Fearless Like Us

by Krista Ritchie

  I snort, “That Thatcher is just being Thatcher and not to worry.”

  “Did you ask Thatcher about it?”

  “No, I couldn’t even look at Thatcher this morning. I passed him in the kitchen and fled like I saw a fucking ghost.” I groan at myself, my face hot. “I hate feeling this embarrassed over something that I actually loved.” I sigh out, “And I’m not a good roommate.”

  “You shouldn’t be embarrassed.” Beckett swallows a bite of Cheerios. “Remember the FanCon Tour? I had sex in a communal part of the tour bus.”

  “Brother, you fornicated where?” Eliot overhears from behind him. A grin in his voice. “Do tell.”

  I smile at Beckett as he says to his younger brother, “I don’t fuck and tell.”

  “But what about fornicate?”

  Beckett smiles into a spoonful, almost spitting out the milk in a laugh. I’m about to let him go spend time with his brothers, but he tells me quietly, “As long as you cleaned the kitchen after, I don’t see a problem.”

  Did I clean the kitchen?

  Fuck.

  “What if I didn’t clean the kitchen?” My face is on fire, and I’m glad Banks and Akara are farther along the snowy farmland, outpacing me while I’m still near Bogger. The Jeep is parked up against the wooden fence.

  Beckett eats slower. “How messy were you?”

  I shrug, “I just…felt the moment. We always just feel the moment…” I think more. “Banks only went down on me in the kitchen, so it’s not like we were throwing used condoms everywhere.” Ugh, fuck, I’m still burning up from Thatcher possibly knowing his brother gave me head on the kitchen island.

  He can’t have all those details.

  I try to hold on to logic and not anxieties.

  “Sounds fine to me, Sulli,” Beckett reassures. “They’ve been good to you? Banks and Akara?”

  I instantly smile. “Yeah, they really care about me.” Which is kind of why we’re in the middle of nowhere. I stare around at my new surroundings. “I’m actually at a farm right now. Still in Pennsylvania.”

  A lone red barn lies in the far, far distance, and a horse freely moseys around the snowy farmland. Haybales kind of look like frosted cake logs.

  “What are you doing there?”

  “It’s a date. They’re helping me shoot a gun. I’ve been nervous to do it after the cougar attack.” I undersell my fear. Maybe because I want to be like Moffy. Maybe because I’m hoping it’ll be easy to hurdle if I act like it’s a piece of cake.

  “I hate guns,” he says casually, then glances somewhere. “Who is it?” I can’t hear the answer, but Beckett looks more interested. “Sorry, I have to go, Sulli.” He gracefully stands. “Oscar’s little sister is at the door.”

  “Joana?”

  “Yeah.”

  She’s a badass and a pro-boxer, but back in Scotland, I remember Joana being super quick-witted and taking plenty of shots at Beckett. And he fired back.

  Beckett is sweet, but he’s still a Cobalt, born with a library on his tongue.

  “Have fun on your day off,” I tell him.

  “Have fun on your date.”

  We’re smiling before we hang up. Breathing in the cold air, I see Akara and Banks waiting for me on the snowy field. Banks has an old friend from the Marines who lives alone out here, and he’s letting us shoot some guns on his property.

  No one is around but us for what feels like miles and miles, so they’re not hovering like bodyguards. I’m just a normal girl out on a winter date with both of my boyfriends. Which, yeah, having two boyfriends is not that fucking typical, but I don’t care.

  I’m trying to take my own adventure, my own path. Not journey through someone else’s.

  I hike my leg over the wooden fence, following the snowy footsteps they made. I tug a beanie over my damp hair, not dry yet from swim practice this morning. I had to jump in and demonstrate the technique for the fly.

  Or as I used to call it, the butterdie.

  Maximoff’s favorite is the butterfly, and I dreaded having to swim it. Frankie is best at freestyle, like me. She struggled to pick up the stroke rhythm for the fly today and asked for a visual. So I went in.

  Being in a pool the size of Warwick’s transported me to a feeling I’d forgotten.

  Like I was meeting up with my greatest friend again. Water kissed my skin, and I never wanted to leave. When I finished, I glanced up at the electronic board, almost expecting to see my time.

