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Collision Course Chapter 20

Ryan hesitated outside the upstairs guestroom door, afraid that Kirsten wouldn't answer his knock, but equally afraid that she would.

This argument wasn't his business, he reminded himself. It was between Kirsten and Sandy and he should leave it to Kirsten and Sandy except . . . except that it did concern him too.

Ryan himself had no memory of the moment of the accident. Even if he did, he doubted that it would bother him much, because that impact hadn't shattered him. It had only hurt his body, and he'd experienced worse pain before. There were so many other, deeper ways to suffer—the way he still did, sometimes, when he allowed himself to remember too much, or let his past push its way into the present.

Ryan didn't think Kirsten really had a memory of the accident either, because for her it wasn't over. On some level, she was still living it, much more a casualty of the crash than Ryan. He knew there was no way he could erase the images, but he felt like he had to make them less graphic, lessen their power over her.

At least he had to try.

He knocked.

"Go away, Sandy," Kirsten's voice snapped promptly, harshly.

"Kirsten? It's me. Ryan."

The door was wrenched open so suddenly that Ryan thought Kirsten must have been leaning on the other side.

"What are you doing upstairs, Ryan?"

He shifted his weight uncomfortably. "I . . . uh . . ." he began, startled by the accusation in her voice.

"You're not supposed to be climbing stairs. You know that. Do you want to hurt yourself again? Is that what you want, Ryan?" Kirsten flung the words at him, cold and furious.

He hadn't known how she'd react to his visit, but Ryan had never expected this kind of raw anger. Not directed at him.

Kirsten had always been so polite, so careful of his feelings, even when he'd first come to Newport and it was clear that she wanted him gone, even when she blamed him for Seth getting drunk and beat up at Holly's party after the fashion show, even when he'd been arrested for burning down her model home.

He didn't quite know this Kirsten and she scared him a little.

"I'm sorry," Ryan said softly, retreating. "I didn't mean to upset you. I'll just go."

"Stop," Kirsten ordered.

Ryan looked at her over his shoulder, unsure exactly what she meant.

Kirsten opened the bedroom door wider and waved him inside. "You're here now," she explained, her voice suddenly thin and crumpled as used tissue paper. "You might as well rest for a few minutes before you go back downstairs."

"But if you don't want to talk . . ."

"Just come in, Ryan," Kirsten sighed wearily.

Ryan nodded. She pointed him to an armchair and he sat uneasily, gripping the top of his crutch, trying vainly to remember what he had planned to say. His gaze slid off Kirsten's tired face and fixed on the floor.

Silence coiled itself around the room. In it, Kirsten heard sharp, reproachful echoes of her outburst at the door.

"Ryan," she sighed finally and waited. His eyes flickered up, wary. "I didn't mean to yell at you. Forgive me, please. I just . . . it's very important that you follow your doctor's orders, that's all."

Ryan took a deep breath, relieved. "No, I mean, I know. It's all right. You don't need to apologize." His voice sounded hoarse to his own ears. He cleared his throat before continuing, chancing a wistful half-smile. "It's kind of . . . nice, actually. That you care enough to worry and . . . get mad."

Kirsten's stoic expression dissolved. "Oh, sweetie," she murmured. "I'm not mad at you, really. It's just . . . never mind. I shouldn't have taken out my anger on you, that's all."

Even though he didn't want to upset her again, Ryan decided to take the risk. "But Kirsten, you shouldn't be mad at Sandy either," he urged. "The Rover. . . He had it repaired because . . . well, it's just a car. It's nothing. He didn't do it to hurt you. Sandy would never do anything to hurt you. Not on purpose."

Kirsten twisted her rings, her mouth crimping. "I never wanted to see that car again. Sandy knew that, but apparently he didn't care."

Ryan leaned forward. "No, see, Kirsten, he does care. A lot," he insisted earnestly. "It's just . . . You know, sometimes you do things automatically. Something gets broken, you fix it. I mean, Sandy does that, doesn't he? He fixes things." Very softly, Ryan added to himself, "People too." He turned back to Kirsten, his expression intense and beseeching. "I think Sandy figured . . . the Rover wasn't totaled. So, he could get it fixed, and it would be a way of . . . maybe making things more like they were before. If that makes any sense."

