by Finn, Emilia
“So what do you want?”
“I just wanna learn. Give me an hour of your time, a lane, a little coaching, and some bullets. I won’t point it at a single thing but the paper target you give me.”
He narrows his eyes. “Do you have a gun at home?”
“No. My mom doesn’t want a gun in the house, which is pretty logical, considering her kid is always being carted to the hospital for dumb shit.”
“Fair.”
I lift my shoulders, then let them drop with a tired grunt. “I have no way of getting my hands on one, so you don’t have to worry about what I have at home. I just want to learn.”
“Why learn if you don’t intend to use your skills?”
“Probably the same reason they ask us to find the x in a fuckin’ triangle! Useless information, but you just never know if it might one day become useful. I’m just asking for a little forward thinkin’. And…” I pause and let out a deep breath. “Well… I have a proposition for you.”
* * *
This dude is easily two feet taller than me, triple my width, and has hands bigger than my head. His biceps are almost thicker than my body, and his shoulders make it so I can barely fit in this small space beside him, but I make it work, because I have to take care of my mom, and I want to be able to do it without shooting my own face off.
I find myself standing in one of those lanes inside Spence’s bunker with too-big earmuffs making waves in my ears, and scratched safety glasses covering my eyes. Someone else is here too, seeing as every three seconds he shoots at the paper target and the loud boom makes me twitch.
Every time I twitch, Spence lifts a brow and makes a point of reminding me I’m a little wimp who can’t handle this shit. So I steel my spine, ignore the dude I can’t see and the precision shots he’s making in the center of his paper target, and with shaking hands, I accept the small gun.
“This is a Smith and Wesson MP Shield.” Spence’s eyes come down to mine. “It’s a gun I might recommend to a chick if she asked. Small hands and all that.” He smiles when I narrow my eyes. “It’s small, easily hidden in a purse, and has a long grip, which makes it just a little easier to get a solid firing grip. The slide is a little clunkier than other guns, but for a beginner, this one ain’t bad. It holds seven rounds in the clip, and one in the chamber.”
“Eight shots?”
“Right. If you don’t put them down with eight, you need to take your ass back to the range and get more practice hours in. Safety on the side. Finger off the trigger until you’re ready.” He takes the much larger gun from his thigh and points it along my lane. “Take it slow, breathe, concentrate.”
I jump when he lets off a shot that tears straight through the forehead of my paper man.
“Try to group your shots. Don’t rush anything. Even when I’m in the field, I don’t rush my shots.”
“Have you been in the field a lot?”
“Too much.” Another shot passes through the hole he already made and leaves me with my jaw hanging open. “I’ve had a lot of years practicing, and though my instincts are screaming at me to send your ass home – and my instincts are rarely wrong – I still feel the need to remind myself I was learning how to shoot when I was younger than you are now.”
“So, like a toddler?”
He chuckles and makes another shot. “Yeah, but I was still bigger at three than you are at thirteen.”
“Fourteen.”
“Uh-huh. I come from a single mom family too, so I’m willing to bend the rules a little and help you become proficient, but if you squeal to anyone about this and risk my business or my life, I’ll rip your fingernails up with bamboo sticks. Capiche?”
“Um… capiche, I guess. So, about my proposition…”
Still aiming, he lifts his chin ever so slightly to indicate he’s listening. “Talk to me. I’m a business man; I’m open to discussion. Especially if I’m the winner in the end.”
“Well…” My heart slings around inside my chest. I shouldn’t be this nervous. “So, I made this offer to someone else not so long ago, but he fucked it up.”
“I’m getting sloppy seconds offers?” He lifts a brow. “Get the fuck out. Not interested.”
“No, hear me out!” I stop shouting when the guy in the other lane quiets and stops shooting shit. “My mom is single, and I think maybe she’s lonely. She needs a man in her life she can depend on.”
Spence slams his gun to the counter in front of us and turns his massive frame until he pins me with a glare. “Finish it.”
