The Complete Captive Heart Duet: Lost and Found

by Aarons, Carrie

I don’t bother waiting for him to answer. My heart is in my throat as I spring from one cabin to the next, trying to find anything that could pass as a blanket. Nothing in cabin three or two, but I do find two thin blankets, more like sheets but they’ll do, in cabin one. I also find an old ratty sleeping bag over in cabin eight and haul that with me too.

  Tucker is still writhing in pain when I get back to the cabin, and I quickly pull two mattresses off the bottom bunks he’s laying between. I spread them out in the open front hallway, if you can even call it that, of the structure and throw one of the thin blankets on top.

  “Tuck … can you move over here?” I try to approach him gently, laying my hand on his shoulder.

  “Fuck!” He flinches away from my hand like I’ve burned him.

  “Sorry! Can you crawl over there?” I point to my makeshift bed.

  He lurches his body forward, doing what looks like a sort of army crawl. He looks handicapped, uncoordinated and just … sick.

  An image of a nineteen-year-old Tucker on my TV screen flashes through my brain. The way his big, muscular body would fly across the University of Connecticut football field. How he would look graceful but dynamic as he leapt into the air to retrieve the ball. I’d watched every one of his college games on TV … well, until …

  Tucker slams his body down with another cry of agony, and I snap out of memory lane. I throw the other thin blanket on top of him and then the sleeping bag follows. He’s a big, shivering pile of blankets in the middle of the dingy cabin.

  “How is that?” I kneel next to him, trying to get him to look me in the eye.

  “I’m cold. But on fire.” Tucker reaches for my hand. “Please …”

  I don’t know what more he wants me to do. I have no idea how long it will take him to detox, but I pray to God that it’s swift.

  The only other option is to stay with him, to lie under those ratty blankets and give him my body heat.

  I falter. Laying this close to him, even with the state he’s in, is bound to lead nowhere good for me.

  Tucker gives another twitch and makes that dying animal sound again.

  There isn’t a choice. He’s in pain, and for some reason I have a conscience. So here we go.

  I slip under and pull him as close as I can to my body. He crosses his arms over his chest and tucks his head, curling himself into the nook between my chin and chest. I wrap my short legs in his long ones, willing the warmth from my skin to seep into his.

  Tucker shakes and weeps uncontrollably until the first lights of the sun stream into the cabin. And then finally, finally, he drifts off. I watch him, at peace at last, until I can’t hold my eyes open anymore and give myself over to blissful sleep.

  11

  Charlotte

  Ten Years Ago

  There is only ever one thing I wish for on my birthday.

  For Tucker Lynch to like me back.

  Another year, another party with just me, my parents and my Nana. No one from school came, not even the two girls from my English class that I casually mentioned it to.

  I didn’t expect them to come. It’s not going to be a long party anyway. A short dinner and a cake after, of which I’m only allowed to have a half-slice (mother’s orders), and then off to dance lessons.

  “Do you need to go get your leotard on?”

  I haven’t even made it to the frosting yet and already my mother is hassling me. Happy sixteenth birthday, Charlotte.

  “Does she really need to go today, Rachel?” Wow. Dad standing up for me. That was a rare occurrence.

  “John, will you just be quiet! You don’t parent her any other time, so why would you speak up now? I do everything, remember?”

  Jeez, now I realize why he didn’t speak up more. I wouldn’t want to poke the fire-breathing dragon either. Not that it mattered. She yelled at me whether I poked her or not.

  “It’s fine, Dad, I’ll go. It was nice to see you, Nana.” I kissed my grandmother’s cheek before heading upstairs.

  I kind of wanted to go to ballet tonight. Bleeding feet were better than sitting in your room, depressed and listening to Boyz II Men on an endless loop.

  As soon as I pushed open the door, the endless stacks of college brochures spilled off my desk. Sighing, I bent to pick them up.

  What high school sophomore had over fifty college pamphlets that she was forced to study? Oh, right. Me. When your mother was insane and incessant, you pretty much followed her letter of the law.