  Expecting to hear the crowds.

  Expecting to feel that big, glorious burst of pride in myself.

  When none of those things reached me, I climbed out and watched Frankie go in. And a horrible thought crashed down. I hope she fails.

  That thought has stayed with me the whole car ride here.

  Akara zips up his red Columbia jacket and calls out, “Hey, slow poke! When’d you turn into a turtle?” He jokes, but his smile starts to fade in real concern. “Are you dragging your feet?”

  “Hardy har,” I say weakly. I am sort of shuffling.

  Banks frowns. “You okay?”

  I zone in on the guns in their hands, apprehension building. “Sort of…”

  My spirits should be high, but after the cougar attack a couple months ago, I’m dreading holding a gun again. Fuck, I’m dreading hearing a gun again. On top of that, I’m sinking into a wave of guilt for wishing Frankie ill.

  Positive thinking, Sulli

  Okay…a major upside to swim practices: Coach Reed never asked me out again. He’s been chill ever since the pizzeria, and I’m guessing it was Akara’s threat that really drilled it in.

  Despite that plus, anxiety swells a lump in my throat, and I realize I’m gazing haunted at their guns. They’re staring down at me with a warm blanket of concern. One I kind of just want to wrap up into and forget what I need to do.

  What I should do.

  “We don’t have to shoot today, Sul,” Akara breathes. “Or ever.”

  I hug my Patagonia jacket tighter around my body. “I want to.” Five glass bottles of various sizes are lined up on a haybale in the distance. To our right, a picnic blanket and portable heater are set aside near an oak tree.

  I helped pack the picnic basket this morning.

  Romance and a dash of fucking fear. It’s a total Meadows kind of date. With my family, I’ve swam with sharks. Bungee jumped. Sky-dived. Adrenaline junkie activities, adventure sports—I know them well.

  Yet, I’ve run when things get uncomfy, and I’m afraid I’m going to shoot once and bolt like a coward.

  “I don’t want to mess this up.” I motion to everything—our date, the bottles on the haybale, the guns.

  “You’re not messing it up,” Akara says like that’s impossible.

  Banks catches my gaze beneath his lashes. “We can skip the shooting part and go straight to the picnic, but I think it’d be good to at least try.” He picks up the extra handgun, his gun, the same type I’m interested in purchasing. “I don’t want to push you too far—but I’m gonna push you a little bit.”

  I start to smile. Pushing myself is easy when fear isn’t attached. I’ve never been scared to stay late at swim practice or sacrifice family outings for extra Olympic training sessions. Kicking myself is second-nature, and so is disappointment when I don’t achieve enough.

  But I need help going forward now. “Yeah?”

  “Yeah.” His mouth curves up. “I have plenty of experience living outside a comfort zone, and I’ll take you there when you wanna go.”

  I want to go. He knows I do.

  But I tell him out loud anyway, “I want to go there.” I glance between them.

  Akara has a smile in his eyes. “I’ll be there to protect you. Like I’ve always done.” His fingers loop in the rope of my whistle. “Like I’ll always do.” Just when I think he’s drawing me closer, he flings the rope off my head and steals my whistle. Too fast for my reflexes.

  But I slug his side. He makes a grunting noise that boosts my co
nfidence.

  Akara blows the whistle, straightening up. “Unsportsmanlike conduct from Player Three.”

  “You want unsportsmanlike, I can show you un-fucking-sportsmanlike—” I’m grinning, about to chase Akara around the field, but he holsters his gun to protect me before I try to tackle. And my smile fades into the reality of what we’re doing.

  I’m not here to pounce on Akara Kitsuwon like a snow leopard.

  With a deeper breath, I keep teetering between a smile and a frown. Fuck these fucking nerves. I don’t want to be scared forever. If I’d been afraid of a gun during the cougar attack, Akara might not even be alive.

  And I think my dad always intended for me to own my own handgun, but the minimum age in Pennsylvania is twenty-one. The opportunity only arose this year.

  Both guys study me as I go quiet again.

