Dr. Hawthorn’s gaze meets mine in the rearview mirror, his brows furrowed, annoyance etched in his steely gaze. I drop his gaze when my stomach churns. The open fields race past me while he drives erratically through the back pasture. He opens the gate without assistance, and slams the car door when he gets back in.
The truck is silent. Olson gives him a sidelong glance, wondering if we made a big mistake by inviting him along. Spoiler alert: we absolutely made a big mistake inviting him.
When we reach our desired area, Dr. Hawthorn hops out and starts setting up the targets. I bring the small box of ammo with me to the folding table Olson sets up. Dr. Hawthorn sets up six bales of hay, two per stack, creating a small barrier so we have something to rest our guns on.
“Aria?”
I turn my head to Olson as he stares at me like I am the craziest person on Earth.
Maybe I am.
“Are you listening to me? Is the gun clean?”
Sure.
I didn’t exactly check, but I’d love to get this show on the road.
“Mmhm.”
Without a word, Dr. Hawthorn strolls behind me, taking the gun out of my hand and disassembling it, inspecting every inch of the weapon. Once he’s satisfied, he assembles it and places it in my hand.
What the hell is wrong with him? And why is he taking it out on me?
“It’s fine,” he grumbles, grabbing his gun out of his holster and carrying it out to our setup.
Rolling his eyes, Olson turns to me and places a hand on my shoulder.
“When is it okay to put your finger on the trigger?”
“Only when you’re ready to kill someone,” I mumble back, turning away from him and walking to the setup, just as Dr. Hawthorn empties his magazine. I drop to the ground, throwing my arms over my head.
“Hawthorn! What the hell, man!”
My cheeks burn when Olson helps me up. I brush the grass off of me while Dr. Hawthorn inserts a new clip, misery in his stance.
“What?”
“Give us some warning!”
“Fine! I’m emptying another magazine!”
This time, I’m ready for it. Olson slaps some ear protectors over my ears and only the muffled sounds of the pop, pop, pop can be heard. Casings cover the ground. He doesn’t show any signs of slowing down. Olson growls something at him, and then the earmuffs are yanked off.
“Ignore him. You were right. Where are you going to aim?”
“The chest. It’s a bigger target.”
“Right.”
And if it’s Charlie wielding the gun, I shoot to kill. I don’t give him the opportunity to get back up.
“If you’re pulling the trigger, you’re prepared to kill someone.” Daddy’s words echo through my head.
I swallow my nerves and turn the safety off. I line up the shot, cock the gun, and nearly shit my pants when Olson stands so close to me and then tells me to relax.
There’s no relaxing in this position.
This isn’t going to relieve any stress.
“Breathe,” he says softly. “Don’t lock your arms.”
The target is blurry, but only because it’s so far away. I focus on the chest and finally gain the bravery to place my index finger in the trigger well, curling it around the trigger, and squeezing.
The bang makes my ears ring. My arms immediately shake. The gun is taken out of my hands and laid on the hay.
“You did good.”
I blink at Olson’s words. It doesn’t feel good. In fact, it feels the opposite.
“But that was only one shot. Remember what I said? We’re staying here until I’m confident you can’t miss.”
“Yeah, I remember.”
“You’re strong, Aria. Remember that.”
I’m not strong. I’m lucky.
We’re here for fifteen minutes before I run out of ammo. I don’t have to worry much about it, because Dr. Hawthorn brought ammo that could last him three years, so I switch out for his gun.
He remains quiet. He watches on with narrowed eyes and quiet confidence. Anger exudes off his body.
Olson’s phone interrupts the lesson and he tells me to continue and takes the call in Dr. Hawthorn’s truck.
I ready the next shot, grateful I’m finally left alone to think.
“Are you right-handed?”
I jump at Dr. Hawthorn’s voice behind me, accidentally firing off a shot.
“God! You have to announce yourself!”
He chuckles, the first time a smile cracks his hard exterior.
“Yes, I’m right-handed.”
“Which is your dominant eye?”
What does that even mean?
I appreciate how his features soften. Shooting a gun is one thing. Shooting a gun while someone watches you, while he scrutinizes your every move is…terrifying. It’s like I’m on display all over again, waiting for him to jump in my face and yell at me Drill Instructor style.
“Which eye do you close when you shoot?”
My right eye closes. “Why does that matter?”
“This is going to feel weird, but try pulling the trigger with your left hand.”
I change my hand placement and stand with my feet hip width apart. He steps closer to me but respects my bubble. He doesn’t move to touch or correct me.
“Breathe through it. You’ll pass out if you hold your breath.”
I grip it tight, and squeeze the trigger, my eyes closing involuntarily. I miss the target by a foot.
“It didn’t work.”
“When you closed your eyes, you moved your arms.”
Looks like I’ll be the first one murdered. He motions for me to get back in stance. He moves behind me.
“I’m going to touch your elbows, okay? I won’t touch anything else.”
My body immediately tenses at his touch. I let out a gasp as soon as the anxiety ebbs. At least he told me what he was doing. My skin isn’t crawling and begging me to shower his touch off.
