To all the readers who have given such great feedback, thanks and ever thanks. Your thoughts are much appreciated.

Standard disclaimer, all errors mine, etc.

Chapter 8

"Why are we doing this again?" Seth sighed, slumping into his chair at the table.

Summer's surprise visit had left him hopeful and exhilarated, but the moment he started downstairs for dinner, those feelings evaporated. The atmosphere in the house still vibrated with the same tension that had spoiled every meal since Ryan came home.

Maybe, Seth thought, these gatherings couldn't even legitimately be called meals. He was pretty sure the word implied some sort of genuine nourishment, but very little food was actually eaten at the Cohen table, and most of that promptly turned into acid.

Nothing healthy about these dinners.

It was a wonder they hadn't all developed ulcers already.

"Because families should eat together. It helps them reconnect," Kirsten replied wearily. "Sit up straight, Seth. . . Your father and I read an article . . ."

"Oh, an article. Why didn't you say so? If it was in an article . . ."

"Enough, Seth," Sandy warned as he took his seat. "Of course, if you'd rather just gnaw crackers in your room . . ."

"Is that an option?"

"No," Kirsten said quickly. "It's not." She looked up as Ryan entered the room, noting with relief that he seemed to be moving more easily. "Hi, sweetie. Isn't Lindsay joining us? I thought she was going to stay for dinner tonight."

Ryan shook his head. He angled himself for the awkward descent into his chair and answered vaguely, "No. She and her mom . . .". The explanation hung in the air, unfinished.

Lindsay had offered to stay. She claimed she wanted to be there when Ryan talked to the Cohens, and he would have welcomed her support, but Ryan sent her home anyway. He kept picturing the raw fear in her eyes when she had pushed him away in the bedroom, feeling the way her hands shook when she touched him. She might deny it, but he knew she was hurt, and subjecting her to the strain of this dinner-that would just be another kind of assault.

Ryan couldn't chance wounding her again.

The fucking hostility between him and Seth had already claimed enough victims. What was the term they used on the news? Collateral damage.

Innocents destroyed.

It had to stop.

He had to stop it.

Kirsten frowned slightly, worried by the haunted expression on Ryan's face, but she decided it wasn't the best time to press the issue. "All right . . . Well, you have a choice of entrees tonight, boys. Barbecued ribs or chicken."

"Or both," Sandy declared, heaping his plate. "Both works for me . . . So, honey, how was your day?"

Seth covered his mouth with his napkin. "Dinner at the Cohens," he mumbled into the cloth. "A Sandy Cohen Production. Act I. Small Talk."

Sandy saw Ryan's eyes flash in Seth's direction, but he couldn't read the look they exchanged. "Did you say something, son?" he asked.

"What, me? No, just . . . something in my throat, that's all." Seth took a hurried gulp of water. "So, Mom, how was your day?"

"Productive," Kirsten said, passing the salad. "I finished the paperwork for the Halstead project. Of course, Julie called with a new crisis every ten minutes."

"Julie is a new crisis every ten minutes," Sandy snarked. "What now?"

"Oh, the re-launch party for the Newport Group tomorrow. Problems with the flowers, problems with the caterers, problems with the musicians. Julie even had a meltdown because her regular manicurist was out ill. People might notice that her nails weren't perfect . . . By the way, boys, your suits are back from the cleaners. Ryan, I don't know what I was thinking. I automatically had Rosa take yours out to the pool house. I'll bring it in for you tomorrow."

Ryan and Seth stared at her, equally startled.

"Mom, that party's at Palace Nichols. With, like, everybody there. You weren't really expecting us to go? Besides I can't. I mean, I'm still grounded, right?" Seth's voice was hopeful.

Ryan ducked his head to indicate the sling and brace he was wearing. "Kirsten, I don't really think I should . . ."

