5/6

Summer was crying. That he could tell. What for, he had no clue. She was probably thinking about that bastard that tried to...he couldn't even think about it. Not that he blamed her, but why was it that women were always crying around him? It was the same with Theresa every time she and Eddie got into a fight.

The heat had broken and a gentle breeze was coming in from the open window, but the air was thick and stained with tension. Ryan's nerves were shot. It was bad enough trying to sleep with Summer in his bed, tossing and turning and making his thoughts go to places that would possibly frighten her if she got a look at them, but now he had to listen to the strains of her shuddering breaths as she tried to smother her tears.

It must have been something awful because she was really going at it. Just weeping into his pillow on the bed.

Knowing it was a bad idea, but not caring, Ryan threw the blankets off his lower body and got to his knees. Summer's back was toward him and her shoulders were shaking with muted sobs.

Christ.

He touched her shoulder, his fingers just barely brushing her skin. She startled. "Ryan?"

"What's wrong?" He kept his voice at a whisper.

Summer closed her eyes and took a deep, unnatural breath. "N-Nothing. I'm sorry, I just.... I can't help it. Even if I could explain it, I don't think you'd understand."

Ryan tilted his head to the side, studied her. She was shaking.

He made a decision. Damn him if he wasn't going to at least try to take the hurt away. Tugging on the covers, he got into bed next to her and pulled her against his chest. Rubbing her back, he whispered in her ear, "There's no harm in trying, huh?"

Crying had never been her thing. She just wasn't a crier. Locking up her feelings and emotions had always been her motto but one day in Chino and she was a blubbering mess.

It would be easier to explain if her father was a cruel man. If he beat her or locked her in the basement. Something evil, maniacal. But it wasn't like that, not really. The only thing her father ever locked her out of was his life. And he hadn't touched her since her fourth birthday, not even for a quick hug. So she really didn't know why she was crying.

Ryan's fingers moved under her shirt, rubbing circles on her back. It tingled. His hands were a little rough with callouses but it felt nice on her bare skin. Tonguing away a briny tear, she pressed her ear against his broad chest and listened to the beat of his heart. It was a steady, strong rhythm.

He wasn't like the Newport boys. The ones that just wanted to cop a feel and gloat about it the next day. He actually wanted to hear what she had to say, at least that was how he came across. She could be wrong, but she didn't think she was. He wasn't so dangerous. They weren't so different.

"It's just...my dad...my step-mother..." she took in a breath. "They just...my dad, he's never around... and no one cares. No one...No one notices anything..." She took in another deep breath, calming herself. "Do you ever feel like your life...like it's just going nowhere? Like you're looking at it...and waiting for something big to happen and then you realize this is it, this is your life? I guess that's why I left, why I ran away. I just needed to get out of there."

Ryan was silent.

Summer laughed in a way that wasn't meant to be humourous and then broke into a full-blown giggle. She laughed the way only rich girls laugh. The way she'd been taught. Politely, even if what was said wasn't all that funny. And for a split second she regretted everything.

"I don't even know what I'm saying. Forget it," she said and swiped the tears off of her cheek.

Ryan pulled her hand away and took over, brushing the last droplets away. "Shh... No, no. I just...I know what that feels like."

"Ryan?" she asked, raising her head.

"Hmm?" he said, sleepily, keeping up his light touch.

The light from the house next door cut into the room landing on Ryan's nose and full mouth. Resisting the urge to kiss him, she settled back into his arms. It was warm and comfortable. It occurred to her how fast she had gotten used to him. To this. "This feels right, doesn't it? I-I feel like I belong here."

She could feel him nod, but he didn't answer.

Pressing herself closer still, she smelled him -cigarettes, beer and sweat and underneath all that the barest hint of soap- and it was familiar now. It was Ryan. "Maybe everything that happened tonight was supposed to."

"Maybe," he agreed, touching her hair. It felt so good. Her eyes began to feel heavy and the beat of his heart under her ear was lulling her to sleep. It felt right. It really did.

When Summer woke the first thing she realized was that she was alone, the second thing she realized was that she had no clue where the fuck she was. There was momentary confusion as she unravelled herself from the cheap, but clean, blankets around her. The sun blazed inside, making the tiny room an oven. The light was harsh against her eyes, making everything come out blurred. Sweat travelled down her back and she squinted out the window. It didn't offer any indication of her location. When she tried to sit up her head pounded and she remembered the shots of vodka she'd consumed the night before. Aspirin and lots of water sounded like a good idea.

The events of the previous night began to trickle into her brain. She looked beside her. Ryan was already gone. It was disappointing. It left her feeling like she was missing something.

Trying to stand, dizziness consumed her. She grabbed the bedside table for support. She was used to slamming back the drinks. As Newport's most notorious party girl, it was a requirement. But she'd forgotten to pace herself. She was paying for it now.

Cracking open the door, she listened for sounds. There was nothing. The house was empty.