“Well.” I swallow. “She’s nice, and pretty. You said you think she’s hot, and while that gives me the heebie-jeebies, it’s a good sign, I guess. You’ve got your shit under control; Zeke won’t ever hurt her if you’re around, and I promise to make it so she trusts me to be home alone.”
“Why would you be home alone?”
“When she’s out on a date.”
“Who’s she dating?”
“You! Aren’t you listening?”
“Kid…” His chest bounces with muted laughter. “You’re pimping your mom out? What kinda sick motherfucker are you?”
“Not pimping,” I snap. “I’m trying to make her safe and happy. Whatever that means, however that happens, she’s gotta be both: safe and happy. So if you were to ask her out on a date, I could behave myself long enough for her to eat. If she’s still smiling when you get home, you level up and get to take her out a second time. I had someone else picked, and I swear, I liked that fucker. Like, I actually really liked him for her, and I know they hooked up, because I saw his white ass in her bed. But he ghosted and broke her heart. Now he’s on my shit list because my mom cries when she thinks I don’t hear her.”
“Your mom cries?” Spence’s eyes darken. “Because of a man?”
“She’d never admit it.” I stand taller. “She works; she watches me; she sleeps. That’s it. But for the last year, she smiles more when she works, and she blushes when that prick teases her. I watched him for as long as he watched her; I decided he was worthy, gave him the green light to ask her out, but he ghosted, and my mom doesn’t smile anymore.”
Spence’s eyes widen with realization. “Shit, kid. Are you learning to shoot because you wanna settle your beef with that dude?”
I snort. “No. He didn’t hurt her like that. But if he can walk away and act like he didn’t know her, then he doesn’t deserve her. She’s too perfect for half-assed attempts, so he’s out. Now I’m looking at you.”
“Maybe I don’t wanna date. Maybe I like… ya know, kinky-type stuff in bed. You still okay pimping her out to me?”
“Dude! No. Don’t say that shit!”
“Well!” He throws his hands up. “You made me say it. You have no clue who I am or what kinda chick I like. You don’t know what I do to those chicks behind closed doors, but now you force me to tell you I like to whip them, but you’re still offering your mom up like she’s a meatball sub. You’re buying a car without test driving it, and that’s straight up stupid. If your dad wasn’t such a dumb prick, he’d have taught you that.”
“Forget it.” I turn away and study my mutilated target paper. “Forget I said anything. You ruined it anyway when you said kinky. I can’t get on board with that.”
“Maybe the other dude ghosted for a good reason. Or maybe he’s got the flu and doesn’t have the strength to get out of bed. Maybe he’s hoping Katrina would bring him soup, but now he thinks she ghosted him. Ever think of that?”
“He’s not sick.” Anger slides through my blood and turns my ears hot. “I’ve seen him around. He thinks he’s sneaky, but I’ve seen him around working and shit. He’s not sick; he just doesn’t give a fuck about my mom. And if I’m pimping her out, the man we get better give all his fucks for her. If she ain’t his world, then she ain’t his at all.”
Spence turns back to his gun and sets up for a new shot, but his shoulders shake with laughter. “I can’t believe you thought I was a good option. You wanna ca
ll me Daddy?”
“No. Shut up.”
“Do you want her to call me Daddy?”
“Dude!”
A shadow falls over the space behind us and draws me around.
Eric stands at the entrance to my booth with a white face and tired eyes. He studies me. I swear, he looks haunted. “I’m sorry I ghosted.”
25
Eric
I stood in my lane with my head in my hands and my elbows on the counter for Mac’s entire conversation with Spence. The bits about wanting to take care of his mom, the bits about wanting to learn how to shoot, even the bit where Spence is sick and likes to whip women in bed.
I listened to it all with a heady mixture of jealousy and humor swirling in my blood – jealousy, because Mac is all business and ready to move past me, but humor, because no way will Spence step forward and cut me out when he knows she’s mine. Even after I swear to hell and back that she isn’t.