Kirsten closed her eyes for a long moment. "I suppose it does, Ryan. In a way," she conceded. "But it doesn't matter. Don't you understand? I can't stand looking at that car." She shuddered, whispering, "It reminds me too much of the accident."

"Yeah, but Kirsten," Ryan argued quietly, "you look at me. And Seth."

She shook her head, bewildered.

"I just mean . . . I was there. And so was Seth. So if we don't remind you . . . "

Kirsten gave a wan, desolate smile. She hitched the chair she was sitting in closer and covered Ryan's hand with her own. "Sweetie, it's not the same thing at all. I can't expect you to understand. You're not a parent. You've never had to see a child of yours hurt . . . and to know that you did it . . ."

Ryan caught his breath and mentally tucked away the phrase "a child of yours" next to Seth's "different son" comment. Later . . . later he'd take them out and examine them. But now all he wanted to do was reach Kirsten and pull her out of her anguished guilt.

Except that suddenly he felt dragged down with her.

"I know I'm not a parent. But I almost was," Ryan recalled heavily. His voice was so low that Kirsten had to strain to hear it. "And my baby died, Kirsten. I mean, I know he hadn't even been born yet, but still . . . I think maybe I understand a little. Because I couldn't do anything to save him. I never even got the chance."

Kirsten froze for a moment, stunned by Ryan's unexpected confession. His eyes went dark and the pain in them broke her heart. She picked up his hand, holding it between both of hers.

"Oh, Ryan," she breathed. "I didn't know you felt this way, sweetie. You never talk about losing the baby."

He shrugged, his gaze darting up and then back down. "I don't know how," he said simply.

"It's hard," Kirsten conceded. "I understand that. But, Ryan, it doesn't do any good to just bury your feelings . . ."

"No," he said, shaking his head. "I don't. I mean . . . Well, I wanted to talk to Theresa, but I couldn't figure out what to say." His mouth curved into a self-deprecating half-smile. "I'm not so good with words, you know? But I did write to her. Sometimes it's just . . . easier on paper." Ryan's voice trailed off until it was scarcely audible. "She hasn't written back though."

Kirsten stroked his hand, warming it. "It probably still hurts too much," she suggested.

Ryan ducked his head. "Or . . . maybe she blames me. For leaving."

"Oh no, Ryan. No, I'm sure she doesn't. Didn't you say that Theresa told you not to come back to Chino?" Ryan nodded, keeping his head down, and Kirsten put a finger under his chin to force him to look at her. "She wanted you back here where you belong, sweetie. And someday, I'm sure she'll be ready to talk to you. But meanwhile Ryan, I'm here, and so is Sandy . . . and so is Seth. I promise you, any of us will listen. We all will, any time."

Ryan swallowed hard, blinked as if he was just waking up. Kirsten had the sense that he rationed himself, allowed only brief moments when he would acknowledge the baby, and the grief, and the relief, and the guilt, even to himself.

They weren't emotions that he was willing to share.

The fact that he'd mentioned the baby at all, that he'd confided in her—it was a kind of gift, and a plea.

When she looked at Ryan again, Kirsten could see that he had put his past away; he was resolutely, deliberately, in the present.

"Thanks. But . . . I didn't mean to make this about me, Kirsten," he said, shifting uncomfortably and rubbing the heel of his hand into his thigh. "It's just . . . we're all really worried about you. Can you come downstairs? Please? Just talk to Sandy, all right?" He gave a tentative smile, his eyes appealing. "He's making breakfast for you right now. Bacon."

Kirsten laughed ruefully. "Why is it that the men in this family always think they can win me over with bacon?"

"Maybe . . . because we can?"

"All right, smartass." Kirsten kissed Ryan lightly on the cheek to take the sting out of the word. "You win. I'll come down and eat bacon and talk to Sandy. But you, young man . . . you don't come up these stairs again until you've got official permission from the doctor. Deal?"