  And even when she wasn’t, I put so much pressure on myself out of fear of her disappointment that I thought my back would surely break one of these days.

  “Are you almost ready?” Mom pushed my half-closed door open.

  “Just changing now.”

  She enters my room, causing my stomach to cramp. “Why didn’t anyone come tonight, Charlotte?”

  I pin it on myself. “I just didn’t want to make a big deal of it is all.”

  She surveys me, trying to get inside of my brain. I’ve built up defenses against her though. I know how to play the open book while keeping everything close to the vest. I’ve trained my entire life for her inquisitions.

  “I thought Tucker might come?”

  Do you know what’s worse than having the boy you secretly love use you and then ignore you? Hearing from your mother how great she thinks he is. And how you should really try to “get back together” with him.

  In a moment of weakness, I’d told her about the kiss at camp. She’s been holding it over me for almost two years, trying to convince me to basically slut myself out to get my clutches into the most popular guy in school. As if he didn’t cut my heart in half with a rusty blade.

  Real healthy, right? Encouraging your daughter to change everything about herself for a boy.

  No wonder I’m so messed up.

  “I’ll be down in a few minutes, Mom. Just have to change.”

  Thankfully, she gets the hint and leaves. I only take one minute to let a few of the unshed tears out I’ve been holding all day.

  Because for some stupid, little girl, fantasy reason … I thought Tucker might come too. That today would be the day he discovered his feelings for me and came rushing to tell me.

  Happy birthday to me.

  12

  Tucker

  There is this sensation that overwhelms your body when you wake up next to someone.

  Obviously the greatness of that sensation varies depending on your relationship with the person. But even if it’s just a one night stand, a messy fuck and a morning after, there are still those couple of seconds when you come back to reality and out of the land of dreams. Unadulterated bliss simply at the comfort of touching another human being. For those couple of seconds there is no loneliness in the entire world, there is serenity and peace, the kind that can only come when you’re not quite sleeping but not quite awake.

  That is why, when I wake tangled up in Charlotte, that I think I must still be dreaming. The smell of her hair, the softness of her skin, the way her lips move marginally when she lets out a deep breath … this must be the things of my fantasy. Because surely she can’t be here.

  It’s why I move my head, my whole body aching in the process, to plant a soft kiss on her forehead.

  “Don’t hurt me!”

  Faster than the speed of light, she jumps up, hands at the ready like she’s going to go a couple rounds in the ring.

  “Jesus, Char, calm the fuck down!” I’m shocked to find it wasn’t a dream, but also a little embarrassed. It’s weird, and the creepiness that I’m kissing the woman I’ve kidnapped isn’t lost on me.

  She lets her guard down, her breaths coming out in labored puffs. We stare at each other in awkward silence for a few moments.

  “How do you feel?” She’s now avoiding my eye contact.

  I push up from the stingy mattresses on the floor, wondering how the hell we both got down here.

  “I’m feeling a lot better actually,” I twist my neck, rotate my shoulders and
stretch my body. “Still achy, but better. Uh … thanks, for uh … seeing that I didn’t die.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  “I’m going to go make something to eat.” She doesn’t ask if I want to come, just stands in the doorway to the cabin.

  “I’m going to stay here. I couldn’t eat anything if I tried.”

  Char doesn’t stay to talk more, just leaves.

  What do we do now? I haven’t thought about how much trouble I’m in or who might be looking for us up until now. Detoxing has been at the forefront of my brain, body and just about everything else.

  But what the fuck am I going to do? Even if I give Char the keys and tell her to go, I’m still on the run for kidnapping and robbery. If I did let her leave, she’d surely bring the police or whoever else back here to get me.

  I can’t go to jail. I’ll die before I do. I might have turned into a street-wise drug addict, but it doesn’t mean I want to fuck with the type of people who go to prison.

