Thanks for the feedback. It keeps me writing.
Collision Course, Chapter 14"Hey," Jamie slurred, writhing away from Seth and slapping at him ineffectually. "Hands off, ass. Who do you think you are, anyway? And whaddya doin' wasting that? That's good stuff. Ryan, help me look." She dropped to her knees and began combing the grass searching for the discarded joint. "Ryan, come on babe, I need you . . ." She nudged his foot, then ran a hand up his leg suggestively, but except for a small shudder, Ryan didn't respond.
Seth shot a look at his father and Lindsay. He blew out a defeated breath, seeing shocked realization filter across Lindsay's face, while Sandy's settled into an expression of angry disappointment.
"Um, all this? Really not what it looks like, guys" Seth said weakly. His chagrined smile dissolved under the heat of his father's furious eyes.
"Not one more word, Seth." Sandy put a protective hand on Lindsay's arm. "Honey, maybe you should go on back to the house," he suggested quietly.
Lindsay shrugged him off, shaking her head. She covered her mouth for a moment, swallowing hard, and walked over to Ryan. He backed a half step away, averting his eyes, and putting out a hand in self-defense or in warning. Lindsay's breath caught. She reached out, carefully rearranged the fabric of his sling and eased Ryan's arm back into it. Her fingers jumped briefly when they brushed the marks on his throat, as if they burned her, and she never looked into his face.
"You're supposed to wear this all the time, remember," she said tonelessly. "At least until your check-up next week."
Ryan's eyes flashed up to meet hers and then fell immediately. "Lindsay . . ."
Her lips crimped and she blinked rapidly. "You're right, Sandy. I'd better get back to the house. I just dropped by the party to make sure you were okay, Ryan, but I guess . . . I shouldn't have worried."
"Lindsay . . ." Ryan repeated.
She thrust his crutch at him. "Oh, and this . . .Sandy and I found it by a bench. I guess you didn't need it. For what you were doing down here."
When she turned to go, Lindsay stumbled and Ryan instinctively reached out to steady her. She yanked her arm away, but Sandy grabbed Ryan's wrist and held it.
"You," he said grimly, "leave her alone. I'm going to make sure Lindsay has someone drive her home. Then I'm going to find Kirsten and tell her we're ready to leave. You both," he emphasized the word with a punishing glare that sliced from Ryan to Seth, "stay right here. Do not move until I get back. Do you understand?"
Both boys gave the barest of nods. Seth started to say something, but Sandy warned, "Don't. Just. Don't." His tone softened and he asked gently, "Lindsay, would you wait for me, please? Just give me a minute here?"
"You don't have to . . ." Lindsay began, her voice faint and reedy. She kept her back turned to Ryan.
"No, honey, I don't want you going back to the party by yourself." Sandy waited for Lindsay to nod before picking up a discarded beer bottle.
"Very nice, gentlemen. And which one of you was responsible for this piece of litter?"
Ryan shook his head mutely, but Seth waved his hands in denial. "No, Dad, that? Definitely not ours."
"So you weren't drinking? Either of you? Seth?"
"Well, not beer . . ." Seth said, before catching himself and muttering, "Shit. Totally TMI."
"That's the problem with talking as much as you do, son," Sandy observed with ironic satisfaction. "Sometimes the truth just slips right out." He turned his attention to Jamie, who had recovered the joint and was sitting back on her heels, brushing it off. "And as for you, young lady. You're not my responsibility, but I strongly suggest that you rejoin the people you came here with, or just go home. Either way, when I get back I do not want to find you here." He swiped the joint from Jamie's hand as she lifted it to her lips, snapping sarcastically "Don't Bogart it."
"Oh? You want?" Jamie asked, confused.
"I want," Sandy mocked. He shredded the paper, letting its contents spill as he walked away, his other arm sheltering Lindsay. She huddled close beside him, looking small, vulnerable, and somehow dim, as though a light inside her had been snuffed out.
Jamie watched them disappear around the curve in the drive, and then turned back, pouting.