"All right, both of you, stop it right there." Sandy held up his breadstick for emphasis, but he made his tone light and teasing. "Trying to use punishment and injuries to get out of going to this party. Have you no shame? If your mother and I have to suffer through an evening with Caleb, Julie and the entire Newpsie contingent on behalf of family business, then you're going too. The whole family should be represented."

"We're lifting your punishment, Seth. For the evening," Kirsten explained.

Seth rolled his eyes, mocking, "You mean you just upped the punishment several notches on the "Suffer, Seth" scale."

"Stop whining, young man. Now," Kirsten ordered. "And Ryan, I know you don't get along very well with Caleb and Julie . . ." She paused, half-hoping Seth and Ryan would share a sarcastic comment, or at least an "understatement of the year" eye roll, but they didn't. "By now, though, you must be suffering from cabin fever." Kirsten's gaze darted to Sandy uncertainly and he nodded, encouraging her. "It will do you good to get out for a while, as long as we keep the evening short."

Ryan swallowed his own protest, deciding he'd rather not have a "Stop whining," comment aimed at him.

Sandy smiled, "Besides," he reminded the boys, "we might get round two of the Kirstenator vs. the Gruesome Twosome. You wouldn't want to miss that."

"Sandy! No one in this family is going to make a scene at that party tomorrow. Is that clear?"

"Oh, don't tell us, honey. You're the one we're worried about . . . Or proud of. I'm not quite sure which."

Kirsten ran her finger around the rim of her wine glass. "I do wish we were having the party here, though," she mused. "It would just make it all . . . easier."

Ryan caught Sandy's frown, and realized that he'd noticed it too: Kirsten's increasing reluctance to leave her own home.

"Easier?" Sandy scoffed. "At least if we're guests, we can leave. If the party were here, we'd have to be charming hosts until everyone else goes home. And some people never go home. Remember three years ago, honey, that guy McHolland and his wife? Didn't they stay the whole weekend, and then drive Seth to school on Monday when they finally left?"

"That did not happen," Kirsten protested. "Ryan, Sandy's exaggerating. The McHollands were very nice people . . . Although I do seem to remember serving them lunch the next day."

"Well, at least for this party, Ryan can give us an excuse to leave early. I'm sure your knee will start aching around nine o'clock, right Ryan?" Sandy prompted. "Earlier if the food is no good."

"Based on the food at grandpa's last party? We'll be out of there by seven," Seth predicted. "And yeah, I know, the party starts at seven."

Sandy laughed, then continued thoughtfully, "Speaking of your knee, Ryan, you start rehab on Monday, don't you?"

Ryan nodded, saw Sandy raise his eyebrows and remembered that he was supposed to participate verbally in the conversation. "Yeah. The clinic set up a schedule."

"Right. They faxed it over to us," Sandy said. He glanced at Kirsten, who bit her lip anxiously. "You know, though, the court date for the Neeper case has been moved up. That means I'm going to have to put in some really late hours at the office for the next week or so. I won't be able to take you to your sessions the way we planned."

Seth looked up, suddenly suspicious. He knew his father's priorities, and they didn't include work before family.

"Okay," Ryan said slowly. "So, Kirsten . . ."

"Kirsten can't either," Sandy interjected. "We thought Seth could take you."

Seth pitched his voice low. "Really not a good idea, Dad."

"Sure it is," Sandy insisted. "You don't have anything going on after school since you're grounded, so you could drive Ryan there and back, do your homework while he does his exercises . . . Perfect solution."

"Yeah, only not. I won't have homework next week, Dad. Or school. Spring break, remember?"

"Fine," Sandy snapped. "Then you can read. Ride the stationary bike. Sit and twiddle your thumbs, for all I care—"

"Dad? Don't say 'twiddle'."

"And don't you try to get out of this. Ryan needs somebody to drive him to the clinic. Congratulations, son. You just got the job."

"Mom?" Seth appealed.

"Maybe the clinic could change the schedule," Ryan suggested at the same time.

