"Seasons Change"

By Sister Rose

Rated R

The characters of "The O.C." belong to Fox, and no infringement of those rights is intended in this fictional work.

Many thanks to those of you still reading, especially famous99.

Chapter 10

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Summer stood up and punched Atwood in the belly. Hard. He deserved it.

Stupid Atwood, making her think he was going to dump her.

"I'm sorry," Atwood said, clutching his belly as if wounded Ha! Like a little tap like that hurt. "I wanted to tell you, but I couldn't until now."

"Not for that," Summer said, stomping toward the kitchen. She turned back toward him. "Well, yes for that, but not just that."

"Summer, what's wrong?" Atwood said, standing to follow her. She wasn't stopping though. She marched through the kitchen and out the door to the patio, where she stood in the bright sunlight, letting it soothe her.

Sunshine had always made her feel better. It was her namesake, after all, and she was just lucky to live in the land of endless summer. She felt the warmth on her shoulders and let it relax the tension in her back.

Atwood had followed her to the patio and was fumbling with the back door. He turned toward her, hesitantly. She waved him over to sit with her in the shade of her umbrella table, and he moved toward her, huddling one arm protectively over his stomach. He sat, eyeing her cautiously. He waited for her to speak.

Summer breathed in then out. She closed her eyes and thought for a minute. Telling the truth appeared to be her only option. Not that she wanted to lie to Atwood. She just didn't necessarily want him to know everything. It had hurt badly enough when he left last time that she wasn't eager to try it again.

On the other hand, nothing ventured, nothing gained. She plunged ahead.

"I thought you were trying to dump me," she said outright.

His squinting eyes told her that he had never contemplated such a thing. She watched him try to find the words to say it for her. She could have helped him out, but it was something she really needed to hear him say. She turned her gaze to the soft rippling of the water inside her swimming pool. The tile was supposed to be Mediterranean blue. She privately thought of it as Atwood blue. It matched his eyes.

She turned her head back toward him and checked. Sure enough, a true match.

"I'm sorry," Atwood said.

Summer reached over and picked up his blond hand, tanned and warm, in both of hers. She rubbed her thumbs in his palm, feeling the ligaments under her fingers. She felt his eyes on her neck. He covered her hands with his free hand, trapping them. She didn't move. She smelled the fresh, promising California air mixed with sun-warmed chlorine water and let her hands relax into his calloused grip.

Safety was in those hands. She wanted to keep them for herself forever. She breathed in the air that smelled like hope. She wanted to believe in its possibilities, but there had to be a hard conversation first, one she wasn't sure she could get through without weeping.

"I guess we need to talk," she said. "Have the conversation we should have had two nights ago."

Without looking up, she could feel Atwood nodding. Her eyes were still on their joined hands. She refused to believe there was anything the two of them couldn't overcome together. The trick would be convincing Atwood.

"Summer, when I left," Atwood began, "I was just trying to leave you before you got bored and ditched me. I thought it would hurt less that way. But it didn't. I'm still waiting for you to dump me. I wish you'd go ahead and get it over with."

She looked up at him, startled, and opened her mouth. He freed a hand and lifted it to touch her lips with one finger. He traced those lips with his finger, petal soft.

"I know I'm not the kind of guy you can marry," he said. "But I didn't want to be just -- whatever it was that we were. I didn't want to steal your future from you.

"Guys like me know we're not husband material," he went on. "And I was right. Without a dead-end loser like me dragging you down, you have this terrific house and a great job and lots of friends and your life is good. You're better off without me."

"Stop," Summer said. "Just stop."

She took a breath, unsure where to begin. It made her heart hurt when he talked about being a loser when he was the best man she knew.

"Let me tell you about my life," she said. "It's miserable. I hate my job. I hate this house that my parents and Zach's bought for us. My only friends are Luke and Seth. I hate being a Newpsie. I hate the country club.

"Things change, Ryan," she said, looking into his eyes so he would know she was sincere. "Seasons change. People change. I've changed. Yeah, even me. I have everything I thought I wanted, and I don't want any of it. This is what I know: I was happy when I was with you.

Summer read the uncertainty in his eyes. Her fish wanted the bait. She had to set the hook before he squiggled away.

"I told you I didn't think either one of us gave us a chance," she quickly said. "Let's give us a time limit."

"A time limit?"

"Let's date and go out and do all the things that normal boyfriends and girlfriends do for a set time period. Then we'll re-evaluate," Summer said. She had been successful with the time limit technique in the business world. She hoped it would work for her romantic world as well. She checked out Atwood's squint. He was intrigued. Good.

"How long?" he said.

"Let's give us two months," she said. "And just for the record, I don't spend my time with losers. But I do want to spend it with you."

She waited, barely breathing, while Atwood rolled the idea around in his mind. She licked her lips, hoping, hoping.

"OK," he said.

She didn't squeal, but she wanted to when he wrapped his free hand into the nest of hair behind her head and pulled her forward, cradling her neck. His strong back bowed as he leaned toward her. Summer breathed in nutmeg as she closed her eyes, waiting for his gentle kiss.

He pecked her lips and pulled away from her.

"Can we use your bedroom again?" he said.