"That was not nice," she mumbled. "He is not a nice man, Ryan. Don't like him at all." Then she smiled and licked her lips. "Like you, though." She crawled her way up his body, but Ryan shook her off as soon as she was on her feet. "Hey!" she protested. "'smatter? The party's not over, babe. You and me, we can still have fun."
"No," Ryan said hoarsely. "It's over."
Jamie leaned in to nip his ear. "You sure?" she murmured. "I thought we were just getting started."
"I said it's over."
Seth looked at Ryan, heard the harsh inflection, saw him tense his jaw and decided that, fool's leap or not, it was time to jump in.
"Jamie. . . It's Jamie, right?" he stammered. "Did you come here with somebody? 'Cause I thought I heard somebody calling your name . . . Yeah. Hear that? From over there?" He picked a random direction and pointed.
Jamie squinted along the line of Seth's finger. "Huh? No . . . Oh, shit. Tyler? Shit, I forgot all about Tyler. Ryan, I gotta go, 'kay? See you at school?"
She twined her hands into his hair, tugged his face to hers and tried to kiss him, but Ryan turned his face so that her lips smeared his cheek instead. "Well, fine, then," Jamie sulked before she stumbled off, calling "Coming, Ty. I'm coming. Don't yell."
"See you at school?" Seth repeated, staring after her. "She goes to Harbor? Fuck, Ryan, if she's in your classes, you may need to get a schedule change."
Ryan closed his eyes, swaying slightly. "I didn't hear anybody call her."
"Yeah? Good. Then you're not as stoned as she is," Seth observed. "You know, dude, maybe we should just . . . sit down until Dad gets back. 'Cause I don't know about you but I'm not feeling exactly earthquake proof right now." He took Ryan's arm tentatively and led him a few steps to a carved bench.
Ryan frowned. "I thought Sandy said we weren't supposed to move," he argued, but he collapsed onto the seat anyway.
"See, I'm taking that as a general type of 'stay in the vicinity' order, because to obey it literally? We'd have to stop breathing. And okay, dad's pretty mad, but I don't think he's that angry with us. Yet anyway."
They lapsed into silence. Seth studied his legs, wondering how he'd managed to get a grass stain on one knee when he hadn't been on the ground, and whether his parents would make him pay for the dry cleaning.
Ryan's voice sounded gravelly when he finally spoke.
"Why did you do that, Seth?"
"What? Make believe somebody was calling for Jamie? I just figured she'd . . ."
"No, not that. Why did you try to pretend that Jamie was with you? That you were the one smoking? Why did you do that?"
"Ah," Seth let out a long breath. "I don't know that I can really answer that, Ryan."
"Try."
Ryan's voice was expressionless. Seth couldn't tell if he was upset, grateful, or just curious, so he wasn't sure how to phrase his explanation, whether he should go for minimal damage or maximum effect.
"I just thought . . . you wouldn't want anybody seeing you like that. With, you know, Jamie and the weed and all," he said warily.
Ryan rubbed a hand hard across his forehead, keeping it up to shield his eyes. "Thanks, Seth" he murmured. "For trying to protect Lindsay like that. Thanks."
Seth debated telling Ryan that Lindsay wasn't the person he had been trying to protect. When he had acted, he hadn't registered anything except the sound of his father's voice, and the sick knowledge that Sandy was about to discover Ryan high and, if Seth didn't intercede fast, in mid-fuck, or at least pretty damn close. But Ryan seemed content believing that Seth had acted on Lindsay's behalf, so he let the explanation stand.
"Yeah, well," he said simply, "it would have been more effective if Jamie could have pretended for two minutes that she could stand me having me touch her. Sorry it didn't work."
"Not your fault. You tried."
"So, you know, you don't have to tell me, dude, but why . . .? Marijuana? That girl? Shit, I mean, Newport society parties are brutal and all, but still . . ." Somehow Seth couldn't manage to finish a sentence, but he couldn't let the subject drop either. "Was it because of the letter you got today? 'Cause I heard and fuck, Ryan, I'm really sor . . . I mean, I wish you'd gotten better news, that's all.
Ryan swiped his hand across his cheeks, then brought it back to cover his eyes again. "Not just the letter. It's everything . . . God. Everything is just so fucked up, Seth. I keep thinking it can't get any worse, and then it just . . . does . . ." He shuddered visibly. "I can't believe I did this."
