather, but Steven wasn't either. He had on a plaid shirt and a fleece-lined suede vest.

He crossed his arms in front of his chest and ran his palms up and down his biceps. "Super."

"Oh, you silly sonuvabitch," Fez said. "You should have worn a coat."

"You'll be wearing my fist in your face if you call me that again." Steven uncrossed his arms and moved menacingly toward him. "That's the hundredth damn time this week."

Donna blocked his path. "Hyde, cut it the hell out already. We get it. You're cranky, and you probably should've stayed home. But you're here for the same reason I am, so try to make the best of it."

"Fine." He backed off. "Sorry."

"I'm not the person you should be apologizing to," Donna said, and she hooked her arm with Jackie's. "Come on. Let's win some prizes. Maybe I can send Eric a stuffed Darth Vader doll."

The Formans led the way to the fairgrounds, and despite the chilled air, Jackie began to feel warmer.

Hyde had taken shelter within the fair's beer garden. Christmas lights were wound around the skeletal trees, and the metal chair he sat on froze his ass. But Santa's busty elves kept the beer flowing, so he had no complaints. Not until Jackie's boots clacked on the garden's terracotta tiles.

"Steven, we have to talk," she said.

"We don't have to do crap. You gotta go." He wasn't drunk yet. Just buzzed, but his emotional control had left a long time ago. Whenever he looked at Jackie, he was looking at the impossible. His stomach ached as if he hadn't eaten in days, chills wriggled under his skin like eels, and useless words thickened in his throat.

"I'm not going anywhere."

"Then I'll go." He downed the last of his beer, slid a ten-dollar bill beneath the mug, and stood. This was not how he'd planned for the day to go. He'd planned on drinking himself sick, blacking out, then waking up in his cot the next day.

"I'll just follow you," she said. "I'm very good at stalking and talking."

"Don't wanna hear it." He strode toward the beer garden gates, but she pursued him.

"God, you really are such a coward! Afraid of some words."

"And you're pathetic."

Outside the gates, he bolted into a dense stand of spruce trees. She followed, but they were alone. That was good. The last thing he needed was an audience, especially for the hell Jackie was about to unleash.

"You replaced me!" she said, and fury burned in her eyes. Blood flushed her cheeks. "Do you remember our second Valentine's Day? That night in your room?" She moved in close to him, too close. Her breath enveloped his face in white clouds. "We were making love, and you said—"

He backed away and hit a tree trunk. Alcohol had dulled his reflexes, but he wasn't that far gone. He sidestepped Jackie and got behind her. She whirled around, but she wouldn't corner him again. He grasped her hand and caught her off guard.

"You replaced me first," he said and escorted her to the tree. He trapped her against it, not with force but with the proximity of his body. "But I was second in line." Their breaths collided in white smoke as he released her hand. "I was the original replacement."

"You couldn't look at me," she said, as if he'd said nothing. "You were too overwhelmed, but your mouth was right by my ear." Her palms slid over his vest. "You told me I was everything to you. 'You're fuckin' everything.' I'd heard it, and yet you evicted me so easily—"

He shuffled back from the tree, for both his and Jackie's safety. A need for control was building, metabolizing into physical action. He'd already used his body to intimidate her, not that she'd noticed. The tactic was one his mother had used on him, a destructive behavior he'd mostly shed, but base instinct was taking over. Truths he'd fought so hard to hide were coiling around his neck.

"Steven, stop! Please, don't leave."

"I didn't sleep with Sam when she first got to the Formans'," he said, and a wave of fear crested at his skull. His need for honesty was pushing back his survival reflexes. "She wanted to pick up where we'd left off in Vegas, but I believed you. I know you didn't nail Kelso in Chicago."

Jackie's hands twisted in the pockets of her cardigan. "So why—?"

She hadn't moved from the tree, but he trudged even farther away. He'd given her more than enough information, more than she deserved. "Look, if Danny's not doin' it for ya, maybe Fez'll be your go-to fuck. But whatever plot you got brewin' in that head of yours, leave me out of it."

"What did I do?" She peered up at the gray sky. "Why did you replace me?"

His eyes squeezed shut. Her voice was so earnest, so pained. "You're askin' the wrong guy," he said. "The one you want's in Chicago."

"Michael?"

"Your 'soulmate'."