Ryan shook her hand solemnly. "Deal."

"Mmm. A home-cooked breakfast for me, Dad? You shouldn't have." Seth yawned, sniffing hopefully as he shuffled into the kitchen.

Sandy looked over his shoulder from the skillet of scrambled eggs he was stirring. "And I didn't," he declared. "You and Ryan can have cereal this morning . . . Seth, I mean it. Do not touch that platter. There's more than one use for a spatula, you know." He waved the utensil in warning.

"Yeah? Well, hey, at least I know one. That puts me ahead of Mom anyway. And speaking of The Kirsten, is she . . .?" Seth looked around, frowning.

Sandy exhaled a breath that ruffled his unruly hair. "Still upset with me? Yep."

"And so the breakfast," Seth concluded.

"And so the breakfast," Sandy agreed. "Whatever works, son. Care to help? Ryan was going to, but then he said he had something to do."

"Yeah, help," Seth hedged, pulling out a box of cereal. "I so would, Dad, because you know I'm all about the work these days, and I even have the blisters to prove it, but you look like you've got everything under control."

Sandy raised his eyebrows. "Everything except my son, apparently. Seth, put the cereal away. You can eat later. Cut the lemon for your Mom's water, would you? Wedges, not slices. And get rid of the seeds."

"Making breakfast instead of surfing. Lemon in the water. Wedges, not slices. Get rid of the seeds. You're in major apology mode here, aren't you, Dad?"

"Yes," Sandy admitted. "I am. I was thoughtless, and I hurt your mother, so it's up to me to make it right. Stage one, breakfast. Stage two . . . well . . ." He wagged his eyebrows meaningfully and Seth groaned.

"Okay, and now? A little nauseous here. Thanks a lot, Dad."

Sandy flipped the eggs over and stirred them, asking with studied casualness, "So, how about you, son? How are you feeling after yesterday's little surprise party? Besides, nauseous, I mean. Things getting back to normal? . . . Now, bear in mind, I know that 'normal' is a relative term in this family."

Seth picked up a wedge of lemon and sucked it, his mouth puckering comically. "Well, as long as you're aware of that, then, yeah," he replied. "Yesterday was good. Verging on great, with some moments approaching awesome, even. It really, I don't know, felt like . . . well, a lot like things used to feel. You know. Before."

"Glad to hear it," Sandy observed. He dished out the eggs, circling the plate with strips of bacon as he added casually, "So then, you and Ryan will be okay today?"

"Okay?"

"In the car," Sandy clarified.

Seth frowned. "It's just a thirty-minute drive, Dad. We'll be fine. What are you doing, channeling Mom this morning?"

"I don't mean the drive," Sandy explained. "I mean the fact that it will just be the two of you. Nobody else around to--"

"Be a buffer?" Seth supplied, tossing the lemon seeds in the garbage. "Run interference? Referee?" His brow furrowed and for a moment he looked exactly like his father. "Dad, has Ryan said something to you? Like, oh, I don't know, maybe 'I haven't really forgiven Seth, and I never will, but I'll pretend that I did if it will make you guys happy'?" 'Cause see, from where I sit, I kind of was thinking we're friends again. You know, at least enough to ride in a car together."

"No, Seth," Sandy assured him, "Ryan hasn't said anything like that. And for the record, I don't believe he's capable of pretending something he doesn't feel. You are friends, I know that, but I also think you two have issues you've been avoiding. Things you really should settle. And when you're driving him to rehab, well . . ."

"It's mobile therapy time, huh? Peer mediation on the move," Seth concluded. He sucked viciously on another lemon wedge. "Sure you don't want Dr. Phil riding in the back seat?"

Sandy pulled the few remaining pieces of lemon away from his son and dropped them into a carafe of ice water. "It's a chance for you two to talk," he said simply. "And by talk, I don't mean you prattling on about music or comic books or video games or, number one on the Seth Cohen hit parade, Summer. I mean, really talk to each other."

