Chapter Text
Something smells like burning rubber. And tastes like pennies. No…wait. Check that. Not pennies. Blood.
Laura licks her lips and grimaces at the sting as she tongues the bottom and finds it split.
What…? When did that…?
It all comes flooding back with aching clarity: the lonely, meandering stretch of the 919, the thing suddenly looming in the middle of the road, her panicked, fish-tailing swerve down the embankment, the brain-rattling jaunt through the woods, all the trees she miraculously missed…and the one she hadn’t.
She grinds out a groan as careful fingertips gingerly take inventory of her face and neck, eyes screwed shut against the throbbing that has picked up behind them. The only other injury she discovers is a knot already forming on her forehead, presumably from when it hit the steering wheel. Which means the air bag didn’t go off.
Fucking stellar.
Okay. She must have bit her lip at some point during the wreck. That accounts for the blood. And the taste. But not the smell. The smell will require a more thorough investigation.
Laura peels open her eyes.
And instantly regrets doing so.
The tree she did not miss stands center stage outside her cracked windshield, black mud and other detritus spattered across the glass. And on the inside, the dregs of her caramel iced coffee is dripping down into sticky pools accumulating on the dash.
‘Fuck,’ she whispers emphatically.
There’s a fog threatening at the corners of her vision so Laura shakes her head to clear it and is rewarded with another painful pulse behind her eyes. With her left hand, she pinches the bridge of her nose, and with her right, she reaches down to turn the ignition.
Except…it’s already in the on position.
‘Fuck,’ she hisses again, just a bit louder, just a bit sharper, and switches it off. After waiting a few seconds that feel more like an eternity, she twists the key and…nothing. The engine doesn’t even turn over.
Calm as you please, Laura Kearney raises a trembling hand to pluck off her ball cap, smoothing that same hand back over her hair before replacing it. She grips the steering in both fists, hard enough the leather creaks, while she draws in a deep, steadying breath through her nose. She then expels it in the form of an outraged scream, all bared teeth and impotent rage, shaking the wheel as violently as she can while stomping her booted feet against the floorboards in what could only be described as a pitiful little tantrum.
That out of the way, she kicks open the door and claws at her seat belt. It doesn’t want to release her at first, the mechanism clicking twice before finally loosening under the weight of her icy glare. As soon as she’s free, she heaves out of the aging Toyota and to her feet, arms akimbo as she surveys the situation.
It’s dark as pitch beneath the canopy of the forest, even in spite of the full moon, and though her eyes are adjusting, it’s not going to be enough, so she dips back inside to fish around the passenger seat for her phone.
No dice.
She checks the floor, and still can’t find it.
‘God. Fucking. Dammit!’
Petulant as a grounded teenager, she clambers over the middle console and pokes around the edges of the seat, wedging her hand down the cracks and coming up empty. It’s not until she slumps back on her ass, bloody lip quivering, that she spies the damn thing sitting in the back seat.
How the fuck did it get there?
Never mind. It doesn’t matter. She snatches it and quickly adjusts the screen brightness when it nearly blinds her. Not much battery left. She really should have plugged it in. And…still no bars. She hasn’t had reception for miles. It’s like something out of a bad horror flick.
Laura sighs and climbs back out of the vehicle, illuminating the scene warily. The damage to the body is negligible, she thinks. Or, at least, it could have been way worse. If she’s lucky, which would admittedly be a surprising change of pace, it’s all cosmetic. But…since it won’t start, that must indicate there’s something wrong with…with the…the guts.
Shit. She really doesn’t know a goddamn thing about cars.
That doesn’t stop her from yanking on the lever that pops the hood, though. Seems like the most logical course of action at present. She picks her way through the dark underbrush, the uneven ground squelching beneath her boots as she approaches the front bumper. Once there, she props open the hood and peers inside.
‘...yeah,’ she deadpans to no one in particular. ‘I don’t have any idea what the fuck I’m looking at.’