Slowly, she eased out of the room and down the dark hallway toward where she suspected the bathroom would be. Inside, she opened the medicine cabinet, surprised to find everything neat and tidy. A bottle of Advil stared back at her and she took it out, dumping a few pills into her palm. She chased the pills down with water cupped in her hands and then stashed the bottle away.

When she looked in the mirror, she was mortified to find that her mascara had run and her face was bruised. Her eyes were ringed in thick black circles along with long streaks from where she'd cried. Finding a washcloth in the cupboard, she dabbed at her swollen lip and winced as the sting sent a shock through her. No wonder Ryan had stopped last night. She looked like a train wreck. When her face was clean, she exited the bathroom and went back to the room she'd spent the night in.

There were a few shirts hanging up in the closet, she pulled one out and removed her own torn blouse. The one she chose was too big so she tied it at the waist and fiddled with the sleeves until it looked presentable. Rummaging through the dresser drawers she found a pair of shorts that weren't too big and decided they'd have to do. Shimming out of her skirt, she slipped them on and took a relaxed breath.

In the living room, Summer rifled through Ryan's mail until she found an address for his work. Excitement flooded her.

Ryan had been getting flack all day. Layla had a big fucking mouth. Somehow he didn't think Eric Clapton had this Layla in mind when he wrote that song. No wonder she had men on their knees, they were probably begging her to shut the fuck up. After everything had gone down last night and he'd taken Summer back to get her stuff, rumours were spreading around the shop like wildfire. He'd heard just about enough. Everyone was too fucking nosy for their own good. He kept his nose clean, did his job, minded his own damn business. So why did everyone have to meddle with his life?

"Hey Atwood, I heard you took that little brunette number home with you last night. She was hot, man."

Great, another moron trying to live vicariously through him. Ryan gritted his teeth. His temper was roiling. The whole White Knight thing also applied to protecting a woman's honour.

"So what, you hit that or not?" the gear-head continued, oblivious to the look Ryan was shooting him.

He was two seconds away from pounding the guy when, from the corner of his eye, he saw the swish of female hips. Lifting his eyes, he noticed that those hips were attached to a petite body with solid features he'd gotten to know the night before. Watching her progress, he knew he hadn't learned them intimately enough. Summer had come out of nowhere, storming past a bunch of old tires and a Ford getting a new transmission and walked right up to the two men. Her smile was sly.

She addressed the darker man in greasy overalls. "He pleasured me beyond my wildest dreams. Several times, in fact."

Ryan looked at her like he couldn't believe the things coming out of her pretty little mouth before he caught himself and smirked. He stared at her with something like desire in his eyes.

Summer turned, pushed him against the hood of the car he'd been fiddling with and smiled reassuringly.

Then she kissed him.

Kissed him hard and kissed him good. Until he couldn't breathe; her lips blocking out oxygen and the need to think. Until he had a raging hard-on that was not going to go away on its own. Until everyone else backed out and left the garage and they were left alone, his hips pressed intimately against hers, his hands halfway inside her top, his brain just about ready to explode. Only then did she pull away and smile innocently.

Ryan still had the flavour of apples on his tongue when he spoke. "You're going to get me fired," he said, laughing. It felt good to laugh; he hadn't done it in a long time.

Ryan hadn't expected her to track him down. He'd expected to come home later that day and find her gone, regrets and apologies scribbled down on a note he'd find a week later. But she was here...and she was wearing his shirt.

Summer stepped back, her cheeks flushed, her dark eyes black with arousal. "Well, that worked." And as quick as it came, the tough-girl act was gone and the real Summer he'd seen the night before, the one that wasn't as badass as she tried to be, reappeared. "Is your boss a hard-ass? Should I go?"

It took a moment for Ryan to answer. Subtly, he tried to shift his pants so his erection wasn't so noticeable. He cleared his throat, taking out a cigarette from his breast pocket. "Nah, Randy's cool. Stay."

"Okay," she said simply. Shifting her weight, she smiled and he detected a little nervousness on her part. "So, you're, like, a mechanic?"

"I'm training to be," he said, blowing out a cloud of smoke to the side.

Summer nodded, looking around the garage. "So... what time do you get off?"

That was a loaded question if he ever heard one. He'd gotten off in the shower that morning....that information was best kept to himself though.

"Three," he answered instead.

She checked her watch. It looked expensive. "Oh, it's almost three now." Summer perked up as if suddenly realizing something. "We should do something. Go shopping or to dinner..."

Ryan grimaced. "I don't shop."

"I've got credit cards," she insisted, attempting to persuade him.

He had to laugh at her enthusiasm. "You really are a Princess, aren't you?"

There was a moment of hesitation, she shifted her eyes and then, "It's my birthday."

"No shit?"

"Yeah, no shit." She smirked. "And, as much as I love wearing your clothes," she said, pulling at the starched cotton material exposing a little of her cleavage, "I need some that fit."

Well, he couldn't argue with that.