“When you have someone in your sights, don’t hesitate. Don’t close your eyes. If that fucker is standing over you with a gun in your face, you shoot to kill. You watch him die at your hands with no remorse.” He helps line me up and releases my elbows.
If Charlie is standing over me with a gun in my face, I don’t want to be the one who doesn’t have the upper hand. If he dies at my hands, I want to watch the life drain from his eyes. I want to be the one he fears. And most importantly, I want to be the one who takes everything away from him, just like he did to me.
“Get out of your head, Aria.” His voice is gentle and smooth, not like how it was twenty minutes ago. I lick my lips and squeeze the trigger, my eyes remaining open. “I’ll grab the target. Stay here.”
He moves so smoothly. And I can’t help but ogle the swirling tribal tattoos on his right arm. He grins as he jogs back, showing me the hole through the target’s chest. Relief rushes over me. Maybe I can kill him if the need ever arises.
“Hey, I need to get back. My team has a lead.”
My face falls. I’ve only had one successful shot.
“No worries. Take the truck. I’ll stay here with Aria, and I’ll let you know how it goes after. We’ll clean up tomorrow.”
“Aria? Are you okay with this?” Olson asks.
“Um…yeah. It’s fine. I don’t think I’ll stay much longer.”
He eyes us both suspiciously. He won’t leave me if I’m not comfortable.
“Honestly, Olson, it’s fine. I’ll be okay.”
He frowns, and then narrows his eyes at Dr. Hawthorn.
“Not a scratch, asshole. I mean it.”
Dr. Hawthorn waves him off dismissively and retreats to the bales of hay. I wave goodbye to Olson and follow Dr. Hawthorn back to the makeshift stand.
“How do you feel?” he asks, keeping his eyes on the prize.
“Fine.”
He scoffs.
“You need to get better at lying.” I regret not going back home with Olson. “That last shot was great
. Let’s keep it going. Evening feed is in two hours and we’re not leaving until you can group.”
What are the odds of me using this thing, anyway?
“Is this how you get all the ladies?”
Chuckling, he grabs hold of my elbows, steadying my stance, but keeping a respectable distance.
“There isn’t this much talking with the ladies.”
I smirk and pull the trigger. “Good. Do it again.”
And we do. I use two entire boxes of ammo, and by the time we’re finished, I can group my shots with ease, though I’m still a little shaky holding the damn thing.
“We’ll pick it back up tomorrow.”
I raise my eyebrows.
“Excuse me?”
He picks up all the shell casings and rounds up the other garbage around us.
“You want to be ready, don’t you? Sure, you can group, but what if he doesn’t show up for another six months? You’re not going to do shit if you don’t practice.”
I freeze on the spot. “What if I had things to do?” Like sit in front of Annie’s TV all day so I can watch all of Netflix’s catalog.
He smirks and straightens.
“What do you have going on, Ace?”
Absolutely not a goddamned thing.
When I don’t answer, he chuckles. “Move your plans around. This is important.”
I flick the safety on the gun and place it carefully on the bales of hay as I help get the rest of the garbage.
He emptied three magazines on anger alone. I saw his target. A few of those shots went into the same holes. What could get him so angry he felt the need to shoot something?
“Did it make you feel better?”
I don’t dare make eye contact with him. Was that too personal?
“Did it scare you?” His question takes me off guard.
Charlie lived for my fear. My dad doesn’t mean to scare me, but he doesn’t coddle me, either.
When it comes to my family, I was always the afterthought. Maybe not on purpose, but I wasn’t one to speak up. That was for Chris and Annie—the planned children.
“No.”
“Is there a reason you feel you need to lie to me?”
I hate how he can read me like an open book.
“I’m not lying.”
He shrugs and shoves the garbage in a plastic bag.
“You hit the ground, Ace. You were scared.”
“You caught me off guard! What psycho empties a magazine with no warning? Who has that much anger bubbling inside of them?”
His boyish grin melts the animosity I have towards him. Yeah, I hit the ground, but I thought he was shooting at an intruder.
I exhale a cleansing breath and sink to the ground, allowing my head to rest on the bales of hay behind me.
“You’ll get used to it.”
I fucking hope not.
“I doubt it.” I lace my fingers through the soft grass, close my eyes, and take a deep breath. I’m grounding myself to the moment.
A gun isn’t being shoved in my mouth.
And the man sitting next to me isn’t making any sudden movements.
Progress.
“Do you ever get out of your head?”
“It’s safe there.”
He chuckles.
“Safe is boring.”
Safe is…safe. Safe means not saying the wrong thing and facing the consequences. Being safe is playing my cards close to my chest. There’s only one person who will fight for you, and that’s yourself. I’m enjoying whatever time I have left with my family—despite the fact they’re livid with me. They still love me regardless, even if my dad has a shitty way of showing it.
It’s like he realizes he says the wrong thing, because he shifts his body so he’s facing me.
“I didn’t mean it like that.”
“If Olson didn’t track me down at the grocery store, I’d still be a slave to Charlie.”
He frowns and opens his mouth to say something, but I’m too quick.
“Safe is what kept me alive.”