But my heart didn’t break until the bit about me ghosting, and how my absence hurts Katrina.
The whole point of walking away is that she doesn’t hurt.
Stopping behind them now, I get my first up close look at the kid I missed more than I could ever admit, and study the gun sitting on the counter just a foot to his right. It’s too dangerous; it would break his mother’s heart, but in the same breath, I’m not opposed to it.
I’m not opposed to anything that could keep them safer. Maybe if I’d taught Gemma, things would have ended differently.
I study him now and swallow the lump that lodges in my throat. He looks tired, wearied, worried. He’s fourteen years old, but his eyes speak of responsibility and being a man. If he snatched up that gun and did away with me, it wouldn’t even be unwarranted.
“I’m sorry I ghosted.” I clear my throat. “It’s not because I don’t care, I swear. And I can only admit that right now because we’re in here.” I gesture around Spence’s bunker, his safe space where no one will overhear us. “Your mom and I are a really complicated situation that you shouldn’t know about, but I guess that train already left the station. Regardless of what you think you know, it’s… complicated. I can’t explain anything beyond that, and I know that sucks, because you consider her your responsibility, but it’s the way it has to be. I can’t be who you want me to be, Mac. And I can’t be who your mom needs. My life is all kinds of messed up, and walking away was me doing you a favor and not dragging you into it.”
He listens to my words, absorbs them in a mature way rather than smacking me in the face the way I know he wants to, then he steps forward and folds his arms across his chest. “I gave you the green light, FuckWhit. I trusted you with her; I called my best friend out in your defense. I told him he was wrong and that I had my shit under control. But she needed you; she wanted you to come to her, and the time you could have comforted her, you split. I don’t call that helping us out.” He pauses and lets his gaze drill into mine. “I say you’re a pussy.”
“Mac…” I blow out a breath. “It’s not that easy.”
“You want her to smile for you. You want to hold her hand and call her pretty.” He nods when I gape. “Yeah, you think I had no clue you were into each other? You think I had no clue you spent time together? I’m not blind, FuckWhit, and I ain’t deaf. I was watching you close. You want all the cute shit; you wanna sleep in her bed when I’m at the gym sleepover; you wanna dance in the dark and say nice things, but the one time she needs a hero, you run. It’s all too hard for you. She’s got baby-daddy troubles and a kid with a smart mouth. It’s not what you signed up for, so you run the second she needs a little support.”
He takes another step forward so we stand only three or so feet apart. “I was willing to make the kid stuff easier. I wouldn’t cause any trouble. In fact, I would have made it so you didn’t even notice my existence. I would have erased the kid shit, and I’m trying to control the baby-daddy shit. I was working toward a clean slate for you, but the second it gets tough, you bitch out.”
“You wanna erase the kid shit?” I snap. “Fuck that, Mac! Any man who wants to date your mom better sack up and date her kid too.” Fury and heartbreak war in my chest. “You don’t get to erase yourself! And any man who allows you to do that, any man who wants her but not her kid doesn’t fuckin’ deserve her! Give him hell. Every man who walks through your door, you gotta give him hell and make him work for it. You gotta weed out the weak and find the right one.”
“Well, that ain’t working, is it?” He pounds his chest. “I make it easy; I make it hard, no matter what I do, you still bitch out. Now she cries at night and pretends she’s got hay fever.”
“Mac…”
“Fourteen years, it’s almost winter, and this is the first time she gets hay fever! Get the fuck out of here. You walked away, and any man who deserves her would never do that. So now you’re out, and Spence is the one watching out for her. Fuck you, DeWhit. Fuck you for breaking her heart.”
“I can’t be with her, Mac! You wanna be the man of the house? Well, now you get to choose the way I’ve had to choose. Do you want your mom happy, or do you want her alive?”
That slows him. His face pales, and his eyes flicker between mine. “Huh?”