Seth shrugged. "Yeah. Well. Don't you think you should be having this conversation with Ryan? He's the one who has trouble producing words."

"And you're the one who hides behind them," Sandy countered. He kneaded Seth's shoulder affectionately. "Son, you need to work things out with Ryan so something like this never happens again. Even if he wants to avoid the subject, I'm counting on you to step up this time."

"Okay, fine," Seth muttered, a little reluctantly. "I'll step. Step, drive, talk. It's a good thing I'm a master at multitasking." He stopped suddenly, looking beyond his father. Sandy started to lift the breakfast tray off the table, but Seth held on to it. "Um . . . Dad?"

"What? . . . Seth would you please let go? I want to take your mother her breakfast before it gets cold."

"Right," Seth agreed. "Only that? Apparently not so necessary, Dad. Mohammad, meet mountain." He turned his father around to face the doorway. Kirsten stood there, not quite smiling, but not angry either, with Ryan one pace behind.

"You came down," Sandy observed, his face confused, delighted, and a little apprehensive.

Kirsten nodded. "I came down. But," she warned, "I was promised bacon. If there isn't any, I'm going right back upstairs."

Sandy crossed to her in two strides and pulled her into his arms. "I am so, so sorry, sweetheart," he murmured.

Kirsten rested her head on his shoulder for a moment. "I know," she whispered. "Me too."

"So we're okay?"

Kirsten nodded, rubbing her cheek against Sandy's neck. "We're okay." Then she looked up at him, her eyes glinting mischievously. "But Sandy," she added, "I meant what I said. I'll go back upstairs . . ."

"No need," Sandy grinned, kissing her forehead. "There's bacon."

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Kirsten watched, eyes anxious and body rigid, as Seth and Ryan settled into the repaired Rover. It still hurt her to look at it, but she'd allowed herself to listen as Sandy recited a list of its assets: comfort, smooth ride, good engine, the crucial fact that the boys were used to driving it. Finally, she'd acquiesced.

They would keep the Rover. Kirsten still hoped never to sit inside it again, but Seth and Ryan would use it since they had to have some vehicle when they went any distance.

But for this, for Ryan's rehab . . . why, Kirsten wondered, did they have to leave the house at all?

Mentally, she replayed the conversation she'd had with Sandy before he left the house.

"We could hire a physical therapist to come here," Kirsten had suggested. "And we could rent any equipment he might need. We already have a pool, Sandy. There's no need for the boys to drive thirty miles to a some clinic just so Ryan can do his exercises."

"Kirsten, we've discussed this. Ryan needs to get out of the house," Sandy declared. "And he and Seth need to spend time together and talk, someplace neutral."

"How can it be neutral if they're constantly reminded of the accident?" Kirsten protested. She drummed her fingers on her thighs and looked at Sandy pleadingly. "It's not a good idea, sweetheart. It's not."

Sandy moved close to Kirsten and put his hands over hers, stilling them. "Honey," he said gently, "the accident was never an issue between Seth and Ryan. You know that. It's only an issue with you. You're the one who hasn't gotten past it."

Kirsten shuddered involuntarily and Sandy stood, pulling her up into his arms. "I can't help it," she moaned. "You weren't there. You have no idea how terrible it was Sandy."

"I can imagine . . ."

"That's not the same! And now to put the boys in that car . . . It's bad enough when we're with them, but to send them out on the road alone . . ."

"Kirsten, Seth is a good driver."

"I was too, and it didn't make any difference, did it?"

Sandy's eyes flickered at Kirsten's use of the past tense, but he let it slide. "You cannot keep the boys in this house forever, honey." He rubbed her shoulders, trying to massage away some of the tension there, and teased, "They've got to get out sometime if we ever want grandchildren."

"Don't patronize me, Sandy!" Kirsten protested, pulling away. "There is nothing wrong with wanting your children to be safe."

Sandy sighed and rubbed his hand across his forehead. "Of course there's not," he agreed carefully. "And that's why we have seat belts and airbags and emergency kits and cell phones. The boys are smart and they're careful, honey. You have to trust them. And you have to let them go."

