"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.
Chapter 11
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Summer couldn't remember being happier. She could feel Atwood's strong body beside her as her head rested on his shoulder in afterglow. She could hear his deep breaths, rhythmically reminding her of his presence. Her head moved with his breath as he inhaled to speak. She sighed in satiation.
"There's an awful lot of peach in this room," Atwood said. She felt his head moving from side to side. "I would have guessed pink."
"Pink was high school," Summer told him. "I'm a real woman now. Besides, Zach objected strongly to pink in the bedroom. Just one of our 500 fights per day."
"Tell me about him," Atwood said.
"Zach?"
"Yeah."
"He was nice. He is nice, still," she said after thought. "I met him at a party my dad was having. He was nice and polite and thoughtful. He thought I was cute and funny, so I said yes when he wanted to go out on a date. Then another date. Then I said yes when he said we should visit Italy during winter break. Then while we were in Tuscany, I said yes when he asked me to marry him and yes when he wanted it to be right away.
"When I flew home, I was married to a nice guy I didn't love. Our fights were always about stupid stuff, like what color to paint the walls. We never talked about anything important. Just what things look like. Zach's parents are in politics, and now he's working for a junior congressman as an aide or something. I expect he'll run for office himself at some point. He'll probably win. Zach's really easy to say yes to."
Summer rolled over. She nuzzled her lips against Atwood's strong, thick throat.
"He wasn't you," she said into the warm pulse of his skin.
"You could be a congressman's wife?" Atwood said.
"No, I couldn't," Summer said. "I couldn't stay married to a nice guy like that while I loved somebody else. I couldn't keep fighting about nothing just to keep a spark in the bedroom. Also, his mom hated me, which made the divorce easier to go through."
"Really?"
"Oh, yeah," she said. "Whenever I started wavering, whenever I started thinking about staying married just because Zach's such a nice guy, I made myself think about 30 years of Thanksgiving dinners with his mom."
Summer shuddered.
"I signed those papers like Cole Trickle at the start of a race."
Summer ran her hand across the skin of Atwood's chest. She had taken her time all night, slowly assuring herself his body was the same as she remembered. She hadn't thought it possible, but his body was better than she remembered. He was a man now. Well, he had always been a man, but now she was a woman instead of a girl, and it made a difference.
"I had sex with my boss," Atwood said.
"I know," Summer said. "She came to see me. And she said you quit. What's up with that?"
Summer sat up in bed and frowned at Atwood. He didn't avoid her gaze.
"I'm not working for you anymore," he said. "If we're going to be together, we're going to be equals."
Summer thought about it.
"Fair enough," she said. "What are you going to do instead?"
Now Atwood did look away.
"I have some ideas. I still have a couple of jobs. I can keep my apartment."
Summer slid a fingertip from his throat down his sternum toward lower places. His hand grabbed her hand, blocking its downward slide. He brought the captured hand up to his mouth and kissed the fingers, one by one. Atwood caught her other hand and pushed her onto her back.
He kissed her once, right on the breastbone, before releasing her hands, sitting up and taking her right foot in his hands. He rubbed the foot with gentle strokes, thumbs finding the right pressure point in her arches unerringly. Wow, had she ever missed the patented Atwood foot massage. She felt her eyes rolling backward in their sockets, and she hoped no drool would emerge from her lips. She wiped them surreptitiously with the back of a hand before laying back and giving herself up to the pleasure.
"You still wear heels that are too tall," Atwood informed her. Too bad he always gave this lecture while rubbing her feet, because it was impossible to pay attention and suppress moans of delight at the same time. He pulled the toes gently.
"What's this color called?" Atwood said, waggling her big toe.
"Pruple mush," she mumbled.
"Purple moss," he interpreted accurately. He kept on rubbing. A gasp escaped Summer as his hands hit a particularly sensitive spot. Atwood placed her foot on his chest and put his hands on her calves, finding the spots where the tension of the work week settled.
"Auckgh," she said blearily.
"Shh," he said. "I want to tell you about Seth's dad."
Summer managed to focus enough on his face to see that he was genuinely concerned that she would be upset with him. When had she ever been upset with him? If she didn't count the times he didn't let her pay for stuff or the times he tried to break up with her or the times he took her dad's side, never, that's when. He really had nothing to fear. She had always been a reasonable person.
Atwood took her foot off his chest and picked up the left one.
"Seth's dad was my lawyer when I was in juvie," Atwood said. "After I got out, he helped me get the job working for your dad. Then after the divorce, he kind of dropped out of sight."
"I know that much," Summer said. "What's new?"
"A year or two ago, I ran into him again," Atwood said. "He's teaching law classes at the community center where I work sometimes. He takes some cases, not many. Mostly he works to stay off the bottle. Here's the thing: I don't know whether Seth would want to see his dad. I mean, I know he wants to see his dad, but I don't know whether he wants to see his dad like that. And I don't know whether Mr. Cohen wants to see Seth looking like that.
"But it's hard to see Seth without telling him. And it's hard to see Mr. Cohen without telling them. And I'm going to keep running into Seth as long as I'm seeing you, and I'm going to keep seeing Mr. Cohen as long as I work at the community center. And if I'm not working for the Martinezes, I need to keep working at the community center. I don't know what to do, Summer. That's what I came over to tell you."
His voice trailed off. It was an awful lot of words for Atwood to have produced. He had been agitated enough to stop rubbing her foot while he said them. She waved at him to resume rubbing while she thought about the situation. He did so. She couldn't decide whether it helped or hindered the thinking process.
"You know, Luke Skywalker wanted to know his dad, even if it turned out to be Darth Vader," she said finally. "I'm pretty sure Seth wants to see his dad, no matter what the situation is. So the question is whether Seth's dad wants to see him."
"So I have to tell him," Atwood said. "But what if he says no?"
"Then you'll still tell Seth anyway," Summer said, more sure of herself. Yes, the foot rub was definitely an aid to thinking clearly. She should arrange her life so she got more of them from Atwood. "And Seth's dad will have some advance warning that Seth wants to see him. So he can either set the terms himself, or he can let Seth set the terms. Surely he's a good enough lawyer to figure that out."
"Are you sure?"
"I know that Seth
needs to know where his dad is. Ever since Seth's mom went to
prison, he's been weird about family. I mean, he even wants me to
get back together with my dad, like that's ever going to
happen."
"Mrs. Cohen – prison?" Atwood said, stunned.
"Yeah, some kind of payoff scheme that went bad. Seth's grandfather did most of the shady dealing, from what I hear, but since Mrs. Cohen's name was on some of the paperwork, she got a Martha Stewart sentence. She'll be out in a couple of months. Mr. Nichol won't be out for a couple more years.
"So that's one thing that you and Seth have in common right now. You both have parents in prison. And you've had a lot longer to get used to the idea."
