Sugar Love

by Callie Bardot

  “Okay,” Effie said.

  He steered the kayak parallel with the shore and said, “I’ll get out first and steady the boat for you, okay?”

  The kayak gently rocked in the lapping waves.

  “Sounds good.”

  Zander pushed free from the boat, slid his legs out, and stood in the foot-deep water, securing the boat. “Put your hands on the sides of the opening and push your hips out. Wiggle your legs free and straddle the kayak before you stand up.”

  Effie did exactly as instructed, then swung one leg over the side, so she stood next to the kayak. “So, what do we do with the boat?”

  She clutched her yellow-tipped paddle by her side.

  “You get the loop at that end, and we pull it ashore.” He pointed to the front of the boat.

  “Got it,” Effie said. She tromped through the water, splashing her way along.

  Once they got to shore, Zander retrieved the pack of food and water from the hatch. They sat in the sun, nibbling munchies, re-hydrating, resting their behinds on a grassy patch.

  “You seem happy,” Zander said, side-eying her. He crumpled up his energy bar wrapper and pitched it into the pack.

  “I am. I love it out here.” Her smile lit up her entire body. She lifted the water bottle to her lips, tipped her head back, and took a long gulp.

  “And that makes me happy,” he said, savoring her beautiful neck. The sun glinted off her blonde locks, lending an ethereal quality to her appearance.

  She lowered the water bottle and placed it next to her. “I’ve been thinking.”

  “I imagine you think a lot,” he said, smiling.

  “I do, but this is about you.”

  He tensed. “What about me?”

  “I realize we don’t know each other all that well. And the circumstances of our knowing one another at all are…um…unusual,” she said, blushing.

  “They are,” Zander said.

  She hesitated, perhaps choosing her words carefully.

  He studied her cautiously, fearing what she might say.

  “You…” she said, drawing out the word.

  “Me,” he said, eyes narrowing.

  She pressed her lips together and swallowed. “Okay. Here goes.” She met his gaze. “Look, I don’t know what it’s like to lose a limb. I’ve thought about it a lot and, well…it must be a horrible experience. I mean, a part of your body is missing. A part you used without questioning. An essential piece of you that helped you be the adventurer I imagine you were.” In a quieter voice, she said, “You’re still that same adventurer, Zander, I know you are. It’s in your blood to explore.”

  His breath caught in his throat. He’d fully expected a tongue lashing for being her lover one minute, and a dick the next—not compassion for his missing limb.

  She continued. “And, I know you paid for my time. But, I’m extremely loyal to people who matter. And, you matter, Zander.” Her eyes grew luminescent as she gazed at him. “If you ever want to…” She inhaled sharply. “Well…I’m here for you if you ever feel like sharing. No matter what. You have my word on that. I’m a really good listener.”

  He blinked rapidly for a second or two. Then, he rubbed his high-tech arm. The memory of losing his limb bubbled up from his unconscious mind, where he’d kept it buried.

  Gazing at her face, he licked his lips, pursed his mouth, and then rolled his lips between his teeth. “I…”

  I can’t do this. His courage waned. He retreated from the moment.

  “Anytime, Zander,” Effie said, looking at him intently.

  “Thanks,” he said, eying the kayak. After a moment, he leaned forward as if to stand. “Well…let’s get going.”

  Effie subtly shook her head.

  With a huge sigh, Zander relaxed onto his seat. He couldn’t risk letting her know about his insanity. But, maybe he could let her know about his accident.

  Chapter 25

  Zander

  Zander sat by Effie’s side, ready to face the encounter that ruined his body. Despite glugging water, a minute ago, his mouth felt dry as a sun-parched bone.

  The beauty of the green river before him and the leafy trees behind him cocooned him in a safe embrace. The great outdoors had always been his playground…his comfort. And then came the accident. Confessing his story to Effie in front of the God of the Wilderness seemed like a righteous move—a reckoning with the wild God he’d once adored.

  Keeping his gaze fixed to hers, he said, “I lost it a year ago…the arm…my arm.”

  Effie nodded, lips parted. Her liquid green gaze opened to him, offering him a soft place to land.

