Four Letter Word

by J. Daniels

  “What happened?” I asked, giving his hand a squeeze.

  Brian kept his eyes on the windshield as he spoke.

  “I was already driving home when they issued the state of emergency. I was going about forty and I most likely pushed it faster hitting the incline. Like I said before, my truck got around fine in bad conditions. Didn’t have a problem getting up the hill.” He paused, and I felt the muscles in his hand tighten. “Wish I would’ve. Wish I would’ve hit that black ice on my way up and slid off the road instead of hitting it at the top like I did. Maybe it’d be me in that chair instead of the kid.”

  Agony pinched in my chest.

  “Don’t say that.”

  “That hill, it’s as steep on the way down as it is on the way up,” he continued, his voice hard and unforgiving with himself. “You can’t see what’s over it until you’re at the top and I knew that. I’ve driven this way for years. I should’ve slowed down, especially with the conditions, the visibility, the fucking ice, it was everywhere, but I didn’t. I pushed up that hill like I always did and I lost control.”

  I looked out the windshield then, finally turning away from Brian’s profile, and squinted, tilting my head down to see the top of the hill.

  “Were they driving this way?” I asked. “Did you cross lanes?”

  “They were on this side, stopped about a third of the way down the hill but not out of the road completely. Their back end was still in it. That’s what I hit.”

  I looked at him again.

  His eyes were cast down on the wheel.

  “I was going too fast to slow down. I didn’t have time to react and it was too late anyway. I slammed into their car. Crushed the back end so bad it looked like a fuckin’ two-seater. Police had to use the jaws of life to get the doors open and get to the backseat. That’s where their son was sleeping.”

  My hands tightened around his.

  “Did anyone else get hurt? Did you?” I asked softly.

  His eyes sliced to mine. They looked as cold as his voice sounded.

  “Yeah, I had a few cracked ribs. My knee was a little banged up, but I could fucking walk. It was nothing. Same with the parents. They had minor burns from the air bags, a few bruises. But the kid? Owen? He was unconscious for a week. A fucking week! For seven days his parents didn’t know whether their kid was going to live or not, and then when he finally did wake up, they had the pleasure of telling him he’d never walk again. How fucked up is that?” He paused, shaking his head and breathing a choked laugh. “That kid fell asleep able to do everything. Then he wakes up a week later and he’s paralyzed. He’ll never walk again because of me. He’ll never do anything.”

  “But you said you hit ice.”

  “I did. It’s why I lost control.”

  I studied him hard, reading his guilt and his blame and not understanding any of it.

  “Then…Brian, it’s not your fault,” I told him, wiping the tears from underneath my glasses then regripping his hand. “You would’ve lost control no matter how fast you were going if there was ice. It was an accident.”

  He sighed, rubbed at his face with the hand I wasn’t clutching, then dropped his head against the seat and stared out the window.

  “Christ, you sound just like them.”

  “Who?” I asked.

  “Jamie. Jenna. Cole. Everyone who doesn’t fuckin’ know better.”

  “Well, do you think maybe that’s because we’re all right and you’re wrong?”

  His eyes cut to mine.

  “I think it’s because none of you were there,” he growled, tilting his head up and leveling me with a scowl. “I was the one driving that night. I was the one going too fast coming over that hill, knowing I should’ve slowed down ’cause I couldn’t see shit, but I didn’t, my truck could handle the conditions so what the fuck did I care, you know? That was me.” He jammed a finger at his chest. “I was the one who smashed into that car. I was the one who saw the looks on those parents’ faces when they finally climbed out and saw what I’d done, and I was the one they looked to for blame. Their agony, their fear, their hate, they turned that right on me and they should’ve. I got it because I deserved it. They were screaming and crying because of me. Because of what I took from them.”

  I shook my head and grabbed his wrist, trying to ease his finger away.

  “They don’t hate you. I’m sure they don’t. It would’ve happened anyway,” I said. “It could’ve been anyone driving.”

