Sugar and Gold

by Brea Viragh

  I heard the roar again just before the same SUV pulled up behind me once more, close enough to ram my rear bumper. Heart lodged in my throat, my eyes darted between the road in front and the rearview mirror, the silver menace right behind me.

  Definitely by design. Whoever sat behind the wheel was playing with me. I could veer to evade him...but then I thought about the risk of a broadside, or of losing control of my own vehicle and skidding off the road. Better to stay the course until I could get to safety.

  Muffler growling louder than a zoo full of wildcats, tires screeching along the pavement, whoever sat in the driver’s seat decided to pass along a double yellow line. This time they whipped past so fast I caught only a glimpse of silver paint flecked through with rust and nothing more.

  I breathed a sigh of relief at their passing, until I saw the flash of red taillights. A metallic taste flooded my mouth and my hands grew cold and stiff. In the span of time it took to split an atom, the truck came to a halt, brakes screeching and enough traction lost to have them swerving into the other lane and around to my driver’s side.

  Reacting without thinking, I reached an arm out to hold Frank in place as I slammed on my brakes. Gears ground and tread caught loose gravel, sending me into a spin toward the ditch. The landscape whirled until colors blended together in a surreal smoothie of blue and black. My seatbelt snapped. I tried hard to focus, block out the pain of the belt digging into my neck. Eyes watering, vision blurring, I knew I’d run out of time.

  Something flashed in my periphery, an impossibly quick blur before pain burst in my temples.

  The last thing I heard was the crunch of metal before the world went dark.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  I didn’t think the pain was bad. At first. It should have hurt more, I reasoned. Somehow, when you’re knocked unconscious, the pain shows up later, like a relative you haven’t seen in years suddenly trying to beat down the door.

  Then it hurts like a sonofabitch.

  “Essie? Essie, wake up.”

  It seemed like consciousness wanted to find me again pretty quickly. I groaned and fought back, raising a hand to the throbbing in my head. At least I was breathing. Alive, if not coherent. A swell of agony registered the moment I tried to pry open my eyelids. It ripped through me, crashing down hard and pushing me back. My shoulders were stiff, stuck in place, and it took several moments to recognize the high-pitched canine whimper.

  “Fra...”

  I tried to blink and found that my eyes refused to open. Permanently stuck closed instead of the customary open position. I cleared my throat against the panic, and grimaced when my everything reacted.

  “I...” I swallowed over the lump in my throat, each gulp like swallowing broken glass. “What happened?”

  “Steady. There you go.” A hand cupped my neck to hold my head up. “Keep talking and we’ll get you out of there, okay? Lean on me.”

  It took every ounce of strength to open my eyes. I shut them quickly again when black dots danced. Nausea swelled and rose. A strangled groan ripped through my throat when someone unlatched my seat belt.

  “Keep breathing. Steady.”

  I sagged as the material snapped, held securely by whatever humanitarian had managed to find me. My body ached like I’d been through a nuclear blast, legs turned to liquid.

  “I’m a bad dog owner,” I managed to get out, head lolling. A hiss of air escaped when those same hands wrapped around my shoulders and lifted me from the seat. “Bad, bad, bad.”

  “Hush.” The rusty baritone was a balm on my whiplash. “Your dog is fine. I’ve got him right here, safe and sound.”

  Both knees gave out the moment my feet hit the ground. I sagged against my rescuer, muscles shaking. “Frank?”

  “He’s here.”

  “He doesn’t...like men...”

  “Are you okay? Tell me you didn’t suffer some kind of brain injury. What day is it? Who’s the President?”

  “What...? I...” Suddenly I collapsed against a wall of muscles, eyes rolling back in my head. Images swam together before coalescing into a single recognizable face—complete with dark, rugged eyebrows and close-cropped facial hair.

  I scrambled away and immediately regretted the decision. Woozy, I dropped against the side of the car a split second before Isaac caught me and a picosecond away from puking. Teeth gnashed against my lower lip. I tasted blood.