Even though Ryan couldn't see him, Seth turned his face away. "Yeah, well, we all do really stupid things sometimes, Ryan. I mean . . . I know I do."
"Your parents will never forgive me." The words emerged ragged, torn by Ryan's uneven breaths. "Neither will Lindsay."
"No, now see, I think you're wrong about that, Ryan," Seth said earnestly. He turned back and ducked his head, trying to peer underneath the hand Ryan kept protectively across his eyes. "I know you're wrong. I mean, yeah, they'll be pissed—well, there's probably a better way to describe how Lindsay feels, but anyway . . . they're gonna forgive you, Ryan. Because they care about you. And that's what you do when you care about people. You forgive them and, you know, give them a second chance . . ."
There was another silence. Seth knew it was his imagination, but he seemed to hear his own words wafting through the air, looking for somewhere solid to land.
Ryan's voice was thick and muffled when he finally answered. "You think so? Because, Seth . . . facing your parents after this . . . I don't know if I can . . ."
"Well, you don't have to do it alone. We'll face them together, all right? Because you know, Ryan, we learned a long time ago, united we're unstoppable, but apart . . ." Seth shrugged, his voice trailing off uncertainly in the darkness.
Ryan dropped his arm and raised his eyes to meet Seth's, but before he could answer, they heard Sandy's voice.
"Seth! Ryan! Car. Now!"
"I speak Cohense. What he really means is apocalypse now," Seth muttered. "You have the mate to that crutch at home, Ryan? Because I think one of us may need it by the time this evening is over."
"Summer?"
"Lindsay, oh good, there you are!" Summer spun around from the table where she was sitting with Zach, Luke, Marissa and Alex. "You didn't answer your cell, and I've been wondering . . ." She stopped abruptly when she noticed Lindsay's tear-bright eyes, the folded line of her lips, the way her hands twisted the strap of her purse until the fine chain looked ready to snap. "Oh shit," Summer murmured. "Ryan . . .?"
Lindsay swallowed hard and turned away for a moment before facing Summer again. "I have to go home," she whispered plaintively. "I drove here myself, but I don't know if I can . . . and I told Sandy that you would . . . Oh God, I'm sorry, Summer . . . Just . . . forget it, okay?"
"No wait!" Summer caught Lindsay's arm as she started to stumble back toward the house. "I can drive you, Lindsay. It is absolutely no problem at all. Zack . . ."
Lindsay flinched. "Not Zach. Please? Just you." She ducked her head. "I can't face anybody . . ."
"No, I know. It's okay." Summer put her arm around Lindsay's shoulders, shielding her from the curious eyes of all the others. "Zach, I'm going to leave with Lindsay now, okay? You don't mind, do you?"
"Of course not," Zach said, his voice worried. "Is everything all right, Summer?"
"Oh, sure. Everything's just great. Obviously," Summer snapped sarcastically. Then her face softened. "Sorry. I suppose I shouldn't blame you just because you're one of them . . ."
"Them?"
Summer rolled her eyes meaningfully. "Boys."
Zach looked puzzled, but when he opened his mouth, Luke signaled for silence. "Hey, don't push it, man," he warned. "It's the guilt by association thing."
"Okay," Zach said slowly. "Just . . . drive safe then, Summer. And call me if you need anything."
Summer nodded and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek before she grabbed her purse and left.
"You don't even have to tell me what Chino did if you don't want to, Linds. But hey, would you like me to kick his ass for you?" Summer asked as she and Lindsay walked to the car. "Because I so will. And I'll wear really pointy toed shoes to do it too."
Lindsay smiled tearfully and shook her head. "I trusted him, you know?" she admitted, fumbling to pull a tissue from her purse. Her fingers dislodged a small jar, and she watched, sobbing, as it fell and then rolled on the ground. "I trusted him completely."
"I know . . . Lindsay, I'm so sorry I suggested that you come here tonight. God!" Summer exclaimed fiercely. She picked up the jar, looked at it, and then threw it overhand as hard as she could. "Chino said he wanted you here. I swear he did, or I never would have called you."