  “If I seem down,” I say softly, “it’s because I’m a horrible fucking person and I had a horrible thought at practice.” Before Akara contests how I’m not horrible at all, I just tell them, “I wished Frankie would fail.” I expel a pained breath. “And it doesn’t even make much sense. I’m coaching her. Her success is my success in a way.”

  Neither Banks nor Akara seem shocked. I might as well have just said my hair is brown and snow is beneath our feet.

  “Okay, something is seriously wrong with both of you.” I reach up and touch their foreheads. “You must be running a fever because you should be looking at me like I’m Satan incarnate, or at least, I traveled close to Satan’s butthole.”

  Banks lets out the loudest laugh.

  Akara smiles. “Sulli. You can’t be riding up against other people’s buttholes, devil or not.”

  Humor makes me feel better. “Seriously, though. I wished failure on the girl I’m coaching.”

  “You’re competitive,” Akara says like he understands the feeling. “It happens.”

  “It shouldn’t just happen.” I wince. “I retired from competitive swimming. I’m not going back.” Those last four words plunge a knife in my ribs. Breathing in the sharp, cold air, I wince more. I was fine with retiring at eighteen. Why have my feelings changed?

  I shake my head a few times. “I don’t want to talk about it anymore. Let’s just shoot.”

  Banks passes me earmuffs, and I fit the ear protection over my beanie. Sounds immediately soften. Akara goes first. We stand back while he positions himself behind a low haybale.

  Akara is quick to check the magazine, rack the Glock, and then squeeze the safety. Like ripping off a Band-Aid, he just fires.

  Pop. Pop. Pop.

  I flinch each time. Unblinking, I hear the hellacious growl and feel a heavy, cumbersome weight on top of my body. The warmth of blood soaking against my skin.

  And then silence.

  Pure fucking unbearable silence.

  Agony and panic roars into me, the same feeling that slammed against me when I thought I lost Akara and Banks. When I thought they died.

  I blink into focus.

  Banks has an arm wrapped around my waist, and he’s slid one earmuff back. So I can hear him say, “Sulli?”

  I’m alright. I can’t produce the words.

  “Take a big breath.”

  I inhale a lungful. Adrenaline still surges and courses through my veins. Heat bathes me under my winter jacket.

  Akara comes over, seeing my state of unease. “You don’t have to go any further.”

  On instinct, I shake my head. “…I need to shoot at least once.” I take another breath. Quitting isn’t in me today. I don’t want to have fear in me either.

  Banks holds out the gun.

  My fingers slip around the grip. When he lets go, it feels heavy in my hand. I can do this.

  I can fucking do this.

  I line up, facing the haybales and bottles. Glass and half-cracked bottles already scatter the snow. Akara broke 2 out of his 3 shots. Eight bottles are still whole.

  Beside me, Banks says, “Beat Akara.”

  My lips rise. Goals. I love making them. I fucking love completing them. “You ready to go down, Kits?” I talk some trash.

  He smiles near Banks. “I’m not worried.”

  Game on. I concentrate. After fitting my earmuffs back on, I check the magazine and rack the Glock so a bullet enters the chamber. My mouth dries as I raise the gun.

  Beat Akara.

  Weight on my body.

  Warm blood.

  Pain.

  Beat Akara.

  The gun trembles in my grip. “Fuck,” I curse.

  Banks’ body melds behind me, arms stretched against my arms, and his hands fit over my hands. “Just breathe, Sulli,” he says, loudly enough to hear through the earmuffs.

  I relax against his strength. Inhaling through my nose, I squeeze the safety that lies against the trigger. My stomach cramps.

  More weight starts bearing on my breastbone. Everything seems to spin. Why is this so fucking hard?! Just shoot!

  I shift my stance, feeling Banks.

  His body against my body brings me back to the present.

  Focus.

  Concentrate.

  I don’t want this fear.

  Like Banks says, pack it up and ship it away.

  Please.

  Please.

  I pull the trigger.

  A shell flies from the chamber, and the force against my hand is an electric shock. I’m quaking, and Banks wiggles the gun out of my grip. Away from me.

  I press a fist to my forehead. “Fuck.”

  I struggle to breathe a full breath.

  Akara comes over quickly. “Sul?”

  Banks slides my earmuffs to my neck. “Talk to us…” He cups my cheek.

