“Turn off the safety by pushing this in,” he shows me where near the trigger it is, “then pull the trigger.”
“That's it? You're not going to tell me what to expect?” I need to know, so I won't freak out when whatever happens happens.
“I'm going to be behind you because it's going to recoil into your shoulder. It's not bad, but you've never done it before, and I don't want it to scare you too much. This piece on the end will absorb most of it.”
I nod, reposition the shotgun on my shoulder once more, turn off the safety, and aim. I don't notice that Gabe is standing behind me as I focus. For about thirty seconds, he waits until I finally pull the trigger, barely feeling the recoil. Adrenaline pumps through my veins hard and fast as the bottom can explodes.
Holy.
Shit.
I hit it! Before I can get too excited, Gabe tells me to pull a piece back, flinging the empty shell out, and push the safety button from the other side to turn it back on. He takes the gun from me and then I take off the earmuffs.
“Did you see that?” I ask excitedly. “I shot, and it exploded!”
Gabe chuckles. “I saw it. That was amazing. You took your time, which is the girl in you, and you nailed it.” He holds up his hand, and I give him a high five with a laugh, the rush still running through me. “Let's go look at the damage.” Gabe lays the gun back on the picnic table before taking my hand, leading me to the post.
The top can was knocked over, but is still intact. The can I aimed for, however, is destroyed. There are little holes all over what's left of it, and there's one huge gaping hole missing, causing the can to only be in tact from the back. Gabe points to one of the little holes.
“Inside the shell, there are a bunch of little pellets. When you shoot a shotgun, those pellets are released and fan out. That's why they are all over the place.”
“I don't care about the technical stuff, Gabe. Sorry,” I quickly add. “But can I do it again?” I rock on my heels from excitement.
Gabe laughs. “See, I told you that you would like it.”
And boy, do I. Gabe puts the leftover can on top of the post, and we return to where we were standing. Just as before, I take my time to steady my excited, frayed nerves, aim, and then slowly pull the trigger back with my finger, the rush swirling and swooshing through me powerfully before it even goes off. It happens rapidly, but the can explodes just like before.
“Are you sure you've never done this before?” Gabe's faint voice rumbles through the earmuffs.
I laugh. “Positive. Can I try one of the other ones?”
Gabe nods, takes the shotgun from me, and I pull off the earmuffs as I follow him to the table. Right now, stress – what it is, what it means, and how it feels – is completely foreign to me. My blood is still pumping swiftly with a buzzed elation. This is fun. So much more than I ever thought possible. I'm not comfortable holding it unless I'm about to shoot, so I let Gabe do that. He asks if I want to load this one, but I shake my head. That's for another day.
“This one doesn't have a safety,” he tells me, glancing at my wide eyes. Gabe chuckles. “It's fine, Ryan. Don't freak out on me.”
“I'm not.” I rock on my heels. “This is amazing, but I don't feel comfortable holding it longer than it takes to aim and shoot.”
Gabe nods, turning to walk back to where we were standing. “That makes sense, and I don't mind doing all the work for you.” He flashes me a smile before getting back down to business. “Okay, this is a little different than the shotgun. This is how you're going to hold it.” The curve of the handle is where the curve between my thumb and forefinger will rest. “You want to make sure this is how you hold it. When you're out of rounds, this is going to cock backwards, and if you're hand is there, it's going to hurt when it fires back at you. You're going to wrap your fingers around it, leaving your forefinger out straight until you're ready to shoot.
“Then you'll place your left hand over your other hand to steady it. This recoil is different than the shotgun. The gun itself is going to sort of fling back, like this.” He moves his hands, the gun going from straight towards the target to upwards towards the sky. “You need to hold it tightly, and keep your arms steady. To aim, it's similar to the shotgun, but you have to line up these three squares.” He points to two of them on the outer edge at the top of the gun, closest to me, and the other in the middle at the end of the barrel. “Once you line those up with your target, you're good to go. All you have to do is pull.” After a moment, he adds, “The casings will eject automatically, so I'll be standing on your left to avoid them.”
I nod, and he asks if I'm ready. I nod again, so he holds the gun out for me to take. This gun is so much smaller, which makes it feel so much more dangerous. Gabe senses my anxiety, I guess, because he stands behind me and places his hands over mine to hold the gun with me. To stall, I ask what kind it is, even though it means nothing to me.