  He flinched.

  “What?”

  “That boy, what happened to him, it would’ve happened anyway even if you weren’t on the road that night. He would still be paralyzed, Brian.”

  He looked completely dumbfounded, his eyes narrowed and his mouth slack.

  “It would’ve,” I pushed.

  “Get the fuck outta here.” He yanked his hands out of my grip and shook his head, then looked at me like he was struggling to see me in focus. “That’s…Jesus, that’s fucking crazy, Syd. Most of the time everyone just tells me it was an accident and I shouldn’t take the blame so I gotta give it to you for being original. Haven’t heard that one yet, but straight up, that’s some seriously fucked-up way of trying to make me feel better.”

  “I’m not just trying to make you feel better. It’s true.” I leaned back and held on to the console, sitting taller in my seat.

  I needed a stiff spine for what I was about to say. I hated even thinking about it.

  “Whatever you say, babe,” he mumbled, looking away.

  I took in a deep breath, wiped once more at my face to collect any stray tears, then spoke evenly and carefully, making sure I was heard.

  “You know my brother died. You know how he died, but you don’t know the part I played in it.”

  Brian slowly turned his head. His brows furrowed.

  “What are you talking about?” he asked.

  I felt my spine bend, just the slightest give in my strength, but I gathered it back up before replying.

  “Barrett had two choices he was looking at when he graduated,” I said. “UCLA and Boston University. Had scholarships from both, so it was just a matter of where he preferred going. One night I was playing in my room and he came in, carrying the brochures he had from the two schools and laid them out in front of me. He asked me where I thought he should go. Said he was having trouble deciding and wanted my opinion, a twelve-year-old’s opinion, so I gave it to him. I picked up those brochures and studied them for the time I needed to make my decision, which lasted all of three seconds because the brochure for UCLA had pretty palm trees on it and a picture of the Pacific Ocean. I thought it was beautiful so I told him to go there, and he did. Four months later he died.”

  Now it was Brian who was turning in his seat a little to face me, his thick shoulder bracing his weight on the backrest.

  “You don’t blame yourself for that, do you?” he asked, face tight with worry.

  I shook my head and closed my eyes through an exhale.

  “No. But I could,” I replied, looking at him. “I could very easily feel guilt over Barrett dying. Let that consume me like your guilt’s consuming you.”

  “It’s not the same thing.”

  “What’s the difference?” I asked. “My brother died because he went to a school that I picked. Maybe if he went somewhere else, it wouldn’t have happened. I was driving that day. It was my fault.”

  “Syd—”

  “Or,” I interrupted. “My brother died because no matter what school I would’ve chosen, he would’ve gone to UCLA anyway because it was where he really wanted to go. He was just humoring me by letting me pick. It didn’t matter what I said. If I’d chosen Boston, he still would’ve wound up at UCLA.”

  I sniffed and pushed my glasses back on my nose. My other hand was being held tight in one of Brian’s.

  “Or my brother was never meant to live past his nineteenth birthday,” I continued. “He could’ve gone anywhere and he would’ve died. It didn’t mat
ter. It didn’t matter what school I picked or where he got scholarships. It didn’t matter if he even went to college at all, he would’ve died anyway.”

  Brian stared at me.

  I held my breath and my tongue. I wanted him to ask me the question I needed him to ask me. I couldn’t say any more until he did and the words I had to say were so important I wanted to write them down so Brian could hear them while I spoke and read them whenever he needed to and carry them with him always, so he’d never feel this way again.

  He leaned closer and held my cheek, and a breath of relief filled my lungs and burst on his wrist as I said a silent prayer because I knew the question was coming.

  “You really believe that?” he asked. “You think he’d be dead no matter what? No matter where he would’ve gone?”

  I felt my lip tremble.

  “Do you think I killed my brother? Do you think he’s dead because of me? Because I chose palm trees and a pretty ocean for his place to die?”