Somewhere in the dark, a voice gives whispered answer.
‘Silas.’
Laura whips around, the bright beam of her flashlight app skipping across the trees, throwing shadows every direction. Out of the corner of her eye, she could swear she glimpses something white fluttering just out of sight.
‘H-hello?’ she calls, voice more tremulous than she’d care to admit. ‘Is…is someone there?’
No answer. And of course there isn’t. It’s the middle of bumfuck nowhere in the middle of the goddamn night.
And, it’s starting to rain, delicate little drops pinging off the roof of her car and drumming on the brim of her cap. Fucking perfect.
At a loss for how to proceed, Laura hunches down under the hood to get a closer look. The smell from earlier is certainly stronger, but other than that…
Yup. Still a car.
‘Silas.’
Laura lurches back up and whirls around. The voice was closer this time. Too close. She sweeps her light in circles, piercing gaze following, but sees nothing. No one.
Rainwater is starting to soak into her clothing, making her cold and uncomfortable in addition to freaked the fuck out. She eyes the still woods for an age, willing whatever is out there to stop playing fucking coy and show itself. But the only thing she hears is the hammering of her own heart. And the rain. And the wind.
Okay. Enough psyching herself out. Time for a reality check. What are her options?
Laura chews on her thumbnail as she makes a mental checklist. She can’t fix this herself. Her phone is nearly dead. And, even if it wasn’t, there’s no reception. She knows the direction of the main road, but it’s a long shot that anyone else will be on it this time of night. She certainly hadn’t seen anyone while she was on it herself less than a half hour ago.
So. No options at all, really. Besides trying the key again and hoping the Almighty will show some fucking sympathy for a change.
Certainly not an ideal plan, but for lack of a better one, she starts back toward her open door. However, as she edges around it, her foot skids off something slick and comes right out from under her, sending her sprawling face-first into the mud. She lays there for a tick, shocked into stupefaction, before pushing herself up onto all fours and spitting out a foul clump of whatever she landed in. She paws at the muck clinging to her lashes and clogging her nose, swiping enough away to draw in a shuddering breath before sitting back on her haunches and turning her soiled face heavenward, trying her level best not to burst into fucking tears.
These past twenty-four hours have been some of the worst of her fucking life. First the letter from Landis. Then the fight with Max. Then the break up. The accident. The car. Now this.
One misery after another. And, to top it all off, she might have a concussion so bad she’s hallucinating.
The tears are back, burning behind her eyes like a threat, and she sucks them down with an obstinate sniff.
Come on, Kearney. Get it together. You ain’t no fucking quitter.
Graceful as a newborn giraffe, she totters up and collapses into the driver’s seat before slamming the door shut behind her. Holding her breath like a talisman, she tries the ignition one more time.
Nothing.
Laura’s eyes fall closed. She rests her forehead against the steering wheel in utter defeat.
A tap on the window startles her out of her pity party.
‘Jesus, fuck!’
A pale, masculine face with a severely displeased expression is glaring at her in the gloom.
‘Roll it down,’ he orders with authority.
Laura, stunned into obedience, presses the button, but nothing happens. Which, of course it doesn’t. She sighs, trying to mime her predicament. ‘I can’t…it won’t…hang on. I’m going to open the door.’
The uniformed stranger takes a step back to give her room to do just that.
Once the door is open, he brandishes the flashlight in his hand, presumably to get a better look at her. She squints in the light, knowing she must look a fucking fright. When he lowers the beam, his lips are twisted in a grimace.
‘Are you hurt?’
‘No. I mean, just scrapes and bruises. I’ll be fine.’
‘Wanna tell me what you’re doing out here?’
Laura is impatient. Irritated. Tired. And his brusque tone is doing nothing to improve her mood. ‘You mean on this plane of existence or in a ditch, in the goddamn woods, in the middle of the night, covered in fucking mud?’ she counters impertinently.
His frown deepens, black eyes glinting like flint at the intentional disrespect.