"What?" Her boots thumped on the ground, and his eyes popped open. Her hands grabbed at his vest before he could stop them. She was yanking at him, trying to pull him somewhere or provoke some kind of response. He allowed her neither. "Damn it, Steven!" She gave him one last jostle, shoving her knuckles into his stomach. "You hear one piece of gossip and dive between a stripper's legs?"

"You denyin' you called Kelso that?"

"No, but—"

"So we got nothin' else to talk about. You've got a new screw. I've got a screw. We're good."

He headed back toward the beer garden, but she didn't leave his side. "There is no Danny, okay? I made him up."

"Why're you tellin' me this?" He sped up his pace and charged into the beer garden. Nausea was churning in his stomach—too much Jackie, man. Too much of the impossible, but she wouldn't quit following him. "Sam's easy," he said and sat at an unoccupied table.

"Samantha's easy, huh?" Her tone was devoid of humor. She wasn't going for the obvious burn.

He motioned to a waitress. The bells on her elf costume jingled as she bustled over to him, but his focus was on Jackie. "You wanna watch me get drunk, be my guest."

"Thanks for the invitation." She sat down at the table as he told the waitress his order. Then the waitress jingled away, and Jackie's brow furrowed She was thinking about something, hard. He considered disrupting her—until she nodded sadly.

The waitress returned with two bottles of Schlitz and two glass mugs. She poured the beer into the mugs but not quickly enough. Jackie's sadness had tunneled into him. "Yeah," he said when the waitress left, "Sam's easy."

"Well, if you're happy with her..." Jackie's voice was tense, and she inhaled a quavering breath, "truly happy, then I'll give you what you want. I'll treat you casually, as if we'd never been in a relationship. Our past together will be meaningless, a hiccup of fate, a blip in time."

"Cool." He took a swallow of beer, but his hand had a slight tremor to it. The winter air must've seeped past his clothes and into his bones.

"But I will say this," she continued. "I think you and Eric are soulmates, too."

He choked on his beer and coughed. "What?"

"Soulmates aren't just romantic, Steven. They're two people who are deeply connected, for better or for worse. Siblings can be soulmates, as can parents and their children. And friends—" She stopped talking as a blast of bitter wind punched through the beer garden. She pulled the sleeves of her cardigan over her hands. "Yes," she said when the wind died down, "I think Michael is one of my soulmates. I recognize most of my worst qualities in him, and having them reflected back at me influenced me to change."

Hyde clenched the handle of his beer mug. His knuckles turned white, but he had to tolerate this, what she was saying. If he did, he could finally be free of her.

"Just like in you," her eyes were shining wetly, but that could've been from the wind, "I saw so much of what I wanted to be. The people who were supposed to love you, to protect you, hurt you instead. Yet you still gave love, still protected those who needed it—"

"Jackie, enough of this crap, okay?" A big gulp of beer moved down his throat painfully. She was unraveling his last three months, his reasons, his choices. "The past can't be rubbed out—ours, mine—like a stray freakin' pencil mark. Doesn't work that way. Alls you can do is leave the ruined paper in a locked file cabinet and hope like hell no one finds the key."

She stared at him a moment. "So..." her lips quirked up in amusement, "you've drunk enough to get philosophical and metaphorical."

He groaned under his breath. "What do you want from me?"

"Two things, both of which are dependent on a certain variable."

"Gettin' algebraic?" His lame attempt at humor echoed in the caverns of his brain. The alcohol really was pooling in his blood.

"Do you see yourself married to Samantha the rest of your life?" she said. "Maybe having kids with her?"

He finished his beer slowly, stalling for time, but he decided to go with the truth. "I don't know." His hand darted toward the second mug of beer, but her hand landed on his.

"Don't. Steven, just tell me ... is this the life you want for yourself?"

He removed himself from her touch. Kept his arms at his sides, behind the safety of the table. "My life's what it is."

"Ignore the facts of your life. Ignore your interpretations of those facts. What do you want for yourself?"

A deep chill surged through his body. He was shaking, and he stiffened his muscles against it. No one but Jackie ever spoke to him this way. Sam could see past a few of his crusty layers, but Jackie saw down to his bedrock. That ability made her dangerous to him, always had.

"I don't know." His voice was as soft as it was deceitful. He did know what he wanted, but he couldn't tell her.