"There's no need for that," Sandy said firmly. "Seth is available, and he's going to do it. Any objections? From either of you?" Both boys looked down, but not at each other. "I didn't think so . . . What's for dessert tonight, honey? I am in a cheesecake kind of mood."

"Um, Dad," Seth said warily. "Look, I'm not trying to get out of work or . . . helping Ryan." Sandy glared at him and Seth insisted, "I'm not. But he doesn't want my company. You know he doesn't. And forcing us to spend time together . . . that's not going to work."

"Your father thinks . . . we think . . . it will give you boys a chance to talk," Kirsten explained. "Avoiding each other isn't helping."

"Yeah, well this Driving Miss Daisy routine won't solve the problem either. You take Ryan to rehab, Mom," Seth urged.

Kirsten flushed. Her fingers gripped the edge of the table. "I can't."

"And you can, Seth," Sandy insisted. "And that's all there is to it."

"Nobody has to take me," Ryan muttered. "Shit, I feel like a load of garbage somebody has to drag out to the curb before it stinks up the whole house."

"Ryan!" Kirsten cried. "Nobody meant it that way . . . Sandy and I are just trying to help you and Seth work things out."

"I know." Ryan gave an apologetic shrug and averted his gaze. "I know that's what you're trying to do. But it still makes me feel like shit. Look, I can take a cab to and from rehab. Or . . . Lindsay will take me." He faltered briefly when he said her name, but then roused himself. "And the rest of it . . . well, I think maybe I have a solution." Ryan crossed his arms over his chest, wincing slightly at the pressure on his shoulder. "I've been thinking, ever since I got back from the hospital . . . There's something I could do," he said slowly. "You'd have to help me, Sandy."

Sandy nodded, cautious. "All right. Tell me."

"All this tension . . . It's not fair to you, to your family . . . Nobody's happy, nothing's normal around here anymore." Ryan's voice wavered, and he stopped for a moment to steady it. "So I was thinking . . . I'll be eighteen in a few months . . . and then this . . . you know, the guardianship . . . it's over anyway."

Kirsten dropped her spoon. "No, Ryan, please" she gasped, but he continued as if she hadn't spoken.

"We could go to court, Sandy, have me declared an emancipated minor . . . I'm not on probation anymore, so it's no big deal . . . and I could get an apartment . . . you know, like Alex did . . . I still have some money left from last summer, and once my leg is healed I can get another job . . ."

"Ryan," Sandy said, measuring his words carefully. "You don't want this."

Ryan looked up, his eyes meeting first Kirsten's and then Sandy's, but avoiding Seth's entirely. "I appreciate everything you've done for me. All of you. I do. It's more than I could every repay . . . But if I leave, your family can get back to normal." He took a deep breath and finished resolutely. "Yes, Sandy, Kirsten. This is what I want."

Seth pushed back from the table in disgust. "Way to solve the problem, Atwood. Cut and run. Man, you really don't fight for anything anymore, do you?"

Ryan's eyes flashed, but before he could respond Kirsten suddenly snapped, "Seth! Be quiet. Now!"

Both boys stared at her, shocked, and Kirsten clutched the stem of her wine glass. "You aren't helping, sweetie," she said, more quietly. "Just once, please, think before you open your mouth."

Sandy stood up. "Your mother's right, Seth. We have pretty much let you get away with saying anything you want in this house. Well, that ends now. I don't care how angry you are, I expect you to respect every member of this family."

He turned his attention to the other side of the table, where Ryan sat, head bowed, fingers tensely clutching his silverware. "And Ryan, hear this. You belong with us. What's happened between you and Seth doesn't change that. When you're eighteen, you can make your own decisions, and if you still want to leave then, I suppose we can't stop you." Kirsten made a small, choking sound and Sandy paused to rub his own brow wearily before resuming. "But until then, I am not going to help you leave. I am not going to allow you to leave. I made that mistake once. It is not happening again."

"Well then what do you want me to do?" Ryan demanded. His voice was low and strained. "You and Sandy have been arguing . . . Seth never comes out of his room . . . Your family is falling apart, and I don't know how else to fix it. . ."