  My heart took a nose dive into the shallow end of my stomach when his fingers tightened. “Don’t touch me,” I moaned. “You ran me off the road.” The palm of my hand found its way to my forehead, pressing hard when the world refused to stand still.

  The focus on damage would come later. The focus on anything beyond my anguish would come later. The focus on the man whose arms kept me standing would come later. At the moment, my tummy flipped and I bent over, heaving, focused on trying not to lose the contents of my stomach.

  Isaac huffed but didn’t let me go. “I was driving by on my way home and saw smoke. I didn’t run you off the road,” he said, his words colored by emotion. In this case, irritation. “You’re lucky I came by when I did or you might have been sitting here for hours. Feel free to thank me at any time.”

  The one item I managed to see, despite my wavy vision, was his truck. Or rather, the truck parked just a few feet from my car. I tried to point and burped instead. “You’re driving the SUV that hit me. Silver, chrome grille, tinted windows.”

  My memory conjured up the last moment before the crash, the SUV rocketing forward—

  “My mom’s truck? Impossible. I’m borrowing it while I get new tires on the Ford.”

  “Oh, God,” I moaned, squeezing my eyes tight against the nausea. “I’m going to be sick.”

  “Do it away from the shoes,” he said testily. “I just bought them yesterday and I want to keep them clean. My first new pair in, oh, three years.”

  A second burp had me remembering my afternoon snack: fried pickles. I placed a calming hand over my abdomen. “Take me to the hospital.”

  “You’ll be fine. How many fingers am I holding up?”

  It took effort to focus on him, and trying to count had me squeezing my eyes shut again. “Three.”

  “Close enough. You don’t need me to do mouth-to-mouth, right?”

  “Don’t you dare.”

  I tried to accept the fact that I’d crashed. There went my spotless driving record. Add to everything the dangerous game of chicken—which I lost—and I wanted to return to the sweet oblivion of unconsciousness. It was much better than facing reality. What was I going to do?

  A hand ran its way down my spine in a gesture halfway between soothing and awkward. “Tell me what happened,” Isaac prompted, trying to be sweet but falling short. “Then I’ll decide whether to take you to the hospital.”

  It was awkward, standing there in the quiet of evening, the two of us. “I crashed.” The car hissed in response to my words.

  Isaac cocked a hip to the side, his gaze dripping condescension. “Yeah, no shit, Sherlock.”

  “Someone in an SUV ran me off the road.”

  “Wait...what? They hit you?” he asked on a growl.

  “They tried to m-murder me.”

  “Are you sure it wasn’t an accident?”

  “It wasn’t!” I fired back, trying to push away before his prying and my lying came head to head. “You said I should w-watch my b-back.” My stomach heaved and I bent at the waist again, focusing on each breath in and out. Mind racing and trying to connect dots that didn’t seem like they belonged on the same continent.

  Please don’t let me hurl in front of him. I sent a silent plea to the sky and hoped my prayer was heard.

  “I never said anything like that,” Isaac snapped, massaging his temples.

  “You said...you said you were sure we’d run into each other.” I didn’t know you meant it literally.

  He let out an exasperated breath and took a step in the opposite direction, causing me to falter. “Yeah, o
f course. The town has a single stoplight and limited restaurant options. Hell, it has one grocery store, which your dad owns. We’re bound to see each other from time to time. What did you think I meant? Definitely not murder.”

  There it was again. The fury. His voice had softened but I still heard the rough syllables beneath. When I opened my eyes, I expected the full weight of his infamous glower to match his words.

  It wasn’t there. Isaac stared at his feet and refused to glance at me. But I saw the tightness around his mouth. I knew he was upset. And because of that, I also knew he hadn’t done this.

  My mind floated in the clouds and I had a difficult time catching a single cohesive thought. A low growl caught my attention. I swiveled; the motion sent a fresh round of agony. An assault against my senses.

  I held my hands out, hoping they were steady. “Frank?”

  Isaac obliged by plucking the pup up from where he’d been tied to the non-damaged rear fender. “Nice little shit dog you have here. He’s about as friendly as a shark on land.”