Laura sighs again. Scrubs her face. ‘Sorry…sorry-’ Her eyes flick to the badge on his chest. ‘Uh, Sheriff. It’s…it’s been a rough night.’ She swings her legs out so she’s sitting sideways, facing him. ‘I’m- I was on my way to Hackett’s Quarry. I’m a counselor there this summer.’
‘Camp doesn’t start ‘til tomorrow,’ he gruffs matter-of-factly.
‘Yeah, I know. I just thought I’d get an early start.’
He sucks his teeth, gaze scanning the woods. She gets the impression this is not a man who often smiles. ‘You out here alone, Ma’am?’
Ma’am? Ugh.
‘Yeah.’
The Sheriff nods once before moving to get a better look at the vehicle from the front. ‘What happened?’
Laura stands, though not without substantial effort, and follows a few steps to keep him within eyesight. ‘It won’t start. I don’t know why.’
‘No, I mean, how’d you get here in the first place?’ He gestures curtly around them at the trees. Like she’s a fucking moron. Maybe she is. Or maybe it’s the concussion.
‘Oh,’ she responds lamely. ‘Uh, there was something on the road. An animal of some kind, I think.’
He glances up from where he’s bent over the exposed engine. ‘An animal?’ He sounds extremely dubious.
‘Yeah. Like a really big deer, maybe? I don’t know. You don’t have bears around here do you?’
He makes a non-committal noise somewhere in his throat, eyes darting around the woods again before he turns his attention back to the car. ‘Try the ignition for me?’
‘It won’t work.’
He fixes her with a withering glare. ‘Just do it.’
Friendly fucking guy. Must be a real hit with his constituents.
Laura rolls her eyes but does as she’s bid, leaning back into the car. She turns the key, and, as expected, nothing happens. She backs up and looks at him with a gesture that couldn’t more transparently communicate, ‘Told you so.’
If he sees it, he doesn’t react, instead shutting the hood with a grunt. ‘Nothing to be done tonight.’
‘Great,’ she grouses. ‘So what am I supposed to do then?’
‘I’ll give you a lift into town. There’s a motel you can stay at.’
‘Can’t you just take me to camp instead?’
He blinks at her. Like she’s slow. It irks her. ‘No one’s there. Not ‘til tomorrow.’
Laura sighs again. She’s done a lot of that tonight. Mostly because there’s not much else she can do.
‘While I appreciate the ride, Sheriff, I’m afraid I’m not very liquid right now.’
His eyes narrow in either confusion, suspicion, or some mixture thereof. ‘Meaning?’
‘I’m broke.’
‘Ah.’ He regards her for a long moment during which she steadfastly refuses to let her overwhelming embarrassment show. Then he simply adds, ‘Grab your things.’
‘Didn’t you hear what I just said?’
‘Sure did.’
He crosses his arms and waits, posture and expression brooking no argument. So she scoffs before wrenching her bag out of the back seat and locking the doors.
The Sheriff sets a brisk pace back toward the main road, following the path she so crudely cut through the undergrowth with her careening vehicle. He remains silent to the point of vigilance, and Laura can’t help but emulate, though it’s more out of exhaustion than any concern over his behavior.
When he emerges from the treeline, she’s hot on his heels, trailing him up the embankment to the patrol car parked on the gravel shoulder.
He opens the passenger side door for her. Laura doesn’t thank him.
Once he’s joined her and the automatic locks click closed, she could swear some of the tautness drops from his broad shoulders on a heaving breath. The engine rumbles to life before he turns his head to watch her.
And watch her he does. Like he’s committing her mud-covered features to memory.
With the glow of the multi-colored dash lights illuminating his face, she’s finally able to get a good look at him. Shrewd, heavy-lidded eyes with bags so deep she suspects his last restful night's sleep was before the millennium…a strong, square jawline dusted in dark stubble she could probably hear if he scratched…a prominent, curved nose and expressive lips that never seem to totally still…
The Sheriff is not an unattractive man. Twice her age at least and surly as a one-eyed alley cat, but certainly not unattractive. She wonders if he’s married. And then wonders why the fuck she’s wondering something like that.