  “I was the best rock climber in the world. Number one. I scaled heights no one else could.” His brow creased as the memories rushed forth. “I was…I dated Trisha at that time. We dated for a couple of years. I thought we’d eventually get married. It seemed like we were on a track in that direction. Her parents always hinted at upcoming nuptials. But, man, that would have been a mistake.” He blew out his breath. “So, I’d grown cocky. Over-confident. With climbing, that is. I went out on my own to scale a canyon in some remote section of Canada. There’s this technique you have to do when conditions call for it called ‘hand jams.’ You’ll want to learn it if you continue climbing. It’s used when scaling a cracked wall, and the crack is wider than a standard Camalot—that’s a spring-loaded device that gets secured in the crack that you affix your rope to.” He extended his left hand. “You jam your hand into the crack as a hold instead of fixing a Cam. Put the other hand above it. Smear your feet against the wall.” He spread his legs wide before him. “And, up, up, up you go.” He moved his hands, one above the other.

  Effie nodded. She appeared rapt, listening.

  “You can do side-pulls, where the top hand is thumb down, the bottom is a thumb up. You keep your hands in that position as you climb.” Again, he demonstrated.

  She began massaging her hands. “That sounds intense.”

  “It’s strenuous. You can’t ease up. You need to move consistently. I’d been climbing a lot, competitively, and my arms were pretty fatigued that day.” His gaze drifted into the distance, seeing nothing but the past.

  Effie touched his knee. “Zander,” she said, quietly. “Where’d you go?”

  He reeled in his attention and blinked, focusing on the kayak resting on the shore. “Right.” His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down as he swallowed back his reluctance to recall these painful memories. “I, uh…I…” Tears pricked at his eyes. He swiped them with his thumb and forefinger. “My arms were shaking. They get that way sometimes when you climb. The muscles seize up. You need to move through it or rest until it subsides. But, I, uh…I fell.”

  Effie sucked in a breath.

  “My arm got wedged between two rocks when I landed. You know, I put my arms out to break my fall and this arm…” He lifted his bio-tech hand. “It just wedged tight.” His leg bobbed up and down. “At first my adrenaline was pumping, you know? And, I thought, I’ve got this, no big deal.” He rubbed the prosthesis as if it retained the crushing sensation. “And, then my flesh began to swell. You know, the body’s defenses. The muscles were destroyed, and the body went into lock-down. And, the pain…” His body began to shake. “My, god, the pain. It was off the charts.” He glanced down, surprised to see Effie had her hand on his leg.

  She stroked him, making small circles.

  His voice quavered. “I…I…” His eyes closed, and he shook his head, sending tears spilling down his cheeks. “I think I passed out at one point. The pain…” His voice trailed off. A bitter smirk curved his lips. “You ever see that movie? 127 Hours?”

  “No, but I had friends who saw it. You…” She pressed her lips together. “You cut off your arm?”

  He let out a dark chuckle. “No. I tried, though. You get desperate when you’re caught in a canyon for days.”

  Effie’s eyes filled with tears. Her fingers dug into his thigh. “You were out there for days?”

 
; “Yeah.” His voice emerged, husky and raw. “In and out of consciousness. I’d brought some water and energy bars, so I rationed water and eked out my bars. Same as Aron Ralston, the guy the movie was about, I’d told no one about climbing that day, not even Trisha. And, being out there for so long…your mind plays tricks on you. I saw an image of death, mouth open wide, waiting to eat me. I saw angels and demons. I was delirious.” He swiped his eyes again. “I spent my days scheming, trying different means of escape, and my nights freezing, shivering, trying to stay warm. By day five, I was starving to death. I could feel my muscles necrose.” A nervous laugh left his throat. “It’s a trip, watching yourself die.”

  “Oh, Zander,” Effie breathed.

  He inhaled a shuddering breath. “On day five I got the bright idea to cut off my arm. ‘You can do it,’ I told myself. ‘If Ralston did it, you can, too.’” He shook his head. “I couldn’t do it. I stuck my knife tip into my skin and pus oozed out, along with this putrid smell. I got as far as the bone and passed out, dropping the knife. After that, my memory’s pretty fuzzy. I was semi-conscious for hours. And, then, I woke up in the hospital with no arm.”