  “No,” he answered quickly and firmly and on what sounded like a full breath. “No, I don’t fucking think that.”

  “I have,” I confessed. “I’ve thought all those things at one point. The last one is just the easiest. I’m not as sad when I believe that one.”

  He closed his eyes and lowered his head, whispering my name one time.

  He was sad for me. I needed him to feel sad for himself, too, instead of angry, so I kept going.

  “What happened wasn’t your fault. It was an accident, and if you hadn’t been driving that night, it would’ve been somebody else. That little boy’s fate was already mapped out, Brian, just like Barrett’s.”

  He shook his head once. “Someone else could’ve been driving, fine, but you know what?” He glanced up. “Maybe they wouldn’t have been speeding. Maybe they would’ve been going slow enough to get control of their car and they could’ve avoided—”

  “No.” I leaned closer and took his own face in my hands when he let go of mine. “I’ve driven on this road. I’ve gone down that hill, which means I know how steep it is, and I can tell you knowing in my heart that it’s true, it didn’t matter how fast you were going that night. You could’ve been doing the speed limit and you would’ve still lost control when you hit that ice, and given how sharp that drop is, you would’ve sped up, Brian. You would’ve sped up and you still would’ve hit them. Anyone would’ve hit them.”

  “I could’ve controlled it.”

  “You couldn’t, honey. There was nothing you could’ve done.”

  He blinked hard and I felt the muscles in his jaw tense.

  He was hearing me. I was getting to him.

  I had to keep going.

  I looked between us, at the console and his body pressed against it to get closer to me and my body pressed against it to get closer to him.

  “What are you doing?” he asked, leaning back and gripping my waist as I put my weight on my left foot and carefully brought my other leg over to his side.

  “Getting closer,” I replied.

  I slid over him and straddled his lap.

  “Syd…”

  My hands moved from his shoulders to around his neck. I pressed closer until I could feel his breath on my mouth.

  “I’m gonna say some things to you and I want you to listen,” I said. “Can you do that?”

  His hands glided to my back.

  “Do I have a choice?” he asked.

  “No, but I thought I’d be polite and give you the option.”

  He looked to my mouth, then back to my eyes, replying, “Sweet of you.”

  I shrugged, found the words I wanted to say, and said them quickly, speaking fast because I didn’t want to be interrupted and because I believed them so much I couldn’t keep them to myself another second.

  “You’re a good man, Brian,” I started, feeling his neck pull as he tried to look away but I kept a tight hold so he couldn’t. “Amazing,” I continued, bending closer. “I needed you, but I didn’t know I needed you until you reached out to me and made sure I was okay. You told me to focus on you, remember? When I said I felt lost and scared, you wanted to talk to me. You comforted me. You didn’t need to do that but you did, and I don’t care if your reasons were selfish in the beginning. I don’t care if you wanted to know the girl who had to be a little crazy for going off on you the way she did. You made me laugh and live and you helped me find the person I was without Marcus, and you did that carrying this guilt inside of you that you didn’t deserve to carry. You were hurting so bad but you shut that out so you could heal me. You kept that locked inside and you made sure I was okay. That’s…I mean, my God, how amazing of a man can you possibly be? Who does that?”

  “Syd,” he tried, interrupting when I paused to take in a shuddering breath.

  I was a mess of tears and a quivering voice, but I pressed on. I didn’t stop.

  “You are a dream, Brian Savage,” I repeated, dropping my head until our foreheads touched. “You’re my dream. The most amazing person I’ve ever known, and I’m going to heal you. I am, and you’re not going to be able to stop me so don’t even bother trying. This is happening. It’s my turn. You healed me and now I’m healing you. I’m going to do it. I’m going to make sure you’re okay, and I’m not going to stop until there is none of that guilt left inside of you. I’m not going to stop until you’re the one telling me that accident wasn’t your fault. I promise. Forever.” I dipped closer. “I’m going to give you Wild for the rest of your life and so much of it you won’t have room to feel anything else.”