  They have no idea where we are. No one could have looked at those tapes before we made it here. They wouldn’t have even been looking yet. I destroyed her phone, we didn’t use any credit cards or stop anywhere. Camp Marsh is closed up for the winter, no one will be back here for at least six months. That is enough time to formulate a plan.

  * * *

  I don’t see Char for the rest of the day. I don’t seek her out and she doesn’t come to me. By the time I make my way to the mess hall to try and choke down some crackers, there is no sign of her.

  I manage to eat a whole piece of bread and gulp down some water, and thank God my stomach doesn’t reject them. My body still aches and my stomach feels like I’m on a Tilt-a-Whirl even when I lay down, but I feel better than I’ve felt in years.

  Nothing is dulled, I can actually see and feel the things around me without a hazy curtain floating in front of it all. And while that might lead to more hurt and pain, it also leads to more joy and opportunity. I’ve been using drugs for more than three years, and in all that time I’ve never really felt anything.

  Not that I’m not still craving. Fuck, if you put even a speck of heroin in front of me right now I would latch onto it like someone about to fall off a cliff. You can’t go three years shooting up and two days sober and just be cured. But I don’t really have a choice right now. My drugs are gone. I’m stuck here. I’ll have to deal with it.

  It’s pitch black by the time I get back to my cabin, the cold air seeping in through the tiny cracks in the wood. It was only going to get colder out here in the mountains.

  I wonder if Charlotte has a blanket?

  I glance to the mattresses on the ground, ones I assume she put there last night. And the pile of flimsy blankets and an old sleeping bag. She probably left them all here for me, while she sleeps with nothing.

  Grabbing the heaviest of the three, the sleeping bag, I heft it under my arm and walk to her cabin.

  “Char?” I knock once before letting myself in. “Oh shit … sorry.”

  Charlotte’s naked back is to me, the only thing on her slim figure is the baggy sweatpants she’s been wearing since she found them. Her hair is wet and hanging down her back in a thick, straight mass. I trace the lines of her sides down to her waist and can’t seem to tear my eyes away.

  “Oh my God, Tucker, what are you doing?!”

  I turn around fast, preserving whatever decency still exists in this situation. “Sorry, I was bringing you the sleeping bag. I thought you might be cold.”

  “Oh.” I think I hear a touching note in her voice. “Well … thanks.”

  “Yep.” I drop the sleeping bag next to the door and go to leave. Except her voice stops me.

  “What is the plan here, Tucker?”

  Jeez, she always could read my mind. “I can’t let you leave, Charlotte.”

  Her words are quiet. “I know.”

  “I’m not going to hurt you, but I can’t let you leave.”

  When I turn back around she’s put her shirt on, to my cock’s disappointment. She only nods.

  I’m not sure what else to say to her.

  “Tucker … the drugs …”

  I sigh, because I know she’s trying to ask me the same question she asked last night. “What about them, Char?”

  She sees the opening I’ve given her and takes it. “How long have you been using?”

  “Three or so years.”

  Her expression changes into one of shock. “Ever since …”

  “Yes. Since the injury.”

  “And is it because of the pain? Because of your knee?”

  She’s referring to my left knee. The one I shattered and tore and broke. The one that was beyond repair, murdering my dreams. “At first. But not now. Not anymore.”

  “Then why keep doing them?”

  I’d asked myself that question so many times that the answer was so simple now.

  “Because I have nothing else left.”

  13

  Tucker

  Four Years Ago

  Nothing like football to make a player feel the biggest and best high you could ever imagine.

  When I step out onto that field I feel invincible. The world is my oyster, my playground and every other metaphor you could use.

  There is nothing that makes a man feel like a God more than forty thousand people chanting your name.

  This is it, my last home game at UConn. The last time I’ll walk onto this field with my brothers, my teammates. The last time this game will be played for pure fun and love of the game. In a couple of months, I’ll be off to the NFL, hopefully drafted in the first round. ESPN’s been predicting I go first or second … they say I’m one of the best wide receivers this game has ever seen.