  “I…that…” I inhale sharply. “That did not feel good.”

  Banks unloads the magazine. “Baby steps, mermaid. You’re still getting the hang of your feet on land again.”

  I wince. “I want this feeling fucking gone. Like today.”

  Akara pulls me into a hug. I hang on tight as he says, “You can’t jump into the deep-end on this one, Sul.”

  Banks lightly taps my temple. “You have some post-trauma. It’s not gonna resolve itself in a day.”

  I swallow, contemplating their words. Pulling out of the hug, I inhale one more breath. “Practice makes perfect, right?” I’m great at training towards hard goals, but fuck, even picturing shooting another bullet sends panic. “I think…I think baby steps are good.” Fifteen-year-old Sulli would choke at that statement and say, who fucking are you? Kick your ass into high-gear—get it done.

  I can’t.

  Banks nods strongly to me. He was true to his promise of pushing me a little but not too much. “You did a lot, Sulli.”

  I did?

  “You’re not failing,” Akara says too. “Sometimes slow is good.”

  I smile. “Like how slow you were to admit you want your P in my V?”

  Banks laughs. “I’m gonna remember this.”

  Akara nods, smiling, then blows the whistle. “Foul play.”

  “Hey, I spoke the fucking truth!”

  We’re all grinning.

  And I totally forgot about whether I broke a bottle with my one shot. As I glance to the haybale, seeing only two bottles broken (both from Akara), I mutter, “Cumfuck.”

  Akara suddenly steals my beanie and messes my hair.

  “Kits!” I roar into a smile, and I attempt to retrieve my beanie. He holds the hat up over my head. “Banks,” I call out. My boyfriend lifts me up by the waist, giving me a boost. I’m able to snatch my beanie back in no time.

  Akara blows his whistle. “Interference from Player Two.”

  I extend my arms. “We’re just taking a page from Player One and playing dirty.”

  We joke and laugh on our way to the blanket and heaters near the oak tree. Curled under a quilt between Akara and Banks, I flip open the picnic basket.

  Knock knock.

  Knock knock.

  The sound steals happiness and smile
s.

  They pull out their cellphones with vigilant gazes. I hold my knees to my chest, wishing we could just ignore the leaks and eat lunch, but the uncertainty of “what leaked?” would hang uncomfortably.

  And they can’t ignore security threats.

  Their whole duty is to keep me safe.

  I peer around Akara’s shoulder to read.

  THE ROYAL LEAKS

  We reveal all the truths about the American Royals. These are verified and come directly from the source.

  ROYAL LEAK #1: Sullivan Meadows ate a chocolate donut made with milk and eggs.

  ROYAL LEAK #2: Thatcher Moretti cheated on his wife with another woman.

  #TodaysLeaks #VeganNoMore #cheaters #SisterBetrayal #HusbandBetrayal

  The second leak slams me backwards. “Thatcher what?” I dig for my phone in my jacket. My pulse is racing. I need to call Jane and see if she’s okay. Fuck the bit about me.

  Yeah, I ate a chocolate donut right before we left the penthouse. Akara and Banks saw me on the scale this morning and how much weight I’ve dropped in one week.

  Being such a picky eater, I haven’t been eating enough. All the vegan alternatives to my favorite foods hardly compare to what I’m used to.

  My boyfriends’ concern overpowered the sisterly happiness I feel whenever Winona illuminates at me being vegan. So I scarfed down something I knew I’d enjoy, and I ate the donut with guilt. Now my sister will know before I even have the chance to tell her. Which I hate.

  But the bigger news, the bigger what the fuck, is the second leak.

  Banks shakes his head roughly. “No, he couldn’t have. My brother wouldn’t. Jane is the world to him. And he’s been cheated on in the past—he knows what that’s like.”

  “Call him,” Akara says, but as soon as we start dialing Jane and Thatcher, they text us.

  Thatcher didn’t cheat. We made up a fake fight in the library to bait the mole. We both claimed to be cheating on each other, but the mole only ran with half the lie. The library must be bugged. All is fine. – Jane

  “All is not fucking fine!” I shout at my phone. “Jane.” I groan out, wishing she didn’t do this. Their relationship is going to implode online.