Must be the concussion.
During the time she’s taken to so brazenly scrutinize him, one of the Sheriff’s eyebrows has been steadily climbing toward his hairline. As if he’s waiting for something. Laura just stares back at him dumbly, hoping to God he didn’t ask a question she’d completely missed because she was busy ogling him.
At length, he shakes his head before canting over the center console and into her space, reaching across her to pull down her seat belt and buckle it for her. The action brings him close enough to catch his scent, and Laura’s stomach does a rather inconsiderate little flip-flop at the proximity. At the tacit license he’s taken regarding her physical safety.
He could have just told her to do it herself. He probably should have. Now she knows the electric brush of the backs of his knuckles against her exposed midriff.
And he does too.
She…fuck. She thinks she likes that? This has been such a weird fucking night.
‘What’s your name, Ma’am?’
Cognizant she’s been uncharacteristically quiet during the entire exchange, she forces herself to answer as coolly as she can manage, hoping not to betray her wildly inappropriate thoughts. ‘Laura Kearney.’
‘Well, Miss Kearney,’ he drawls lazily, though she gathers this is a man who in practice is anything but. ‘I can respect your financial position. I’ll come back out tomorrow. See if there ain’t something I can do about the car myself.’ Then he adds, for good measure, and with no small amount of finality, ‘Once the sun is up.’
Laura’s lips crack open in a smile, a shred of playful gratitude tugging at the corners. ‘What, so you’re the sheriff and the mechanic? How small is this town?’
He scoffs before putting the car in gear and veering back onto the road. ‘I’m a mechanic. Not the mechanic. And it’s more of a hobby anyway.’
‘Whatever you say, Officer Grease Monkey,’ she quips blithely.
‘Sheriff Hackett,’ he corrects tersely. Though, perhaps less terse than he has been thus far.
‘Wait…Hackett? As in Hackett’s Quarry?’ Laura doesn’t wait for a response before cheekily continuing, ‘Don’t tell me you work there too?’
Sheriff Hackett surprises her by actually smiling, albeit briefly, accompanied by an endearing little huff of laughter. Laura decides she likes his smile. Likes to be the one who caused it.
‘No,’ he returns lightly, almost sociably. ‘That would be my brother.’
They ride in silence for a bit, until Laura starts to get antsy. The mud has mostly dried, crusting over her clothing and skin, flaking off to gather on the seat and floor mat. Perhaps she should feel bad about leaving a mess for him to clean up, but Laura finds she rather enjoys the idea of him having something to remember her by. Something that will likely prove difficult to get rid of in one pass.
‘You never answered my question before,’ she prompts, keen to cut through the increasingly dense atmosphere between them that she cannot be the only one to have noticed. ‘Do you have bears out here?’
He side-eyes her, his hands tightening at ten and two on the steering wheel. It draws her attention to them, to his long, thick fingers and large, warm palms.
Wait…warm? Where did that come from? And why are butterflies erupting behind her sternum?
Come on, Kearney. Get it together!
‘Sometimes,’ he cautiously offers, though Laura had very nearly forgotten her question in favor of salivating over his hands like some kind of weirdo. ‘Best to stay out of the woods at night because of it.’
Hm. Cryptic.
Sheriff Hackett then quietly grumbles, as if to himself, ‘They can be vicious motherfuckers.’
Laura fully turns toward him, eyes searching and mouth screwed up in mock reproach. After a solid minute of her blatant study, he demands, not without curiosity in his tone, ‘What?’
‘I didn’t know cops were allowed to swear.’
His eyes jerk off the road and directly to her own, his whole head rotating to face her. His gaze flits down to her smirking lips before registering her banter, and he turns back forward with a sharp bark of laughter that spikes straight to her gut like a heat-seeking missile.