  His eyes flickered wider.

  Then on a growl he wrapped his one arm around my waist and slid his other hand to the back of my neck, gripped me there, and yanked me down until he could take my mouth in a kiss that tasted like love and felt like madness, that was so hard and violent my lips burned and bruised, but it was good. So good I went harder and took him deeper, holding him so tight my hands shook.

  We were a chaos of tongues and teeth and hurried breaths. I matched his fire. I matched his depravity.

  He pulled and I pulled. He bit and I bit. He loved and I loved.

  I was already spinning a second into it and by the time Brian broke the kiss on a moan that rattled in his chest, I felt mindless and melted into him, sank lower, then dropped my head on his shoulder as his arms coiled around me.

  We were silent for minutes but it was strange. I said so much and heard him so loudly, the words that made up his heartbeat and mine, it became my favorite conversation.

  My eyes were closed when I felt his lips press to my temple, and a second later, I heard him quietly ask, “You’ll never let me believe it was my fault, will you?”

  I breathed deep and shook my head.

  “No. And you’ll never let me believe it was mine.”

  Brian’s arms held me tighter, and that was all I needed because I knew.

  He was going to let me heal him.

  * * *

  It was Sunday evening and I was excited.

  No, scratch that, I was beyond excited. This was excitement on a whole new level because I had accomplished something I had never accomplished before, to be more specific, something I had ruined to the point of no return five days prior.

  The homemade potpie with made-from-scratch pie dough.

  I wasn’t going to let some recipe with misleading instructions knock me down and keep me from cooking again. No way. I was determined. And I had an entire afternoon to tackle that recipe and get it perfect for Brian.

  We spent the morning together since we were both off work today, but Brian said he had something he needed to take care of around one o’clock for his sister, he’d be gone several hours and wouldn’t get home until after five, and even though my throat stung with disappointment because I wasn’t invited to whatever it was he was taking care of, nor was I informed of it, I quickly swallowed that disappointment and focused on the opportunity I was given.

  I wanted this to be a surprise, a good one this time
, and now I had my chance.

  I hit the market on my way home, pulling up the recipe on my phone so I didn’t have to go off memory and risk missing an ingredient, then I studied that recipe for a good hour after I got home before I even got started. I was not missing anything this time.

  Thirty minutes of prep and forty-five minutes of bake time later, I had a golden delicious potpie cooling on my stovetop and the biggest grin on my face.

  No more burned-up dinners for my boy. He deserved the best.

  And now that I was currently carrying that pie plate in my hands and walking up the drive to Brian’s house, that grin I had on earlier didn’t hold a candle to the one I was wearing now.

  I couldn’t wait to show him what I’d made. The pretty design on the edge of my piecrust looked awesome.

  “Hello?” I called out as I entered the house, knocking once but not waiting for an answer because Brian told me never to wait for an answer, just to walk in as long as his Jeep was there.

  “In here,” Brian yelled from the direction of the kitchen.

  I shut the door, kicked my sandals off and scooted them up against the wall, then padded down the hallway with a bounce in my step.

  A sound came from upstairs. It was light and quick like a snap, but sounded an awful lot like a yelp…or a muffled bark.

  “Oh, gross.” I shivered with disgust as I moved around the staircase. “I better not see Jamie walking around here collared on a leash,” I mumbled to myself.

  Brian was leaning over the counter when he came into view, staring down at what I knew had to be a crossword book. He flicked a pen between his fingers and tapped it rhythmically against the granite.

  Pen not pencil. He was that good at crosswords.

  “Hey, Trouble,” I greeted him as I crossed the room, watching his head lift and his eyes smile.

  “Hey, Wild.” He dropped the pen in the center of the book, straightened, then noticed the plate in my hands. He cocked a brow. “You did it again, didn’t you?”

  “Did what?”

  “Told you, babe. I’m good with four recipes and that looks like a fifth. Is it?”