"Maybe you could try forgiving me," Seth said bitterly. "Is that so damn hard? Or do you just enjoy carrying a grudge?"

Ryan turned to him in disbelief. "That's what you think I'm doing? You think I enjoy any of this?"

"Boys . . ." Sandy warned, but Kirsten shook her head and gestured for him to stop.

"We don't expect you to fix everything, sweetie," Kirsten assured Ryan. Her voice was careful, deliberate, like hands working to defuse a ticking bomb. "That's not your responsibility . . . at least not yours alone." She glanced pointedly at Seth before adding, "And I want you to listen to me, Ryan. This is your family too. You leaving will not make things better. Not for any of us. We know that from experience . . . Promise me that you won't."

Ryan sucked in his breath.

"Promise," Kirsten said, her tone an order and a plea.

He nodded, his eyes shielded by his lashes.

"Ryan . . ." Kirsten reached across the table, covered his hand with hers. "I need to hear you say it."

His gaze flickered briefly up and then back down as he forced the words out. "I promise."

Sandy rubbed his eyes again for a moment and then looked steadily around the table.

"All right then. This is what we are going to do. We are all going to go, together, to the damn Newport Group re-launch party tomorrow . . ."

Seth raised a hand, ready to object, but Sandy silenced him with a glance.

"Don't say it, son. I know . . . We all know. Newport parties aren't exactly bonding experiences. And I can't force you to have a good time. Hell, it's a party at Julie and Caleb's house. We definitely won't have a good time, but we are going to go . . . as a family," he declared. "Then starting Monday, Seth, you are going to drive Ryan to his rehab sessions. And just to make it clear, Ryan, I expect you in the car with him, not riding on top of the hood. And then . . . then we'll try to figure out what to do next."

He sat back down.

"All right. Let's eat. Honey, would you pass me the corn?"

-

"Shit!" Summer muttered. The knock at her bedroom door had startled her and made her flick nail polish onto her instep. "It's open! Just come in. I've got a pedicure emergency I'm dealing with here!"

Lindsay cracked the door, just wide enough to slip inside. "Thanks. Um . . . what's a pedicure emergency?" she asked sheepishly.

Summer waved her brush in surprise. "Lindsay! Hi . . . Oh, just a glob of Passion Peach where no Passion Peach belongs. Nothing some nail polish remover can't fix. So . . . what brings you?"

"I just . . . I . . . um . . ." Lindsay's voice trailed off as she looked around the room, her eyes widening.

Summer smiled. "You know, Chino had that exact same expression when he first came here." She wrinkled her nose. "Not exactly overcome with admiration. How can I describe it? Shell-shocked, maybe."

"It's all just so . . . pink," Lindsay murmured. Then she blinked and stammered, "Ryan? Was in your bedroom?"

"Oh, not like that! Please! Last fall, when he and Cohen first came back to Newport, he came here to plead Cohen's case. And Chino, by the way? Definitely not lawyer material, so I hope Sandy doesn't have any follow-in-my-footsteps ideas. About him or Cohen. Anyway, no, there's never been anything between me and Ryan." Summer batted her eyes and added coyly, "Not that I didn't give it my best shot . . . Here, have a pillow. Sit."

Lindsay caught the cushion Summer tossed over and sank to the floor, staring. "Your best shot? But . . . you and Seth . . ."

"Oh, this was pre-Cohen," Summer explained airily. "Pre Ryan and Marissa too. Actually, I think it was Chino's first day in Newport."

"And you . . .?"

"Came on to him. Threw myself at him actually. Or rather, literally. I was drunk. He was hot. Well, you know. Anyway," Summer leaned over to blow on her toes, "Chino was having none of it. Me, I mean. I assume it was his loyalty to Cohen, because if I thought it was a personal rejection . . .?" She pursed her lips and shook her head gravely.

"No, I'm sure it wasn't . . . I mean . . ." Lindsay stopped, completely confused by the conversation.