"Then you've given me my variable," she said and slapped the table with both hands. "So here's what I want from you. Tell me why you could marry a stranger and not me. She must be giving you something I can't. What is it? And before you shrug and say, 'I don't know,' you owe me this." She stood up and snatched the full mug of beer. "As an extra-added incentive, I'll dump this all over your head if you don't give me the truth."

Hyde clutched his knees beneath the table. He tried to distance himself fromhis body, from his emotions, but he couldn't shut himself down. What happened in Chicago—in Las Vegas—had disabled his best defense mechanism. "Why?" he said. "Why the fuck do you need to know that?"

"It's simple." She raised the mug of beer higher and held it above him. "The next time I try a relationship with someone, I can be better. He and I will have a stronger chance at a happy future than we did. Because the next man I fall in love with—well, he's gonna have to be a lot like you."

"No—!" He shot out of his chair, and his head smashed into the bottom of the mug. Jackie shrieked as beer spilled onto her cardigan. His skull pounded with the impact, but the mug had flown from her grip. It shattered on the beer garden's terracotta tiles, and he grabbed hold of her arm. The glass could cut her, lodge in the soles of her boots.

He pulled her from the table somewhat clumsily and said, "You okay?"

"No, I'm not okay! I'm soaking wet and freezing!" She tried to rip free of his grasp, but he held onto her tightly. "I could get pneumonia and die!"

"Don't think that'll happen." He half-guided her, half dragged her to another empty table. Then he took off his fleece-lined vest and began to unbutton his shirt.

"What are you doing?"

"Keepin' you from dying of pneumonia." His coordination was shit thanks to the booze and cold air, but his fumbling fingers eventually got the job done. He was about to give her his shirt, but then he thought better of it. "Take that off." He indicated her Schlitz-drenched cardigan. "You can't wear my shirt over that."

"This is ridiculous! I can just buy a County Fair sweatshirt at the souvenir stand."

"Hey, that's a good idea." He put his shirt back on but didn't button it, and he pulled his wallet from his jeans pocket. "Think twenty bucks'll do it?"

"Yes." She swiped his wallet and took out a twenty-dollar bill. "Thank you."

She hurried away from him, and he watched her body shrink until it disappeared through the beer garden gates. Three months ago, her presence had done the same inside of him, shrunk until he could no longer feel it. But that was changing now, with every pump of his heart.

The sweatshirt Jackie bought was an unflattering hunter green with white lettering—Kenosha Christmas County Fair, 1979—and a depiction of pine trees, but it was also thick. She braved one of the fair's Port-A-Potties to change in privacy. Held her breath and unzipped her wet cardigan. Then she dropped the cardigan into her plastic shopping bag, but the top of her jumpsuit was wet, too. The beer had soaked her thoroughly.

She unbuttoned the jumpsuit top, and shivers wracked her body. Her bra hadn't been spared either. It had to come off, and she tossed it into the plastic bag. She'd been stupid to threaten Steven with that mug of beer, but at least the sweatshirt was warm. It shielded her from the chilled air once she pulled it on and absorbed the dampness on her skin Outside the Port-A-Potty, though, the sweatshirt offered less protection. Wind whipped through fairgrounds, biting into her exposed skin and choking her breath. Wisconsin winters weren't known to be kind, and she prayed the moisture from her jumpsuit wouldn't seep into the sweatshirt. Dying of pneumonia wasn't an option, not after the glimpse she'd gotten of the true Steven Hyde.

He was probably drowning in Schlitz right now. She couldn't yank him from the beer garden, not without help. So she pushed through people and squeezed between spruces and pines to the fair's midway, where rides, carnival games, and a stage for entertainment were set up. Donna and Fez were busy at the Dart Toss. Stuffed animals dangled from the game booth's canopy. They looked cheap, but the value of the toys wasn't in their construction. It was in the winning and giving of them.

Jackie stood back as Fez and Donna threw their darts. Fez's dart bounced off a pink balloon, but Donna popped a yellow balloon with hers.

"And we have a winner!" the game runner shouted. He bent down behind the counter and reappeared with a white slip of paper. It had been inside the balloon and fallen out. "Large!" He pointed up to the biggest of the stuffed animals, to giant pandas, dogs, and ducks.

"Which do you want, Fez?" Donna said.

"Ooh, the panda!" Fez reached toward one. "Gimme!"

The game runner used a long metal hook to take down a panda. Then he passed the panda into Fez's waiting arms.

"Okay—you guys? I need your attention," Jackie said, and both Donna and Fez turned around.