  “He doesn’t like men,” I repeated.

  Isaac snorted. “He’ll have to get used to me.”

  “No. He won’t.” The dog’s weight settled in my arms to echo the leaden feeling in my chest. Still unstable, I leaned against the car door and struggled to draw air into my lungs. “I could have died.”

  “You’re fine,” Isaac insisted. “You aren’t bleeding anywhere, and I checked you for broken bones before you moved. Take my word.”

  “Glad you got your grope in while I was blacked out. Is revenge really worth a life?”

  His face darkened and I instantly regretted the words. “Whatever crazy idea you have about me,” he thundered, “forget it. I may have been in prison, but I don’t hurt women. I would never run you off the road, no matter how I feel. End of story.”

  “You always took things too far,” I said softly. Memories of our high school years flashed for a moment before disappearing. Ephemeral. “You were the instigator of every prank.”

  Isaac stuck his hands in his pockets and perused me. “Yes, I was. I’ve changed.”

  Another deep lungful of air to ward off the nausea. “You act like you hate me.”

  “Sugar, the past is in the past.” He kicked a tire. “We’ve all done bad things. I’m angry, yes. I’ve got a shit-ton of things to work out, yes. That doesn’t mean I want you dead.”

  The car popped and sizzled, breaking the awkward silence following his statement. The word dead echoed in my mind when I turned my attention to the wreck, limping toward the hood. Miracles must really happen, because I was walking away from a serious accident without a broken bone or concussion. With my luck, I’d just used up my miracle quota for, well, life.

  “Maybe I should get some X-rays done,” I muttered. “I don’t trust you and your fondling.”

  If looks could kill, I would be stone cold on the ground. “Maybe I should take you to the hospital. You’ve obviously done some damage to your head.”

  If the rest of me weren’t ready to fall and scream, I’d have bolted through the woods and away from Isaac. He stood tall, the haze of night lending his features a rugged, almost menacing cast. All six-foot-four inches of him stared at me, with arms crossed over his chest and expression dour. I wondered, briefly, if the other inmates had been afraid of him.

  Even flying on winged feet I would have no chance of outrunning him. Those legs probably ate up the ground in double-time. “Why do you look like you want to strangle me?”

  “Maybe because I do.”

  “But you helped me?” Definitely more a question than a statement.

  “Yes, I helped you. Because beneath the anger I feel, there’s something else. Something I can’t put my finger on when it comes to you. I intend to find out what it is. Hey.” He tilted his head. As if he’d noticed my bones had suddenly turned to jelly. “Are you okay?”

  I assured him, while the earth tilted on its axis, “I’ve never been better.”

  “Then why do you look like you’re ready to fall over?”

  I refused to give in to those smooth words. His hand shot out when I started to go down, wrapping around my arm and holding me in place. Firm, demanding, and oddly soothing.

  “You don’t have to be strong with me, Es.”

  I jolted from the contact, gripping Frank tight as a tremor shot straight through me and out the other side. The night of the arrest, three years ago, roared back in startling clarity, so lightning fast my teeth clacked together. The air whooshed from my lungs.

  I remembered the cabin. With a light tap-tap of branches on the window pane, four of us sat around a table, with a single white package at its center—

  Tonight, as then, there was no time to react. Not when Isaac whirled me toward his truck, feet slapping down on the ground in time to catch my balance. There was temper there, turning his eyes dark. Hot. There was enough heat behind his gaze to have an equal reaction slithering down my throat in an odd combination of fear and arousal. A pinch of each but plenty enough to confuse me. I couldn’t tell if he was still mad at me, or about the accident.

  “Get in the car. It’s time to leave.”

  Go on, try it. You know you want to.

  I stared up into his eyes, waiting for something between us to ease or snap. Whatever came first. “I want to go home.” I fought for consciousness, my vision narrowed to a single dot, trying my best to hold on, to not go out while Isaac’s fingers heated my skin.