"Oh, I'm sorry, Lindsay! Relax. Really. You shouldn't take everything so seriously," Summer urged. "It was a two-minute encounter, max. It never even made it into my diary . . . Can I get you anything? Water? Soda? I mean, if you're willing to wait until my polish dries."

"No. I'm fine. Thanks anyway."

"Okay," Summer said equably. She capped the polish and settled back. "So, you dropping by. This is new. Nice, but pretty much unexpected."

Lindsay flushed. "I should have called."

"Totally not necessary. I'm just thinking . . . maybe this isn't just a casual visit?"

"It . . . isn't really." Lindsay studied her own unadorned fingernails, avoiding Summer's inquisitive gaze. "I just needed . . . well, wanted . . . some advice, and, well, I don't have a lot of friends. I mean, not for this kind of thing . . . And I can't really talk to my mother. Or Kirsten . . ."

Summer nodded sagely. "So it's about Ryan."

Lindsay ducked her head in assent.

"What did he do?"

Lindsay's blush deepened painfully. "He didn't really . . . I mean, he did, but . . . God, Summer, this is totally embarrassing. Maybe I should just go . . . I could probably find a book. There must be one . . ."

"Hey, Lindsay, there are millions of books, but I'm right here. Talk. Nothing leaves this room, promise." Summer mimed locking her lips. "I won't even say anything to Marissa. Especially not to Marissa. Here . . . long distance pinkie swear, in case my polish is still tacky." She crooked her little finger, held it in the air until Lindsay, looking puzzled, returned the gesture. "Now go ahead. Tell me."

"Okay," Lindsay said slowly. She chewed her lip, considering how to phrase her questions. "Well, before Ryan, I wasn't very . . . experienced. And I know he . . ."

"Was," Summer finished. "Go on."

Lindsay pulled strands of hair in front of her face, using them as a veil. "Right. He was. And that was all right, really. I mean, it wasn't a problem. Ryan's always been very . . . considerate, and . . . patient. It's just that now . . . I think he wants . . . more."

Summer sat up straight. "Lindsay, if you are not ready for sex, you need to tell Chino. No matter what he wants. Honestly, if he likes you, he'll wait. He'll complain a lot, of course, but . . ."

"It's not that," Lindsay whispered. "I mean . . . we've already made love."

"Oh. Then . . . Oh!" Summer's eyes widened with comprehension. "He wants to try new things. Kinky things? Lindsay, you absolutely should not do anything that makes you uncomfortable. Although I have to say, certain things are a lot more fun than you'd expect."

Summer watched, amazed, as Lindsay's skin burned yet another intense shade of red.

"That's not it either, Summer. Oh, God, I don't know how to say this." Lindsay pulled another pillow off the floor, clutched it in front of her and took a deep breath. "All right. You know the last few weeks have been really hard on Ryan. He was worried about applying for the internship . . . and then there was the fight with Seth, and the accident. And then . . . well, everything just snowballed, and it's all gotten worse and worse."

"And worse. Yeah, I know," Summer agreed. "For Cohen too."

Lindsay nodded. "Anyway, this afternoon Ryan and I were . . . together . . . for the first time since everything happened. And it was fine, for a little while. It was wonderful. But then it got . . . Ryan got . . ."

Lindsay squeezed her eyes shut. Her fingers instinctively moved to touch the bruise behind her ear. "He was really rough," she finished weakly. "It's like he had all this energy and . . . feelings . . . ugly ones . . . that he was trying to get out. I didn't know how to handle it."

"What did you do?" Summer asked gently.

"I told him to stop."

"Did he?"

"Yes!" Lindsay's eyes snapped open. "Of course he did. Summer, you can't think Ryan would . . . He would never do that." Lindsay scrambled to her feet. "I wouldn't have said anything if I believed you would think . . ."

Summer jumped up, blocking the door before Lindsay could leave. "No, no, it's okay, Lindsay, wait. I know Chino's not like that. It's just that you're so upset . . ."