Eventually, unwillingly, Kirsten had agreed, but nothing Sandy said allayed her fears entirely even though, on some level, she knew they were irrational. Now, with Seth and Ryan ready to leave, she felt panic closing her throat, blocking her breathing.

Seth pulled out the ignition key and Kirsten searched frantically for something to stall him.

"You have the directions, Seth?" she asked.

"Directions?" Seth parroted. "Yeah, um, that would be drive until I come to a fork in the road, get out, spin around in circles, and continue whichever way I wind up facing, right?"

Ryan poked him in the side. "Seth," he warned.

"Okay, okay. Directions, right here," Seth said, waving a sheet out the window at his mother. "And by the way, Ryan. Ow."

Kirsten crossed her arms around herself defensively. "Maybe I should come with you," she suggested. She sounded terrified but determined.

Ryan saw her go ashen as she reached for the door handle. "Kirsten, really, you don't have to come," he assured her. "We'll be fine, I promise. Seth will keep both hands on the wheel and his eyes on the road. We won't even play music."

"Yeah, right, I'll be . . . Whoa. We won't play music? Ryan, dude, amigo, there's no need for hyperbole here--"

"We won't play music," Ryan repeated. "We won't eat in the car, we won't drink. We'll just drive, Kirsten. No distractions."

Kirsten wavered, wanting equally to be in the car with them and to be as far away from it as possible. "You both have your cell phones?"

Ryan nodded.

"We have them, but I swear we won't use them. Because that? Would be a distraction," Seth said with mock solemnity. He caught Ryan's sideways glare and moved away in case he was due for another Atwood jab. "I mean," he amended, "if for some reason we need to call anybody, we'll pull off the road and come to a complete stop with the parking brake and warning lights on and everything. Ryan and I will be the Drive Safe Poster Children, Mom.

"Seth, if you're not going to take this seriously--"

"He will, Kirsten. Won't you, Seth?" Ryan leaned over, growling sotto voce, "Or you'll need rehab too by the time we get to the clinic."

"Mom!" Seth cried dramatically. "Ryan is threatening me! Are you going to let him get away with that?"

Kirsten refused to smile. "Seth, you're not funny. And I need to know that you're not going to fool around on the road. You need to concentrate when you're driving. You have to focus every minute."

"He's just teasing, Kirsten. Seth, stop it, okay?" Ryan waited while Seth rolled his eyes and finally set his lips in a straight, sober line. Then he turned his attention back to Kirsten. "We'll be fine, honest. But you have to stop worrying, Kirsten. What happened before . . . it was an accident. It's not going to happen again."

Kirsten bit her lip, not convinced. "I know," she conceded reluctantly. "I'm sorry. I'm being ridiculous and overprotective . . ."

Seth looped his arm out the window and pulled her into an impromptu hug. "Yeah, you really are, Mom. But it's okay. We love you too. And we'll be careful. But we've really got to go now."

Kirsten nodded and kissed Seth quickly on the cheek. She darted to the other side of the car, leaned in and did the same to Ryan, then stepped back, hugging herself hard as the Rover left the driveway. "Be safe! I love you both," she called, watching intently until the car disappeared.

She wished Sandy were home.

Even Rosa.

Anybody.

It was going to be a long three hours until the boys returned.

The moment he turned the car onto the main road, Seth reached for the CD button. Ryan pushed his hand away.

"What?" Seth protested. "You weren't serious, dude? No music? Really?"

"We promised your mom."

Seth's expression settled into a near-sulk. "Actually, I think that would be, you promised, Ryan. I, on the other hand, said nothing."

"Silence means assent, Seth."

"No, it doesn't . . . It does? Shit. No wonder I talk all the time. Otherwise I wind up agreeing to ridunkulous stuff like no music," Seth mumbled. He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. "No music. But the car is a perfect venue for music, Ryan. Like, its natural habitat or something. Seriously, dude, I read a study somewhere that says drivers who listen to music are four times more alert than drivers who don't."