"Jackie? Where have you been?" Fez said and hugged his newly-gotten panda. It was more than a third of his height.

Donna picked up a plastic bag full of what looked to be other prizes. "Yeah, and why are you wearing that sweatshirt? What happened?"

"Steven happened."

"Oh, my God." Fez tightened his hug and crushed the panda's neck. "You two did it?"

"If by 'did it,' you mean 'talked,' then yes. We did it." Jackie waved in the general direction of the beer garden. "And I need you two to quit playing games and stop his burgeoning alcoholism "

"He's a big boy, Jackie," Donna said. "He can handle his beer."

"Right." Jackie crossed her arms over her chest, both for body heat and to prevent herself from acting on impulse. Using Donna's hair as a leash probably wouldn't work. She responded best to well-formed arguments, so Jackie made one. "The last time he drank like this, he married Miss Inflatable Boobs and couldn't remember it. He might try to marry a Christmas tree today. We have to get him out of there."

Fez shook his head. "I refuse to get between a man and his tree." Then he nuzzled the panda's left ear. "And I've been waiting all year for this fair. Donna has more toys to win for me."

"But, Fez—"

"I said toys!" He scurried off to the next carnival game, but Donna hesitated.

"Donna, please," Jackie said. "Steven's so caught up in himself that I don't think he knows what he's doing."

"Yeah, well, I've been too caught up in you lately. I need a break, okay? I promise I'll help you tomorrow … or after Christmas. I just—I need a break."

Donna followed Fez to the Ping-Pong-Ball-and-Fish-Bowl booth, and Jackie sighed. She'd used up her friends' good will the last three months. It had run dry.

But the Formans' surely hadn't. She searched the midway for them, starting with the carnival games but came up empty. They probably weren't on any rides because of Mr. Forman's heart condition, and Mrs. Forman preferred wine to beer, so they wouldn't be at the beer garden. The only other place to look was the stage.

People jammed the midway's entertainment area, but Jackie was small enough to slip through. Some God-awful Beach Boys cover band was playing. The Beach Boys' music was terrible to begin with, but the cover band sounded like a pod of beached whales. Jackie plugged her ears when she could and found Mrs. Forman bouncing to the music. Mr. Forman was next to her, tapping his foot.

"Mrs. Forman, Mr. Forman, Steven needs your help!" Jackie said.

Mrs. Forman turned toward her. "What? Honey, I can't hear you!"

"Steven needs your help!" Jackie shouted over the music.

"What's wrong with Steven?" Mr. Forman said.

"He's getting drunk!" Jackie said, and it must've been the wrong thing to say because both of them turned away from her. "This is serious! He could get alcohol poisoning. Mrs. Forman, you're a nurse. Didn't you take some oath not to let people hurt themselves?"

"Yes, but I'm not a nurse today," Mrs. Forman said. "Today, I'm enjoying my first Christmas County Fair without my baby boy—"

Jackie tugged on Mrs. Forman's jacket sleeve. "So you'll let your other boy ruin his liver?"

"Kitty," Mr. Forman said, "the loud one's not gonna leave us alone until we make sure Steven's okay."

"You go," Mrs. Forman said and swayed her hips to the music. "I'm having fun here."

Mr. Forman patted Jackie's shoulder. "Come on, Jackie."

"What's wrong with her?" she said once they were far enough from the stage. "She's usually very smothery with Steven."

"Oh, ever since he got married to that stri—Samantha, she's decided Steven's a man who can make his own decisions. She won't get involved with anything he does until he..."

"Until he—what?"

His lips lifted into a weak smile. "You know how mothers are."

"Actually, I don't."

"Let's just say she's not happy with his current situation," he said, and they passed out of the midway. A light snow had begun to fall. It sprinkled their clothes and the surrounding evergreens with white.

"So why don't you kick them out?" she said. "They make enough money to rent an apartment somewhere."

"Eric's gone. If Steven leaves, too, then none of you other dumbasses will come over. Then Kitty won't leave the bedroom, and I'll starve to death. No, thanks."

Another question formed in Jackie's throat, but it was silenced by the beer garden gates. Patrons and elfin-dressed waitresses crowded her view, but she and Mr. Forman discovered Steven at a back table. He was deep in debate with a man whose voice was slurry and unintelligible. In comparison, Steven sounded like Henry Higgins from My Fair Lady."Don't give a shit that it's got 'Achilles Last Stand,'" Steven said. "No way is Presence a better album than Houses of the Holy."