  Damn right I am.

  Heisman finalist, NCAA record shatterer and two-time conference champion. I’ve led the entire Division I league in receiving yards this year and scored the most touchdowns of any UConn player in a single season in the history of the school.

  Today is just a consolation game, a wrap-up to the season since we didn’t make any bowl games this year. I don’t mind though, go out on an easy finale, pick up and train hard for the combine and the draft.

  We’re already ten minutes into the first quarter and I’ve scored one touchdown. Let’s see if I can’t tack on a few more to solidify my record.

  My quarterback waves me over, yells a route in my face, and then the huddle breaks. I take my spot on the right side of the field, my runners stance ready and waiting for the QB’s call like it’s a gun shooting off at the beginning of a race.

  Once I hear the count-off and call, I book it. I skirt my defender easily; this guy is a total amateur. Above me, the crowd starts screaming louder, chanting, “Lynch, Lynch, Lynch!”

  The turf beneath my cleats feels more familiar than my own feet do. The day is overcast, so there is no sun in my eyes or shadows on the field. Perfect. This day, this game, the end of this season. All perfect.

  I cut left and turn my head, looking over my shoulder to see where I need to be to catch the ball.

  But then I hear a crack and a loud snap, and all of a sudden I’m tumbling to the ground, rolling over and over myself until I land face first with a mouthful of rubber pellets.

  I’m disoriented and confused. I’ve never fallen like that before. I’ve been tackled or pulled down, but to trip over my own highly-coordinated two feet? That’s just embarrassing.

  I shift to stand up, shake it off … and it’s then that the blinding hot pain shoots out from my knee and spreads throughout my entire body.

  “AHHHH!” I can’t help the tortured scream that rips from my throat.

  I bend my knee and grab it, which only makes everything worse. The pain is so bad that I can’t take a deep breath, my lungs and heart have stopped working there is so much agony going on in my left leg.

  The team trainer stops short when he reaches me. “Lynch … what is it?”

  “My … knee.” I can barely form words.
It feels like someone is both burning and gutting me at the same time.

  The trainer touches my kneecap, and I can hear the bones break apart and shift when his fingers probe them.

  “FUCK! Stop!”

  He can’t touch me again. I think I might pass out. The pain is growing larger by the second.

  I turn my head to see my teammates kneeling just yards away, tears coming out of some of their eyes. Are they crying? For me?

  The last thing I see before the pain takes over and the world fades to black is my father, running towards me, a mix of fear and anger clouding his features.

  He’s going to hate me for this.

  14

  Tucker

  “A career ending injury. Do you know that’s what the doctors actually called it?”

  Char hasn’t taken her eyes off of me since I started talking. I don’t even think she’s blinked. Not that I can tell what she’s thinking. I never could. Now that I think of it, it’s probably not fair that she’s always had that upper hand on me.

  “Unrepairable. They could get me back to the point where my knee could function and walk properly, but my range of motion fell below seventy percent. Imagine that, huh? Waking up from surgery to be told that you’ll never be able to run normally again. That the dream you’ve had since you were nine-years-old is over. That your future is done.”

  I pound my fist into the wood of the bunk I’m sitting on. “Never a major injury. Not one. Sure I had pulls and the occasional broken finger, but nothing I couldn’t play through. And then BAM. One misstep and I lost my entire career.”

  I bite down the bile and anger threatening to explode from within me.

  “Why the drugs?” She won’t let this question go.

  I sigh, feeling some sort of cursed relief at actually talking to someone about this. “At first it was the pain meds. My broken knee and ACL tear were pure agony. I popped Vicodin like it was candy. That went on for about six months before the doctors stopped prescribing them. So I turned to regular old weed for a month, but that wasn’t helping at all. An ex-teammate found a way for me to score cocaine. But that left me too hyped up and anxious. I wanted to feel depressed and numb. So, I had a dealer at the time who suggested heroin.”