"No you didn't."

"Okay, I didn't," Seth admitted. "But I could have. I'm sure there's a study like that out there, probably written by people with fifteen initials after their names. Think about it, Ryan. If it gets quiet, people fall asleep. Drivers should never, ever fall asleep, right? So, music is like a safety feature. Why do you suppose cars come equipped with radios and CD players anyway?"

"To jack up the price," Ryan retorted. "And we—okay, I—promised your mom."

"She'd never know," Seth wheedled. Ryan shot him a reproving glance and Seth sat back, shifting his hands so that they were precisely at the ten and two positions on the wheel. "Fine Herr Commandant. No music."

Ryan bobbed his head in approval and turned to look out the window. They rode for less than a mile before Seth began twitching in his seat.

"This is, like, totally against nature," he complained. "And, I'm pretty sure, against the Geneva Conventions. Ryan, I'm begging you. I must have sound. If we can't play music, you have to talk to me, man. Is that what you want?"

"Is that what you want?" Ryan countered.

Seth swallowed, remembering his conversation with Sandy, and darted a look in Ryan's direction. His attention was still locked on the landscape outside. "Yeah. I mean, I think . . . yeah, I do."

"Okay," Ryan agreed without turning.

"Okay," Seth echoed.

And then the silence descended again. Seth tolerated it for approximately seventy seconds before he gave up.

"Ryan, for this talking business to work, one of us actually has to say something," he pointed out. He ran a finger around the neck of his t-shirt as if the soft cotton chafed him. "Now, normally, that would be me. Hell, it is me. Here I am, talking. Okay, nothing new there. But . . . man, I need to hear from you. Anything. Even . . . if you still hate me, say so."

Seth kept his eyes fixed on the road and waited.

Ryan sighed. "I don't hate you, Seth. You know that," he said tonelessly. "I never did."

"No? 'Cause I gotta tell you, dude. That's how it felt." Seth averted his face, ostensibly to check the side view mirror, and added, "Still feels, a little, sometimes. Like maybe, right around now. I mean, I brought the mail in Saturday. I know about the letter from UCLA, so if that's got you mad at me all over again . . ."

"I don't hate you," Ryan repeated. "And I'm not mad, exactly. It's just . . ."

"Just what? Open forum, man. All truth, no dare. Whatever is on your mind." Seth realized that he was pressing the accelerator harder than his mother would approve and eased up. "Just say it," he urged.

Ryan hesitated, then blurted in one breath, "Why did you want to sabotage my chance for the internship?"

"What?" Seth swiveled to face Ryan, and the car veered abruptly to the right. He corrected the swerve, waved an apology to the driver honking next to him, and resumed watching the road. "Hell, Ryan, I didn't. I never wanted to sabotage anything for you, man."

"No? What did you think would happen if I didn't show up for the interview?"

Seth cursed himself mentally. He knew questions like that were bound to come up if he and Ryan really talked. He should have prepared answers, memorized them—written them on his palms, if necessary. Now, with no ready response, he just made a noncommittal noise in his throat, hoping some words would form there. They didn't.

"Come on, Seth," Ryan insisted. "Was it just some kind of game to you?"

"No, I . . . no, Ryan. It wasn't." Seth chanced a glance over and saw Ryan's profile, rigid, except for the slight movement of his jaw as he ground his teeth.

Maybe it had all been an aberration— the banter at breakfast and when Ryan came to his room, the camaraderie after the party and all yesterday, even the solidarity when Kirsten was seeing them off. Maybe, despite his claim that he wasn't angry, Ryan's locked door was still the status quo, and he really didn't want to repair their friendship at all.

"God, Seth." Ryan's voice was etched with exasperation. "You never even consider how lucky you are, do you?"

Seth was lost. He had no clue what Ryan was talking about, but Ryan didn't give him a chance to ask any questions before he continued relentlessly.

"Your whole future, all laid out. Whatever you want it to be. College, travel, grad school--anything. And I'm not saying you don't deserve it, Seth, because you do, but, shit, it's just there waiting for you."