"It's not your fault, Summer. I guess Ryan just. . . he must have changed his mind after he talked to you." Lindsay pulled her thin shawl tight around her shoulders, shivering despite the warmth of the night.
Summer's eyes narrowed. "Maybe I'll kick his ass just for my own personal satisfaction . . . Keys? . . . Oh good, it's not a stick," she muttered as they got into the car. "I hate driving stick. Linds, I'm sorry, but I was only at your place that one time, at Chrismukkah. You'll have to give me directions."
Lindsay nodded. "Sure." Then she paused, taking a deep, quavering breath. "Actually, Summer? Would you mind if we didn't go right home?" she asked tentatively as they started down the driveway. "Could we make one stop first?"
Summer glanced at her in surprise, but her voice betrayed nothing. "Whatever you want, Lindsay," she agreed equably. She braked at the intersection and her hand hovered over the turn signal. "You just tell me where and we're there."
Kirsten sat huddled in the car, hugging herself and waiting with tight-lipped apprehension for Sandy and the boys to appear.
When he had come to get her, Sandy had worn a jovial smile that she recognized instantly for what it was: a lie. "Honey? What do you say? Ready to leave? I think we've done our time here tonight."
"What's wrong, Sandy?" she'd demanded instantly. "Did something happen? Where are Seth and Ryan?"
Sandy had hooked his hand under her elbow, steering her through the crowd and tossing goodbyes as they went. "I'm just going to round them up," he had claimed. "You wait in the car. We'll just be a couple minutes."
"But why?"
Sandy tapped his watch and opened the passenger door for her. "Ten-oh-five. We were going to be out of here an hour ago, remember? So this was service above and beyond the call of duty, even by Caleb Nichol standards. Honestly, sweetheart, I've reached my Newport party saturation point. Just sit tight while I get the boys."
He had dropped a kiss on her forehead and disappeared.
Now Kirsten shut her eyes, trying not to panic.
She didn't want to be alone in this car. Even though it didn't resemble the Rover, even though she wasn't in the driver's seat, she could feel her throat close, remembering. She knew they weren't there, but she still saw them, taunting her: cracks in the windshield, thin lines ready to shatter and send shards flying everywhere, so that soon there would be no safe place to step, and no one would be able to move at all.
Kirsten urgently wanted Sandy and Seth and Ryan with her, but she dreaded their arrival too. Something was wrong; she could feel it. Maybe the boys had been fighting again. She and Sandy never should have made them come. She had warned Sandy: They were pushing too hard, trying to force a reconciliation, when the whole point of Seth's and Ryan's friendship was their natural connection, a completely unexpected, inevitable and instant bond.
Despite Sandy's veneer of nonchalance when he escorted her to the car, she could see tension in the set of his jaw, feel it in the grip of his fingers on her elbow.
Somehow, she knew, while she was sipping champagne, making meaningless conversation, smiling dutifully at the Newport elite and acting the part of Kirsten Nichol-Cohen, businesswoman/socialite, the fraying threads of her family had unraveled just a little bit more.
Kirsten remembered how, before Seth was born, she would sometimes rub her swelling stomach and think, "I want to keep him inside me forever." Of course, she hadn't meant it; she couldn't wait to see her child, meet him, and watch him grow. But still, there had been something so satisfying knowing that her body, her self, was protecting her baby, keeping him with her, keeping him safe.
It hadn't lasted, of course. Seth was born, life happened, and so did cuts, and scrapes, and hurt feelings and heartaches. She couldn't ward off any of them.
And they just kept coming, sharper, deeper, to Seth and Sandy and lately so many to Ryan. Now Kirsten felt that she didn't know how to protect anybody that she loved, couldn't shelter them anywhere; no place was secure anymore.
"Kirsten? Kiki?"
Kirsten jumped, startled, as her father leaned down and tapped her shoulder through the open window.
"Dad! . . . Sorry, I must have been daydreaming. I didn't hear you."
"You're leaving already?"
"You knew we weren't going to stay long tonight, Dad. I told you that."
"Yes," Caleb conceded, rather impatiently, "but some people just arrived that I really want you to meet. Why don't you send the boys home with the Sandman. I can have someone drive you back later."