  Those unforgettable eyes continued to bore into mine. When he spoke, triumph colored the syllables. “Then you’re going to have to get in the truck, because there’s no way you can drive.”

  Spending even a second in an enclosed space with Isaac sounded like sweet torture at the moment. I wanted to rage against his high-handed tone, to spit in his face for the cold injustice of the situation. This was not the way I’d pictured my night going. Or the way I’d pictured the conversation I’d intended to have with him. No way I could get to the heart of his temper issues when I had trouble remembering my name.

  “Fine.” I gestured toward the passenger door. “Lead the way.”

  The cab smelled of Hawaiian Tropics air freshener and disinfectant, the kind hospitals used to keep people calm. With Frank nestled in the crook of my arm, I fought to ignore the aches. I was slowly discovering the price of my accident and the toll even a fender bender could take on the human physique. Mine wouldn’t be in fighting shape for days, if this headache was anything to go by. It felt like a hippopotamus was dancing the samba in my brain. And doing a poor job of it, too.

  Already a lump the size of an ostrich egg had formed at the top of my left ear. I ran my fingers around it, past it, searching my skull for any other sore spots.

  “I’m sure you got yourself a good knock on the noggin,” Isaac commented on my inspection. He spared another glance before turning the key in the ignition. “I found you with your head against the steering wheel. Be happy you don’t have a concussion, although your skull is hard enough to protect you. The urge to vomit was a little worrisome.”

  “The pukey stomach was because I saw you.”

  “I’m going to assume you’re grateful and confused. You’re lucky I came along when I did. Who knows what might have happened to your precious pooch if, say, the gas can had happened to catch a random spark and ignite? You were out cold.”

  “You’d like that,” I retorted. My fingernails caught a scratch on my forehead and I winced.

  He growled, fingers tightening on the steering wheel. They released a second later amidst a you-can’t-get-under-my-skin sigh. “I don’t know why you insist on painting me as the villain. Contrary to popular belief, I’m a nice guy. Don’t let the irritation fool you.” Isaac leaned one arm out the window, keeping the other firmly at the top of the wheel.

  I had realized the fact, actually, once upon a time. Back when Mary Beth and her big mouth were correct, and I’d wanted to join Isaac on his round of pranks planned for the ho
mecoming football team. We’d already graduated by then, although the rounds of newly minted seniors were our buddies. I’d had an ulterior motive beyond aching to take part in the chicanery. There was a certain fair-haired boy I’d had my eye on. Any opportunity to get close was one I’d take. Imagine my surprise when he wanted to join me for the party with Brad and Trent. Me.

  Funny how things changed.

  I took in his sagging posture, my semi-guardian angel in ripped blue jeans, and I remembered the boy he used to be. A little rough around the edges. Abrasive at times? You betcha. And yet the sort of guy you called in the middle of the night because your car broke down somewhere and your parents didn’t even know you’d snuck out. He had bailed me out of more than my fair share of scrapes once school let out, that good ol’ country boy, and what had I done for him?

  Kept my mouth shut when it should have been open.

  There’s no point in agonizing over it again, I thought. No matter how many times I told myself to let go...it was too late.

  “You need to take a left up here.” I motioned with my chin, and a zip of pain rewarded my effort.

  “I know where you live,” Isaac answered curtly.

  Of course he did. It figured. I glanced down to where Frank lay on my lap and wondered at his reaction. Why wasn’t he barking his head off at Isaac?

  “What do you plan to do?” I asked by way of conversation, needing something to fill the space between Isaac and me. It was too heavy.

  “What? Tonight?” He leered in my direction. “Are you asking me for something, Essie?”

  “Absolutely not. Do not mistake my politeness for an invitation. I meant in general.”

  Isaac flicked his blinker and took the left turn slowly. “For someone in your position, you should learn to be nicer to people. It wouldn’t kill you.”

  The dirt road wound higher into the hills, where steep crags and boulders marked the basis to higher mountains. Though trees blocked our view, I knew come wintertime I would be able to watch the sun sink over those blue ridges.

  “Someone in my position,” I repeated.