  Effie blinked, as tears cascaded along her cheeks.

  “Who found you?” Her voice quavered.

  “Some hikers. They happened to be paramedics out for a hike. They couldn’t get to me, but they carried radios for their job. They radioed in a call, and I guess I was air-lifted out of the canyon. I honestly have no recollection of that moment.” A short bark of a laugh emerged from his throat. “You can bet their fire department got a significant donation.” He puffed up his cheeks with air, and slowly blew it out. “Trisha played the doting girlfriend for a few weeks, while I was in recovery. She even got a few photo ops for it to help her career along. You know…” He wiped his hand through the air in an arc. “Superstar model, Trisha Banks, stays by her boyfriend’s side after his tragic ordeal. The photographer made sure to get pictures in the hospital with Trish by my side, and me, looking like shit. She looked perfectly groomed, yet grieving.” His lips curled. “It was so phony. I’m sure she practiced in the mirror to get just the right expression that still looked glamorous.”

  “I hate Trisha Banks,” Effie said. She looked so ferocious he almost laughed.

  “Yeah,” he said, sourly. “Me, too.” He gazed at the sky as the next memory popped into his mind. He stared into the distance, seeing Trisha’s expression of disgust. “So…I had this doctor. He was a psychologist. I told him my relationship wasn’t going all that well since I’d left the hospital. He encouraged me to ‘get back into sexual activity.’ He said I’d start to feel better if I did something intimate with my girlfriend. He was one of the many who were fooled by her behavior.”

  He side-eyed Effie to see how she fared hearing about his girlfriend.

  She had the same fierce expression on her face.

  “The doc told me to ‘remove the prosthetic device when engaged in intercourse,’ adding, ‘you’ll want to know your lover loves you no matter what.’ I’d been depressed for weeks. And Trish and I hadn’t exactly gotten busy since the ordeal began, you know?” He glanced at Effie.

  She nodded.

  “So, then, the doc brought Trisha in and talked to the both of us. He said something about ‘the best way to normalize our relationship was to resume intimacy.’ So, we’re in the bedroom, right?” He couldn’t look at Effie as he blinked, tears threatening to fall. His heart began to ache, trussed up tight in chains of untouched emotion. “She’d seen me all bandaged up, she’d seen me with the prosthesis in place, but she’d never seen me bare-naked with a stump instead of an arm. I take off my clothes with my back to her. I’m feeling super self-conscious. Trisha’s dressed in some pretty lingerie, waiting for me on the bed.” His throat tightened. “I turn around, and Trisha took one look at my chopped-below-the-elbow arm, sans bio-hand, curled her upper lip in a sneer and promptly walked out of my life. All she said was ‘you’ll be better off without me.’” His chest began to shudder as he forced back tears. “She, uh…” He swiped at his eyes. “I later learned she was already getting frisky with Riptide Johnson. He’s a kayaker. After leaving me, she strategically waited a couple of weeks before making her new relationship public.” He cleared his throat, hoping it would stop sounding weak and shaky. He refused to tell Effie about the obsessive sickness that followed when Trisha went off the rails and he got sucked into her nightmare. Which might be the same way I’m getting sucked in again. I barely know Effie. How can I trust her? How can I trust myself?

  She sat there, slowly shaking her head, silent tears tracking down her face.

  Seeing her all open and caring cracked him. He began to sob, the violence of his emotion breaking free. “And, I’ve seen pictures of Ralston,” he blubbered. “He’s all out there with his stump, waving it around in public. I can’t show mine to anybody. Not even you.” Spit flew from his mouth. “I’m not a brave man. Not as brave as that guy. I guess that’s why I didn’t get the movie deal,” he sob-laughed.

  “Oh, Zander, don’t say that.”

  Her sympathy jolted him to his feet. He had to get himself under control.

  Effie rose, too, but she didn’t step near him. Instead, she stood with her hand pressed over her mouth.