"No!" Kirsten's tone was shriller than she intended, and Caleb's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Dad, listen, I already made the rounds this evening. You saw me. And now I'm tired. As soon as Sandy gets here with Seth and Ryan, we're all going home."
"Listen, Kiki, I want to apologize. Sandy told me that what I said earlier this evening offended you."
"Oh? You needed him to tell you that?"
Caleb ignored the hostility in her tone. "I certainly didn't intend to upset you more than you obviously already are. Frankly, Kiki, I'm worried about you. You're letting this whole business between the boys get to you, and it's just not healthy. Look at you. You're pale, you've lost weight, you're exhausted. . ."
"Thanks for your concern, Dad, but I'm fine," Kirsten insisted.
Caleb shook his head with a meaningful frown. "You know, I heard that the . . . that Ryan offered to leave your house." he said thoughtfully. "I'm sure it wouldn't be a difficult process to have him declared an emancipated minor so he could get his own place."
Kirsten's head jerked up. "How did you?" she demanded.
"If it concerns my family, I make it my business to know," Caleb said evenly. "I also heard that you and Sanford turned him down. I think you should reconsider, Kiki. It seems to me that the boy moving out would be in everyone's best interests, including his own. Frankly, I give him credit for coming up with the idea. It's more than I would have expected from him."
"Dad"
"You've done your duty by that boy, not that you ever owed him anything in the first place. But you've gotten him out of jail, given him a place to live, an education. It's time for him to stand on his own."
Kirsten brushed Caleb's hand off her shoulder with icy disdain. "That boy—Ryan—has had to stand on his own most of his life. What he's never had until now is anyone to support him. If you were at all concerned with his best interests, you'd realize that. But you know what? I'm not having this discussion with you, not now or ever. And Ryan is not going anywhere."
"Just hear me out, Kiki," Caleb insisted. "I know you've formed an attachment to . . . Ryan, and you feel some misguided sense of responsibility for him. So I'd be willing to help out. We could find him a reasonable apartment, make sure his medical bills are paid, take care of his tuition so he could finish up at Harbor, and I'd even set up a small trust for him . . . nothing extravagant, but enough so you wouldn't have to worry about him handling the rent after he graduates."
Kirsten clutched a fold of her skirt, feeling her nails rend the thin fabric. She stared at Caleb scornfully. "That is really generous of you, Dad. Be sure to have your attorney arrange everything so you can write it off as a tax deduction. I wouldn't want you to get nothing out of the deal."
Caleb flinched at the cold vehemence of Kirsten's tone. "I'm just trying to look out for my family."
"Didn't I make myself clear before?" she hissed. "Ryan is now part of 'your' family, whether you like it or not."
Caleb raised his hands, placating her. "Fine, Kiki. I apologize. Again. We won't talk about anything else. . .personal . . . tonight, But there are still important business matters we need to deal with, and I just don't see why you can't spare a few minutes . . ."
His voice trailed off, and Kirsten saw him glance down the drive. She craned her neck to look in the rear view mirror and sighed with relief to see them coming: Sandy in front, chin up, lips set firmly, Seth following close behind, with Ryan a few steps back, moving slower, leaning heavily on his crutch. Kirsten could see Seth glancing over his shoulder occasionally as if to check that Ryan hadn't veered off somewhere, or disappeared completely.
Caleb's gaze turned speculative, assessing, as he watched them approach, but all he said was, "I'll call you, Kiki."
Kirsten nodded, accepted his kiss on her cheek without comment, and settled back in her seat, closing her eyes.
All she wanted was to go home.
Go to bed.
Sleep this day into the past.
But when the driver's door slammed shut, Kirsten's eyes flew open, alarmed. The look on Sandy's face and the ominous silence from the back seat when Seth and Ryan got in made her realize that bed and sleep would have to wait.
And any real rest might be impossible.
"Honestly, Mom, I don't know," Marissa insisted irritably. "And it's not really our business anyway, is it? Now I'd like to get back to my friends, if you don't mind."
She turned to go, but Julie caught her arm and sidled closer, her smile warm and maternal for the benefit of anybody watching.