"Yeah, but Ryan, you . . ."

"Me?" Ryan's voice was flat and resigned. "If I don't do something for myself, I'm going to wind up pouring concrete and setting support beams at some construction site for the rest of my life."

"Ryan, no," Seth protested. "You'll go to college if that's what you want. Grad school too. Come on. My parents--"

"Are your parents, Seth. Yours."

"Yeah, but no, that's not how I see it, Ryan," Seth argued earnestly. "It's not how they see it either. You've got to know that by now."

"But that's how it is, Seth. Look, your parents are great, and I know if I asked, they'd help me out. But don't you get it? I can't ask. They've done enough for me. If I go to college, I've got to get a scholarship, and that internship . . . hell, it would have helped so much. Given me experience. References maybe--something solid to put on an application."

Ryan's pain and anger were bubbling very near the surface and Seth was desperate to submerge them again.

"Ryan, man, I'm just . . . I'm sorry. I didn't know. If you had told me--"

"Yeah, okay, I suppose I should have said something," Ryan admitted. "But shit, Seth, when you heard that message, didn't you think that just maybe I'd be interested in going? That if I was being called for an interview I must have actually applied for the fucking thing?"

"Yeah, no, see, this is the problem," Seth explained eagerly. "You assume there was an actual thought process involved, man. There wasn't. It was sort of like . . ." Seth stopped. He fixed his attention on making a careful, well-timed lane change and hoped Ryan would ignore the unfinished thought.

"Like what?"

"Nothing."

"Like what, man?"

Seth adjusted the rear-view mirror. "Just . . . nothing, dude . . . So, two more exits, right?"

"Seth . . ." Ryan's voice was hard and suspicious. "Say it."

Seth took a deep breath. "Okay," he blurted. "It was sort of like what happened with you and Jamie at the party." Seth rushed the words, afraid that if he paused, he'd lose his nerve again. "I know it's not exactly the same, Ryan, but it is a little bit." Ryan's eyes narrowed, but Seth continued anyway. "You just acted on impulse, right? And it all backfired. Like it did with me. But you weren't looking to hurt Lindsay. Or trying to sabotage your relationship. Hooking up with Jamie—it was just something you did without thinking. Or well, not exactly something you did, since you got interrupted, but see, the point is--"

Ryan's face set into stony lines. "I get the point. Stop talking Seth."

He glanced over and saw Seth fold his lips together, his eyes dark and defeated, his shoulders slumped. "I mean," Ryan clarified, "maybe you're right. I don't know. Just . . . be quiet and let me think about it, okay?"

"You're not mad or anything? 'Cause, hand to Jesus and Moses, dude, I am not trying to make excuses here."

Ryan leaned his head back against the seat, closing his eyes. One hand had curled into a fist, and Seth watched it nervously.

"Ryan?"

"It's okay, Seth. I'm not mad. I just need to figure some things out."

Seth nodded slightly. "Okay. That's fair. You figure. I'll just sit here and . . . drive."

Ryan returned to staring vacantly out the window, but soon he could feel Seth move restlessly next to him, sitting up, sitting back, rolling his shoulders, jiggling his elbows, bobbing his head. After a few minutes of nonstop fidgeting, Ryan gave up. "You really want some music, don't you Seth?"

"Oh, God. So, so much, Ryan."

Ryan reached toward the CD player, paused. "Kirsten doesn't hear about this," he warned.

"Not from me, mi amigo," Seth guaranteed. "I'd do the whole lips-are-sealed routine, but that would involve taking a hand off the wheel."

"Besides which, your lips are never sealed."

"Yeah, that too," Seth grinned. "So we'll talk more . . ."

"Later," Ryan promised. "After I've had a chance to think . . . Okay, Seth, what's your musical preference today?"

Seth glanced over, registered in an instant that Ryan looked more relaxed, that the chill had left his voice. He shimmied a little with relief. "You know what, bro?" he declared happily. "This time? It's totally what you want."

TBC