“45 mag.” His hands help steady me, the nerves fading as I match his breathing. His hands leave mine. “Here, you forgot these.” Gabe moves the earmuffs from around my neck and over my ears.
“I'm good now,” I tell him, and he takes a step backwards away from me. With long, slow intakes of air through my nose and breathing out my mouth, I find my calm. The gun is steady in my hands as I pull back the trigger. He was right, the recoil is different, but it happens so fast, I'm not sure I can describe what it does exactly. I aimed for the bullseye, of course, but the bullet hit the lower right corner in the white.
“You're hesitating right before you pull the trigger, and the gun dips a little. Try again. Take your time, but don't hesitate,” Gabe says from my left. I nod and repeat the process, taking my time as instructed.
This time, I hit the black. On my third try, I make sure that my hands are still, almost to the point of locking my arms in place. I look at that little red circle, pulling the trigger back with my finger, a high taking over from the powerful force. My mouth parts when I see that I hit it. I lift the gun to do it again. Just to see if I can put another hole there. Holy fuckaroo. I did it. Again. And then, lost in this crazy high, I pull the trigger four more times rapidly.
The top of the gun pops back, just as Gabe said it would when it was out of bullets. Gabe's eyes are wide when I hand it back to him.
“Got a little trigger-happy, didn't you?”
Despite my trembling hands from the power that little thing holds, I grin. “Just a little.” My entire body feels light from being overwhelmed by the force of the weapon. “I need a break.” I hold my hand out, so he can see it shaking. He takes it in his, lacing our fingers together as he leads us back to the picnic table, setting the gun down before taking a seat with his back against the table.
I sit sideways in his lap, wrapping an arm around his broad shoulders once I've let the earmuffs hang from my neck again. He has one hand on my lower back and the other on my outer thigh so that his arm rests on my legs.
“So what do you think?” He asks.
“It's crazy,” I breathe honestly, looking out at the target. “There's so much power in it, and it floods through me, trying to overrun me. It's addicting, but scary.”
“Obviously considering your four back-to-back shots.” His hands move up and down, one along my spine and the other along my leg, soothing me.
I almost feel faint, so I lean into him, resting my head on his shoulder. After about five minutes of silence and his hands gliding over me, I feel calmer. The rush is still there in the background, zipping back and forth in a little box, waiting to come out and drown me. I sit upright again, anxious to test out the other gun, but my eyes catch sight of a line of vehicles coming up the path at different intervals. Have we been out here long enough that it's time for his family to be here? Suddenly, nerves wash over me again, but these are different.
“Is that your family already?”
Gabe follows my gaze. “Yep. That'd be them.” He turns to look at me again. “Don't be nervous, Ryan.”
> I narrow my eyes. “What makes you think I'm nervous, Gabe?”
He laughs and picks up the hand I had resting on my knee, showing me that it's shaking a little again. I hit his shoulder and then remove myself from his lap as the first truck gets closer. He backs up near where we were standing earlier to shoot. Seconds later, another truck. Then a car and doors are starting to open and shut. Gabe stands, takes my hands, and leads me closer.
It's a huge relief when I see Owen get out of the truck that parked close to the shooting area. He grins at me and then his brother. All the men from five different vehicles look alike. It's scary, really. There is one, though, who sticks out like a sore thumb with his blonde hair.
“Who's that?” I can't resist asking.
“Charlie. He married into the family.”
Ah. That makes sense then. They start towards the picnic tables with guns and bullets in hand. That's not scary at all. My eyes land on the man with Owen, though. That has to be their father. He has rough, rugged features and is seriously handsome to be what looks to be his late fifties. Each pair of eyes are focused on me, the intruder to their men's day. Never have I felt so intimidated as I do right now. Without meaning to, I show them my fear by taking a small step closer to Gabe.
He lets go of my hand to wrap an arm around my waist as the men set the guns down on the picnic tables. It's not until they've finished that they truly acknowledge me.
“Hey, Ryan,” Owen says. “It's good to see you again.” His eyes do a quick once-over of my body, and I remember what Gabe told me.
Before I can think about it, I say with one eyebrow perched, “Still as hot as you remember?”
Owen laughs, and a couple of the men chuckle. “Yep.”
“Guys, this is Ryan Kavanaugh.” As Gabe introduces the men, they step forward to shake my hand and say nice to meet you. “This is my father, Larry. My uncle Frank. His son-in-law, Charlie. His sons, Frank Jr. and Nolan. Owen, of course. And last, but not least, this is my grandfather, Billy.”