"Because it feels like he needs something from me, Summer. And I want to help him. I do. But I don't know how."

Summer pulled Lindsay back into the room and handed her a tissue. "Now see, that I completely understand. Because I feel the same way about Cohen, and we're not even together anymore." She shook her head ruefully. "They're idiots, both of them. Stubborn, proud, clueless . . . boys."

Summer bit off the last word with fond contempt and Lindsay laughed shakily.

"They really are, aren't they?" she agreed.

"Absolutely. That's why they need us and our superior wisdom." Summer settled back onto the floor, returned Lindsay's pillow, and gestured for her to sit.

"Then you know what I should do? What we can do to help them?" Lindsay asked hopefully.

"No idea," Summer confessed. "But Lindsay, you have super intelligence and sensitivity. I have cunning and intuition and—" she reached into a drawer and pulled out a box—"a secret hoard of chocolate. Between the two of us, we will figure it out."

-

Seth paused outside Ryan's room, debating. He lifted his hand to the door frame, made a fist, stared at it, crammed it into his pocket, turned on his heel, pivoted back, tapped a silent drum beat against his leg, made an about face, hesitated, swiveled to the door again, and finally raised his hand ready to knock.

"I can see you, you know," Ryan said. "The door is open."

Seth swallowed. The door was open, but Ryan was lying on his bed, a book propped on his chest, hiding his face, and Seth thought his dance of doubt had gone unnoticed.

"Yeah, well, yeah, it is," he stammered. "So that must have looked . . ."

"Weird," Ryan offered, letting the book fall closed.

"Weird," Seth agreed. "So . . ." He gulped in a lungful of oxygen, expended it all in a rush of words. "I just wanted to apologize. For what I said at dinner. 'Cause I figured, hey, you need another apology for your collection, right? This one is what? Issue 10, volume 50? A Cohen classic edition."

Ryan bit his lip, pushed himself to an upright position.

"You meant what you said, Seth. You were pissed at me. You've been pissed at me a lot lately."

"No, I . . ."

"Yes," Ryan insisted. "You were."

"Maybe not so much pissed as . . . all right. Yeah. Fine." Seth lifted his chin, ready for the challenge. "I was."

"It's okay, Seth," Ryan said, and Seth exhaled audibly. "You were right. I mean, about a couple things anyway. Like . . . I should have let you tell your parents what happened. If it helps, they know that you wanted to." The words came out reluctantly, almost painfully. "And they know that you offered to try to get me another interview, and that I said not to bother."

"Okay," Seth said slowly. "Okay, so they know that. Good."

"And then today . . ."

"Well, yeah today, Ryan. Right. I was pissed. Because you were talking about leaving, like it meant nothing to you. But I shouldn't have jumped down your throat that way. Because, shit, dude, I can totally understand if you don't want to live here anymore. I mean, why wouldn't you want to get away from me? If I could, I'd fucking move away from me too. But that's pretty much impossible in our current dimension, so I'm sort of stuck with myself. . ."

Seth waved his hands as if he were searching for a rift in the time/space continuum, and Ryan raised his eyebrows, looking faintly amused.

Encouraged, Seth continued, "Anyway, like Mom said, Ryan, nobody wants you to leave. Nobody wants you to want to leave. So, if you could maybe just erase what I said. . ."

He stopped, appalled. "Okay, really, really, really bad figure of speech there. Way to reopen not-so-old wounds. Mom's right. I've so got to learn to think before my mouth starts moving. Ryan, man, I am so . . ."

"Seth, just let it go, okay? I don't want to hear it."

"Hear what?"

"'Sorry.' Isn't that what you were going to say?"

Seth nodded.

"Okay, I get that, Seth. I know that you wish none of this had ever happened."

"So . . .?" Seth asked.