“I told you I can’t explain myself! Shit is fucked up, Mac. I stay away to keep her safe. To keep you both safe. You think your life sucks? You think working in a diner sucks? Well, it does; it’s hard work; your mom’s back aches every night when she’s done, and the pay is lousy, but it’s a sheltered fucking life compared to what it could be like. You think the world is ending because your mom doesn’t get wined and dined every Friday? I would if I could! But I choose for her to live. So now you get to man up. Do you want her to get flowers and dinner, only for the night to end with her in a casket, or are you happy with shit the way it is?”
“Cap.” Spence steps around the boy and slams a heavy hand onto my shoulder. “Enough.”
“No! Not enough.” I shove his hand off and turn back to Mac. His face is ghostly white, and his lips quiver. “If you wanna be the man of the house, then it’s time to man the fuck up. Do you choose candlelit dinners, Mac, or life? Because I choose her life!”
“I don’t know what you mean.” His voice quivers. He’s spent so long pretending to be a man, and now that he’s been pushed too far, the boy inside him shows himself. “Why are you saying that about my mom? Why is she in danger?”
“She’s not in danger. That’s the fucking point! I stay away so she’s safe.” I move into the booth now that Spence is out and snatch up the gun the guys left sitting there. I grab Mac’s shoulder and spin him around. “I sacrifice myself to keep her safe. You have the right to lash out at me. I get it; you’re mad. I’m mad too, but these are the cards we get. Now you gotta grow the fuck up and be the man.”
I slap the gun into his shaking hand and drop the muffs back over his ears. “Line it up, Macallistar. We don’t leave here till you can group them. Then tomorrow, you come back. We perfect it; we make her safe. And years from now, when you know what I know, you’ll realize I had to tear my own fucking heart out to be able to walk away.”
26
Katrina
The first snow hits us early this year. It’s icy cold and nothing like the Hallmark movies. There is no gentle drift with beautiful snowflakes that we want to catch on our tongues. There’s no kissing under the mistletoe, or dancing in the street while wearing cute hats and mittens. In reality, there are freezing toes, slush piles melting on the curbs, and wind-messed hair that won’t settle no matter how much spray I use. An icy wind slams against the diner windows, and for every moment I’m not serving, I stand by the grill and mooch a little of Stefan’s heat.
Things are… settling for us, I guess. It’s almost like Eric never happened, and the only reminders I’m given now are his empty booth and the way my heart feels awfully hollow whenever I think of him. This is a small town, so the fact I’ve not seen his face or heard his voice in almost two months, except
for that one conversation in my hall, means he’s either relocated to Narnia, or he’s using his undercover skills to stay hidden.
It’s the second, I’m sure, considering his colleagues Sophia and Jay are in here almost as often as Eric was. The first time was like a sucker punch to the gut. They were a connection to him I never previously had. I wondered if they were bringing news—a message, even—and despite my pride and stubbornness, I would have accepted that message and hoped it included an apology and a chance of reconciliation.
Because the heart wants what the heart wants, even if the brain waves her pompoms and cheers we don’t need a man!
But by the third or fourth day of their visits and smiling chats while they ate and stared into each other’s eyes, my stomach stopped jumping when the bell above the front door would ring. They weren’t bringing news. They were just hungry, and I was nothing more than a waitress to them.
It’s the way it was always supposed to be.
My son’s bad run with colds and sinus infections has slowed. He’s not as tired as he was, and his bad attitude after Eric’s final visit has waned. He was on the man-hater train with me, but he’s mellowed since then. He doesn’t speak of Eric; I don’t speak of Eric.
We simply live our lives the way we did before I ever met him.
Even Zeke is playing nice. He’s deeply apologetic for upsetting us; he’s a changed man; he wants to get to know his son, blah blah blah. His words are the same, which doesn’t particularly endear him to me, but his actions – or more accurately – his lack of actions is intriguing.
He calls me a couple times a week and asks how we are. He asks after Mac and mentions a camping trip around Christmas. He tells me how he got a job in the next town over, so he’s sticking close, and he hopes I can agree to letting him into our lives as time passes and he proves himself.