  He paced along the shore, taking deep gulps of air, letting the pain wash through him. As he strode, he curled and uncurled his fingers, making fists and releasing them. He picked up a couple of stones and hurled them into the river, releasing a wellspring of rage. After that, he stopped, let his head fall back, and stared up into the sky. When he lifted his gaze, a sense of horror noosed his insides. Way upriver, heading in his direction, was the devil herself. It had to be her. Who else had hair that red?

  Trisha Banks sat behind some guy in a double kayak.

  Since when did she ever kayak? And how does she know I’m here?

  His hair stood on end.

  She lifted her hand and waved at him.

  He didn’t wave back. “Get in the kayak. We’ve got to go.”

  “What? Why?”

  “Because I said so. We’re done here. Hurry.” He snatched up the remnants of their snacks and water and stuffed them into his pack.

  “What’s the rush?”

  He stopped and grabbed her by the shoulders. Sweat broke out on his forehead. “Please, Effie. I need you to get in that kayak and we’re going to paddle as if our life depended on it. I need to get out of here. Now.”

  Chapter 26

  Zander

  Two weeks after the trip to Oregon, Zander, sitting at his desk, fished the key to his locked drawer from his pocket and fit it into the lock. He rolled his tight shoulders. Ever since returning, he’d been a workaholic again, refusing to do more than sit in his lofty tower and brood and pace and scheme on how best to protect Effie—that, and train like a maniac in the gym.

  He’d worked out with Effie every day and helped her rock climb in the evenings. And, she’d been working with his Coast Guard friend, Susan, to learn how to swim, which he occasionally stopped by to watch. But, their relationship had simmered to one of obligation on her part and paranoia on his part.

  He’d been on the watch for Trisha Banks. He found himself looking over his shoulder, scanning for her, whenever he set foot out of his house or the office. She had to be up to something again.

  Opening the side drawer, he reached for one of the bottles of antidepressants. In the process, his hand brushed against the cold metal of the revolver shoved to the back of the drawer.

  A shiver coiled up his spine.

  He twisted open the orange vial and spilled two pills into his hand. As his hand reached for the water bottle, he thought better of taking the pills. He dropped them back into the vial. They gave a hollow clatter as they joined the others. He twisted the lid back in place and tossed the vial back into the drawer.

  He’d been so relieved when he’d managed to stop taking the fucking pills a couple of months ago. His therapis
t had given him the okay when he’d argued with her about taking them. He hated the bright, artificial calm that smothered him when he took the pills.

  But now, his anxiety had sky-rocketed since seeing Trisha paddling down the river toward him. Or, did I see her? Was it just a delusion? He hadn’t seen her since. Maybe I made it all up. Maybe I’m losing my mind, after all.

  Pressing his palms into the hard-wooden surface of his desk, he closed his eyes and took several deep breaths. When his freaked emotions began to abate, he opened his eyes, and stared into the side drawer.

  He fished out his stupid love poems and the pictures of him and Trisha during happier times. Spreading them out across his desk, his lip curled into a sneer. I need to get rid of this shit. Why did I keep them? He knew the answer. He kept them to remind himself to never get into this situation with another woman again. Never again would he allow himself to engage in an obsessive relationship.

  But is that what I’m doing with Effie? He didn’t think so. But, he never imagined things would get so sick with Trisha, either. He wasn’t sure he could trust himself with matters of the heart.

  Rising to his feet, he made his way over to his bar, retrieved a crystal tumbler, and poured two fingers of whiskey. Just to take the edge off, he reasoned. It’s the afternoon. I’m allowed.

  He crossed back to his desk, drink in hand. After settling into his seat, he pulled the waste basket out from under the desk, took a long swig of whiskey, and prepared to purge Trisha Banks from his life—again.

  For the next forty-five minutes, he hand-shredded, cut, and crumpled every reminder of her to bits. When he was through, he felt better. Lighter. Like maybe he’d accomplished something.

  Turning his attention on his monitor, he scanned some product descriptions about a new line of climbing harnesses EXcape was about to release.

  A few minutes later, Kent barged in. “I just got off the phone with Bryant. We both have to go to that event tomorrow—the one he and the bitch are hosting.”