The Driving Force

Ryan seriously considers canceling. There are a dozen excuses he could use: a sudden illness, a forgotten engagement, restrictions on the clinic's visiting hours. Unfortunately, there's not a dishonest bone in his body and he can't deny that he wants to see Summer again.

Still, he approaches the Roberts house with caution. Summer hasn't shown her face at the Cohen household since the cookout, which means it's been nearly a week and they haven't discussed what happened. She might not even remember agreeing to accompany him. Or worse, what if she remembers and is desperately hoping for him to forget?

Ryan freezes on the porch, the thought gluing him to his spot too late, as his finger has already pressed the bell. Dr. Roberts' gaze is sharp as he observes, "You're not Seth."

"Ah, no." There's the root of all his problems, Ryan thinks. He's not Seth. He doesn't come from a loving family with a good reputation and a large trust fund to fall back on. He has nothing to offer. "Er – is Summer home? We have a – uh, we made, uh –"

Luckily, either Dr. Roberts remembers the discomfort of being seventeen and under the scrutiny of a girl's father or he's late for an appointment, because he steps back to allow Ryan entry and says, "She's in her room. You can go on up."

Ryan has never gained access to a girl's bedroom so quickly. There's a bounce in his step for a moment until he realizes why it was so easy – he is not a threat. He is the loyal friend of the boyfriend, who has no chance and would never even dream of seducing the lovely daughter.

"Ryan!" The lovely daughter looks panicked at the moment, jumping off her bed and tugging anxiously at the sleeves of her sweatshirt. "What're you doing here?"

She had forgotten. Ryan shifts uncomfortably, unsure of how to recover from his obvious mistake. "It's, uh, Saturday," he says, hating how dumb he sounds. "We were … well, it's no big deal. We were supposed to visit Kirsten."

"I know," Summer says, in a way that makes him believe she's not lying or covering up her absentmindedness. "I just … well, I wasn't sure if you'd come." She laughs a little, sounding as nervous as he feels. "Let me just throw on some decent clothes."

"Are you sure?" He lingers in the doorway, trying his best to avoid the lacy black bra that hangs from the knob of her closet. "You don't have to come, if you have other plans or something, you know."

"No, I want to," she's quick to assure him, her words coming out all in a rush. She, too, is aware of the conspicuous lingerie and is dying a slow death of acute embarrassment. "I mean, if you want me there."

"I want you." Ryan realizes immediately how that might sound and releases a half-chuckle, half-groan, sliding his palm over his face. "I mean, I'd like the company. I'll, uh, just wait here. Not right here. In the hall. While you change."

"Five minutes," Summer promises, already easing the door shut.

He spends that time studying the wallpaper's pattern, trying to burn from his mind the image of the bra, of how Summer might look wearing it. It's frustrating how one glimpse is making his body go into overdrive. Ryan's not twelve, he's unhooked a few bras in his time. He's seen women's bodies; has traced their curves and tasted their skin. He's not half as tongue-tied and inexperienced as Summer makes him feel.

He needs to pull himself together, he decides. No more stuttering and suffering through awkward pauses, not for Ryan Atwood. He's smoother than that. Besides, he doesn't have to impress Summer. She's attached and he's attached and they are Just Friends. Capital letters and all.

Then the door swings open, revealing Summer in a knee-length khaki skirt and an olive green tank top. It's a casual outfit with neutral tones and respectable cuts, but there's a hint of sexuality in the bare shoulders, the scoop neck, the dangling black beads of the necklace she threads through her fingers. She's had it picked out since Thursday, lying in wait at the back of her closet in case he really does show up.

"Okay," Summer declares, her voice bright and cheery even though her throat has just constricted at the sight of him drinking her in. Ryan's eyes … it's like being swallowed by a sea, she thinks, and tries to shake away the effect his stare has on her. "Ready."

XXX

It's a short drive, thank God, because it turns out Summer's skirt is only a decent length when she's standing upright. Once she's taken her place in the passenger seat, it rides up, revealing an extra three inches of tanned, toned leg that makes Ryan rethink keeping his eyes on the road. Worse, she can't seem to sit still – she fiddles with the radio dials, that necklace, her hair, and he wants those fingers somewhere else entirely.

For her part, Summer tries valiantly to make small talk, but Ryan's answers are all staccato one-word statements, like miniature gunshots. Each time he shoots down her attempts, it's like a hole is pierced in her lungs, making it harder to draw in breath. The air inside the car gets so uncomfortable that she's forced to roll down the window, damning the inevitable tangles and frizz. It's obvious he doesn't care how perfect her hair is, anyway, and she can't really expect him to.

"Here we are," he finally announces, shifting into park and breathing a sigh of relief. Summer slides out of the car and Ryan stays put, trying to redirect his focus to the matter at hand. He is going to visit the woman he considers a mother, and she is very sick, and he needs to concentrate on her, not …

"Hey." Summer, having gone around to his side of the SUV, now pokes her head through the window, eyes narrowed in concern. "You okay?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine," he lies, his skin tingling at her sudden closeness. "Just … collecting my thoughts."

"You sure you want to do this?" Frowning, Summer lays her hand lightly on his shoulder. It's meant to be a comforting gesture, but all it does is quicken his already racing heartbeat. "No one said you had to, you know."

"No, I do." That much, Ryan is sure of. Kirsten has given him so much, a life he never could have dreamed of, a life she could have withheld and had every right to. She took a chance on him. He owes her everything. "I need to see her. She's been … she's …"

"She's your mom," Summer supplies. It sounds so simple coming from her lips and Ryan can't help wondering why whenever he's at a loss for words, Summer has the perfect ones at the ready. "I get it."

He thinks that she doesn't, that she couldn't possibly, and then he looks at her and knows that she's telling the truth. She's curving her mouth upwards, offering him a smile to calm his nerves, but her teeth catch and chew the bottom lip. Her eyes are soft and kind, but there's a worry swirling in their depths that he hadn't noticed before.

"I'm sorry," he says, suddenly understanding that he's been selfish. "I forgot, I didn't realize … you love her, too."

Summer shrugs. It's true that he's not the only one Kirsten has acted as a surrogate mother for. One of the biggest perks of her relationship with Seth has been the package deal of a ready-made family: takeout dinners that taste better than anything her maid ever serves and sage advice from the kind of adults she's previously only seen on after schools specials.

"She's easy to love," she replies, forcing the words past the lump in her throat. She'd been so intent on Ryan's obvious nerves throughout the ride that she hadn't even thought this trip could be hard on her. "Even with … everything she's going through. She's still more of a mother than I've ever had."

Ryan nods. "Me, too."

They sit in the parking lot for a few minutes, reveling at this new connection. Neither of them had ever considered the fact that they might be more alike than they thought. Ryan, born in Chino and raised to fight for everything, and Summer, born with a silver spoon in her mouth and raised to never have to ask for anything.

But they both knew what it was like to be abandoned by the one woman in the world who was supposed to protect you. They'd both lost their innocence too early and learned to hide the scars. And they both knew what it was like to want something they couldn't have.

"Come on," Summer says, dragging her hand down his arm until her fingers tangle with his. She gives his hand a gentle tug. "We've come this far. We'd better get in there before visiting hours end."

Ryan acquiesces with a grunt, stepping out of the car and squaring his shoulders. He looks like he's preparing for a battle, his jaw clenched, his grip tense and a little tighter than necessary. Without thinking about it, Summer pops onto her tiptoes and presses a kiss to his cheek. "Let's do this," she directs him, very seriously, and leads the way.

Following along behind her, his hand still clasped around hers, Ryan hates himself for wishing she wasn't just talking about visiting Kirsten.