His debate partner gestured sloppily and said something incomprehensible, but Steven seemed to understand and muttered, "Bullshit."

Mr. Forman nudged Jackie's arm. "See? Steven's fine. That guy, though..." he pointed at Steven's debate partner, "he'll be leaving here on a stretcher."

Mr. Forman started for the gates, but Jackie held him back. "Can't you do something?" she said. Steven had a half-full mug of beer on the table. Maybe he could handle a day's amount of drinking, but she didn't want to take that chance—or let it set precedent. "Do you want him to end up like his stepdad?"

"I'll kick his ass before that happens," Mr. Forman said, "but the hangover he'll have in the morning will probably do it first." Then he moved with enough force that told her she couldn't hold him back again.

Holding Steven back would be equally impossible. He was getting wasted today, no matter what she said or did, but she refused to bear witness it. Instead, she chased after Mr. Forman and said, "Don't you love him?"

"We don't talk about that here."

"Where, the fair?"

"No, our family." He paused in mid-stride and looked at her. "But if he goes too far, Kitty and I will deal with it."

"He already has."

"Jackie..." his usually gruff tone softened, and her stomach lurched, "let him go."

"But—"

"You come from money. You've got class. Find yourself some high-powered business man like your dad who steals money from us working stiffs … all right?" He patted her back awkwardly but affectionately. "Steven's edges are too rough for a gal like you. Even he would agree you shouldn't let him cut you up anymore."

He continued on his way, but his words had immobilized her. Snow was falling more heavily now. Flakes landed on her shoulders and arms, and each one had to weigh a hundred pounds. Steven must have asked Mr. Forman for help, to get Jackie off his back.

What was she clinging to? Moving on had to be the right choice, the healthy one, but their road had been split by a false assumption. Their relationship was unfinished, not over. But they would finish it, even if that meant they never spoke to each other again.

Hyde sank to his knees just as the sun touched the horizon. His stomach cramped, and he vomited sunset-orange onto the ground. He'd outdone himself today, tossing back beer after beer. But he'd had to get Jackie out of his skull, out of the rest of him.

"Oh, God—Steven!" Familiar hands landed on his back and rubbed it.

No, not her. His eyes fell shut as his body continued to purge itself. But the poison he'd chugged down was less toxic than her. She had to fucking go. Her hands didn't belong on him, but the growing pool of vomit didn't seem to faze her. She stayed by his side, rubbing his back until he was finished.

He groaned pathetically and leaned into her much steadier body. His behavior was involuntary, driven by a need for physical comfort, and she didn't shove him away.

"I knew this would happen," she said. "Just keep breathing."

He granted her request but could do little else. He was spent. Someone would have to drag him to the 'Cruiser because he wouldn't make it on his own.

Several people passed by and asked if he and Jackie needed help. "Could I get some water?" she said, and soon she put a plastic cup to his lips. "Drink," she told him. "At least get the taste out of your mouth."

He sipped what he could when she angled the cup further back. He sloshed the water around his mouth but swallowed instead of spitting it out. He didn't want to dirty her more than he already had.

Backup arrived after a few more sips. Red and Donna hefted Hyde to his feet and hauled his ass to the parking lot, insulting him all the while. Then they stuffed him into the Vista Cruiser.

Jackie slid in afterward. She coaxed his head to her shoulder, and his mind seethed at what she was doing. Her kindness was an assault, but he was too weak to fight her.

Memories of a similar scene joined the attack, Jackie's fingers brushing through Kelso's hair—exactly as they were doing through Hyde's. Both Kelso and Hyde had betrayed her, yet she continued to love them. "It's fuckin' wrong," he said, but the words were a garbled moan. "You shouldn't be like this."

"Shh." Her fingers threaded into his damp curls. "Burn me later when you're less sick."

Shut up, he tried to say, but his tongue was leaden. It wouldn't move, just like he couldn't escape her tenderness.

Red pulled the Vista Cruiser out of the parking lot, and Hyde let out another pathetic groan. The snowy drive from the fairgrounds was rough on his body. Expelling the booze had left him exhausted and sore, but Jackie's touch was soothing.

Unasked for.

He tried to scowl, to rebel if even in a small way. But his eyelids were too heavy to remain open, and with each drop of discomfort she removed, his heart bellowed, Fuck you.