"Of course it's our business," Julie argued. She kept her voice low and mild, but the authority behind it was obvious. "Marissa, a guest left our house in tears. And not just any guest. After all, Lindsay is . . ."
"My stepsister? Your surprise and oh, that's right, unwelcome stepdaughter?"
Julie tapped her nails against the glass tabletop. "Fine, yes. She is Caleb's daughter. But my point, Marissa, is that Lindsay made an embarrassing scene at my party and I'd like to know why."
"Oh? Your party?" Marissa asked innocently. "Wow, and here I thought it was for the Newport Group. But I guess in your mind, you are the Newport Group, aren't you?"
"Marissa!" Julie hissed.
"I'm just saying . . . Besides, Mom, it wasn't a scene. Nobody even noticed Lindsay crying."
"Oh really? Well, I noticed." Julie reached out and adjusted the straps on Marissa's dress, pulling them up higher on her shoulders. "You know, you really should have worn the Bagley Mischka the way I suggested."
Marissa promptly pushed the straps back down. "Yeah, nothing gets past you, does it, Mom? And by the way, I hate the Bagley Mischka. I would return it but hey, I didn't buy it in the first place."
"Fine," Julie sighed. "I really don't want to argue with you tonight, Marissa. I'd just like you to tell me why Lindsay was crying."
Marissa shrugged. "Maybe it was just an allergic reaction to all the artificial gold around here. Or maybe she tried the shrimp because seriously, Mom? The food sucked." She picked up a discarded pastry and shredded it, flicking the crumbs over the table. "But don't worry. You always find out everything, so I'm sure you'll get the whole story sooner or later. Knowing you, probably sooner . . . Oops, sorry. I made a mess here, didn't I? And at your wonderful party too." Marissa held up her hands in mock apology, then strode off, leaving Julie fuming behind her.
"Sometimes, that girl . . ." Julie muttered, before calling imperiously, "Waiter! Get over here and clear this table please! What do you think I'm paying you for?"
"Juju? Is something wrong?"
Julie started and spun around at the unexpected sound of Caleb's voice.
He looked at her with concern, draping an arm around her waist and giving her an absent-minded kiss on the temple.
"Cal! . . . No, darling, nothing's wrong. At least I hope not." Julie paused, and peered at Caleb suspiciously. She lowered her voice, pitching it for his ears only. "You didn't say anything to upset your daughter tonight, did you?"
Caleb drew away, annoyed. "First Sandy and now you. I really don't appreciate lectures about my relationship with Kirsten—"
"No," Julie interrupted. "Not Kirsten. Lindsay."
Caleb raised his eyebrows in surprise. "Lindsay is here? She told me she wasn't coming tonight."
"Then you didn't see her?"
"Obviously not," Caleb retorted impatiently. "Julie, do you mind telling me what you're talking about? Because if my daughter is upset, I would certainly like to know why. Where is she?" He scanned the crowd as if he expected to see Lindsay nearby.
"Don't bother looking. She's already gone home, Cal. Just a few minutes ago, actually. Summer was with her, and she was crying. I tried to get Marissa to tell me what happened, but she claimed it was none of my business."
"Of course my daughter is my business."
Julie smiled smugly. "That is exactly how I feel, Cal. I am trying to look out for your interests, you know, darling."
Caleb sat down heavily, and Julie dropped into the seat next to him. "But it doesn't make any sense," he argued. "Lindsay shows up at the party after turning down my invitation, doesn't even say hello and then leaves in tears . . ."
"I am so sorry, Cal," Julie said, her lips pursed in sympathy. "Do forgive me for suggesting you might have had anything to do with it. I just thought you and Lindsay might have had words. After all, she's never really accepted you as her father, has she?" Julie sighed dramatically. "It's so hard dealing with children who don't appreciate what you're trying to do for them. Believe me, I know."
Caleb's lips were set in a thin, hard line. "Whatever happened with Lindsay tonight had nothing to do with me, Juju. But trust me, I am going to find out why she was crying." He rolled his Scotch glass in his palms, his eyes slitting with grim determination. "And I'm quite sure I know exactly where to start."
TBC