“Survival is one thing, Ace, but what are you planning to do once all of this is over? You’re in a good position now. You can reinvent yourself…be the person you always saw yourself as being.”
How easy.
Why didn’t I think of that?
Let me just repress all of the memories of him beating me within an inch of my life, or burning me until my ear piercing screams filled the top floor of our apartment building.
“Why is it everyone wants me to just bounce back like nothing ever happened?” I leap up and grab Annie’s empty gun and start for our houses, his heavy footsteps behind me, the plastic bag rustling in his hands. “Am I supposed to forget he shoved me in a grave with his dead stepmother for a full twenty-four hours before coming back to get me? Or how he shoved an unloaded gun in my mouth and pulled the trigger because he got pleasure from watching me squirm?”
“That’s not what I’m saying, Aria.”
“Then what is it? Because I guaran-fucking-tee my mother is sitting at the kitchen table, working her rolodex to see what other idiot she can stick me with so I can stop embarrassing the family—”
“Do you honestly believe that? I know your mother, and she genuinely cares about all of you. And saying that about her is insulting. You went through something horrific, but I think you’re the only one who thinks you’re a burden.”
I laugh poisonously.
“My dad couldn’t get away from me fast enough. You’re new around here, so I don’t expect you to understand how our dynamic works.”
The way he freezes sends a shiver down my spine. Does he know more than what he’s letting on? Does he know what my dad is really up to?
“You don’t know me, Dr. Hawthorn, and I’d appreciate it if you would stop pretending like we’re friends.”
“Oh, great. So we’re back to the formal business, then? Okay, Ms. McKenzie, what I was trying to say is your family is bending over backwards to give you a sense of normalcy. You obviously don’t want to be pitied, or treated any differently than your siblings, then what the fuck do you expect everyone to do?”
Tears prick my eyes. He thinks he knows, but he doesn’t. I stop in my tracks. His footsteps sound from behind, and then his boots slide into my line of vision on the ground. He sighs.
“Fuck, Ace, I wasn’t trying to make you cry.”
“Don’t take it personally. It doesn’t take much nowadays.”
His fingers twitch, wanting to reach out and give me a reassuring squeeze, or whatever, but he respects the bubble. I wish he’d respect the bubble to not fucking talk to me either.
“I had a shitty day and I’m taking it out on everyone around me.”
What, possibly, could have gone so wrong in his life to warrant a shitty day?
“I’m not going to pretend to know what horrors you faced while you were with him. But you’re doing yourself a disservice by closing yourself off to everyone around you. That’s how he wins.”
That’s how he wins.
He already fucking won. Everyone around me doesn’t know how to act around me. He isn’t involved in my day to day anymore, but still, I’m acting like he still has a say.
My phone vibrates in my back pocket. I reach back and glance at the caller ID. My hands shake at the 312 area code.
“Aria?”
“I have to go. Don’t follow me.” I storm past him, but he’s hot on my heels.
“We’re going in the same direction. I can’t not follow you!”
“Then wait. Wait until I get all the way inside and then go home. Momma will help with evening feed.” Probably.
Just when I thought he’s gone, he finds some way to make sure I comply.
13
DEREK
Aria doesn’t show up for morning feed, so Chris and I are stuck doing morning chores. I can’t wait for Annie to get back. I have a job I like, and I don’t exactly have all the time in the world to pick up her slack.
As my mind clears, I’m haunted by a certain McKenzie. I hope she’s all right. I hope I didn’t screw up all our progress by putting in my two cents.
I think I pushed too far. I should’ve shut my mouth when I made her cry. Fuck. I don’t like being that guy. I don’t get off on tears or watching a broken woman crumble into the ground. That’s not who I am.
But it shouldn’t matter. She’s made it crystal clear she doesn’t want to hear from me. So why do I keep trying to force my time on her? Her sense of humor is like mine, dark and dry. Her presence brings some kind of…calm to me. Which is ridiculous because she’s anything but calm. She’s a bundle of high-strung nerves that will erupt into chaos at the slightest prod.
But I keep going back for more.
Regardless of how she feels about me, I’m still taking her back to the pasture to shoot today. It’s essential she can shoot an intruder. If her family is going to bat for her, she needs to learn to go to bat for herself.
If this danger she unintentionally brought home with her affects the rest of us, then everyone needs to know how to defend themselves.
Topping off the last water bucket, I catch sight of Emily’s car speeding down my driveway. She’s not done picking fights with me.
Cool.
I take my sweet time and let her stew on my front porch while I wind up the hose and sweep down the barn. I walk at a glacial pace to my front door, to find her standing at my front door with her arms crossed and annoyance etched in her tan and doe like features.
It’s nice to know where my child support is going. It funds her tanning habit while Zoey has to beg for new books to read.
Emily’s blonde hair is in a low pony, her eyebrows furrowed, and her glare is hidden by her ridiculously large sunglasses. She wears a black and white striped dress on heels she can barely walk in.
I hope her feet hurt.
“Go away, Em.”
“You don’t get to hang up on me, Derek.”
I open the door and allow her entry. Off come the sunglasses as her gaze sweeps over my minimalist living room, huffing in disapproval.
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