"It's just the word. 'Sorry.' I've heard it from too many people. My mom, Trey, Marissa. Hell, even my dad. 'Sorry' doesn't mean shit. And yeah, I know, I say it all the time. Enough to know that sorry's just a word. It's always too fucking late, and it doesn't fix anything." Ryan shifted to the edge of the bed, wincing a little. "I never expected to hear it from you," he added softly. "Hell, I never expected to have to say it to you."

There was a moment of silence. Ryan picked up his book and set it on top of three others already on the nightstand, aligning their edges so that the pile was precisely in order. Seth watched him, wondering if the conversation was over and he should offer to leave. Instead he heard himself ask, "You still want to, though, don't you? Leave, I mean. You're just here to make Mom and Dad happy."

"They're not happy, Seth. And I never wanted to leave."

"Then why is it so hard for you to just forgive me?"

Ryan's gaze slid past Seth and fixed on a spot somewhere out the window. "I don't know. Why was it so hard for you to forgive me? For going back to Chino with Theresa last summer?"

Seth felt blindsided. The impact left him breathless and he sagged against the side of the desk.

"You didn't speak to me for three months," Ryan recalled tonelessly. "I told you I wanted you to visit, your parents kept in touch, but you just wrote me off. Hell, if I hadn't come out to Portland, you probably still wouldn't be talking to me." He added, half under his breath, "Talk about cutting and running."

"Ryan," Seth stammered. "I thought we got past all that. I mean, when Theresa called . . . and we both decided to come home . . ."

"You thought losing the baby canceled out everything that happened? Theresa miscarrying . . . that just made it all for nothing." Ryan clenched his fist, rubbing his knuckles with his other hand. "Last summer was hard. It was fucking hard, Seth. I really could have used a friend."

"God, Ryan," Seth breathed. "I don't know what to tell you. Being a friend—before you got here, I never had much practice, and I'm beginning to think I just majorly suck at it." Ryan shook his head slightly, but Seth insisted, "No. You're right. I should have been there for you, man. And I am really, really . . ."

Ryan darted a sideways glare at him.

"Really . . . the word you don't want me to use," Seth finished weakly.

Ryan gave a grim nod.

"Okay. Yeah, okay. You know, I'm sort of all about the words, but that one? Out of the dictionary completely." Ryan's lips twitched, almost, but not quite, into a half-smile and Seth went on, "But, dude, I want you to know, despite my illustrious career, I am officially retiring from the asshole business. Really. No severance pay, no stock options, no golden parachute. Nothing. So if you see me setting up shop again, like, say, opening my mouth too often, or making everything all about me, feel free to unleash those fists of fury . . ."

He stopped suddenly as Ryan swung himself out of bed and strapped on his brace.

"Um, dude," Seth said nervously. "What are you doing? 'Cause if it involves hitting, I was going for a metaphor. I really didn't mean . . ."

Ryan grabbed his hoodie. "You're in my way, Seth."

"In your way," Seth parroted. "Ryan, where are you going? It's, like, the middle of the night. You can't go anywhere. In case I wasn't clear, that was the whole point of this conversation, you not going."

"Yeah, I know. I heard you, Seth." To Seth's relief, Ryan sounded very tired, but not upset. "I'm just sick of being inside here . . . these walls. I need to think. I can't do it in this room."

"So you're just going . . .?"

"Outside. By the pool."

"Okay. Outside. By the pool. To think."

"Yeah. Just to think."

"And then you'll be back."

"Then I'll be back."

Seth nodded. "Okay, then. I'll just get out of your way and let you do that. Because I'm guessing, maybe that's what a friend would do at this point."

"Yeah," Ryan agreed. "That's what a friend would do."

Seth stepped to one side, watched Ryan make his way out of the house, and then loped up the stairs to his room. From his window, he could see the whole pool area. It wasn't, he assured himself, that he didn't believe Ryan, but Seth figured that it was a beautiful, clear night, and he was too wired to sleep anyway. He might as well sit for a while, maybe do some stargazing and some thinking of his own.

Just until Ryan came back inside.

TBC