‘Cops ain’t allowed to do a lot of things,’ he muses in an arch way she suspects is more a private joke than for her benefit. ‘But one of the few things they let us do is swear. Just not around church folk. Or kids.’
‘Well, seeing as I’m neither, I suppose you’re in the clear.’
For some indiscernible reason, it matters to her that he doesn’t think of her as either.
The silence feels easier now, though no less charged. But as they approach the motel, Laura starts getting cagey again, the reality of her situation seeping back in.
Sheriff Hackett coasts into the center-most space of the Harbinger Motel parking lot, one of only two cars, and kills the ignition.
‘Come with me,’ he instructs.
And she does.
Inside, the elderly lady behind the desk cheerfully hails him as ‘Travis,’ and he clears his throat in a polite admonishment that has no effect other than causing a smile to bloom across Laura’s face behind him. He motions for her to wait near the door.
She hangs back as he shares a murmured exchange with the concierge, probably explaining what happened and why Laura looks…well, like she was rolling around in the mud. She notes the unbridled fondness in the old woman’s eyes as she hangs on his every word. She also notes the softness that appeared around Sheriff Hackett’s edges as he took both of her age-spotted hands in familiar greeting.
It’s a good look on him, that softness.
So is the uniform, if she’s being honest. Which, at present, she has the luxury of indulging in since he’s not staring directly at her. The casual way he’s leaned against the counter really shows off the length of his powerful legs. To say nothing of how tall he is. Fuck, he must have something like eight inches on her.
That thought succeeds in blue-screening her brain, and she’s thankful for the reprieve from the unexpected diversion. Especially when he comes back over and steers her out the door with a hand splayed across the small of her back.
Jesus.
Once they’re out in the parking lot, he lifts one of her limp hands and drops a room key into her open palm.
‘All taken care of. I’ll be back tomorrow at eight to take you to camp.’
Laura just sort of blinks down at the key. Completely in spite of herself, her eyes well up with mutinous tears. ‘Th- th- thank you.’
Sheriff Hackett’s brows draw together, and he ducks down to look into her eyes, his hands suddenly hovering over her shoulders. ‘Hey, uh, don’t…don’t do that. Are you…are you sure you ain't hurt or…?’
His panic at her tears is so fucking endearing, and it is not helping matters.
Laura raises the least mud-crusted of her hands and uses the heel of it to scrub away her tears. ‘No, no, I’m okay. Just, like I said. It’s been a really rough night. And this is just…it’s really nice of you.’
The Sheriff reels back a bit, as though she’s sneezed on him. He blinks slowly, shifting his weight back and forth uncomfortably. And, she’s probably just imagining it, because it’s really too dark to tell, but…she thinks he might also be blushing.
Jesus.
‘It’s, uh…it’s not a problem. Just…just make sure you’re ready at eight, okay?’
‘Okay,’ she sniffs, adding tears and snot to the mental tally of fluids she’s had on her face this evening. ‘Thanks, Travis.’
He clears his throat. Just like he had with the old lady. ‘Sheriff Hackett.’
Laura simply smiles a watery smile at him.
Yeah, she absolutely won’t be calling him that.
‘Have a good night, Miss Kearney.’
‘You too.’ And before she can conjure a reason not to, Laura surges forward and captures him in a crushing hug. ‘Thanks again.’
Travis goes rigid as a two by four before sort of awkwardly patting her back with one hand. She likes the weight of it there.
When she draws away, he is most definitely blushing. ‘See you at eight,’ he repeats, somewhat breathlessly.
‘See you.’
Laura watches him turn and stride briskly, stiffly, to his car. She waves as he pulls out. He doesn’t wave back.
That’s okay. She knows he saw her because she could feel his eyes rake across her even from a distance.
She likes the weight of them too.
Okay. That's enough inconvenient yearning. Time for a fucking shower. And then, the sweet, blissful oblivion of sleep.
She can parse out what the fuck her hormone riddled, concussion addled brain is up to in the morning.
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