His grandfather, with his hair salt and pepper, but again, good-looking for his age, clasps my hand between his worn ones. “It's nice to meet you, darlin'. Gabriel didn't tell us he was bringing a pretty, young thing to distract us. I may be retired, but I can out-shoot any of these boys any day. You'll see.” He winks, and I laugh, but my stomach is a mess of angry bees. Gabe didn't tell them I was coming?
“Gramps, leave her alone.” Gabe chuckles. “You all knew she would be here. Today is her first time shooting.”
“Is that so?” Frank says with a smile.
I nod and Owen chirps, “Let's see what you got, girl.”
“How about y'all go warm up first?” Gabe saves me. I don't want to be the first person to shoot with them here.
Why I expected to have an ally in Gabe's father, I don't know, but he's not one because he locks eyes with me and says, “Owen's right. Ryan should go first.” He's looking at me like I've done something wrong already. Have I?
Gabe looks at me. “Ready?” His eyes are an open question. I can back out if I want. I told him that I might.
But I'll be damned if these men, especially his father, will intimidate me.
“Yes.”
Gabe reloads the shotgun, and all eyes are on me as we walk to where we were standing earlier. When I glance over my shoulder, the men are in a line, arms folded over their chests, watching from about ten feet away. All except Owen. He looks like he has faith in me.
Gabe's lips brush over my ear as he stands behind me. “Ignore them, Ryan. They're testing you, but you've got this.” Gabe hands me the gun before walking to place another can on top of the post. I didn't even see him grab it. Gabe walks back to me, smiles, and puts my earmuffs back over my ears. He steps aside. This time, even though he's not as close as before, I know he's there.
I take a deep breath before lifting the gun into position. It doesn't feel right on my shoulder, so I adjust it until it's sitting at the right spot. There's no way I'm going to miss this, so I take my time. My hands, which were shaky, are now steady. I'm calmer than ever. I turn off the safety and move my finger, hovering near the trigger as I hear someone faintly laugh behind me.
Once I zone in on the middle of the can and feel sure of myself, I pull the trigger. My shot is dead on as the can bursts. A thrill runs through me. I cock the gun to toss the empty shell and push the safety back on before turning around to see seven stunned men and a grinning Gabe. My eyes briefly land on each man until I reach Larry, his father.
With a glare towards him, I ask, “Satisfied?”
The men burst into laughter, a faint smile on Larry's lips. Gabe walks over, takes the gun, and gives me a kiss as I remove the earmuffs.
“You're amazing,” he whispers, before taking my hand to lead me over to the guys. “We were here only an hour before y'all, and she hit every can with the shotgun. I don't know how, but she's good with that one and the others.” Pride seeps from his voice.
“I'm up,” Owen declares, picking up a gun from one of the picnic tables and walking to take aim at the target on the board.
“You've never shot before?” Frank asks me.
“No. I've never been around guns before today.”
Charlie, the son-in-law, comes over to shake my hand. “You did great. Don't worry about them. They made me do it when I first started coming too.”
I give him a sweet smile. Larry still hasn't said anything, and he doesn't. Not until Owen returns and Gabe goes to put up a new target to shoot. How evil. He waited until Gabe wasn't around. Larry doesn't come over to me, he just speaks to me from the next picnic table over.
His eyes narrow, and the men turn away from watching Gabe when he asks, “If I may, how old are you, Ryan?”
Gulping, I glance at Gabe. He looks so hot and manly holding the gun in his hands. I turn my attention back to Larry. “Nineteen, but I turn twenty later this month.”
“I knew it!” Owen says from next to me. He decided to come sit on the same bench as me. “I knew you were younger than Gabe, younger than he led on anyway.”
My age has all the men's attention. Uh, oh. Is my age really a problem? That makes me the second youngest person here thanks to Owen.
“Gabriel is a little old for you, don't you think?” Larry asks.
“If I did, would I be here?” I see a hint of surprise flash before his eyes narrow at my words. Shit. I don't need to push him into hating me further. This was a bad idea. I shouldn't have come. My parents don't think I'm good enough. I shouldn't have thought that Gabe's would be any different. And his dad is supposed to be the open-minded of the two. His mother would definitely hate me. A shot sounds, but I barely hear it.
Frank clears his throat as if that would ease the tension I feel. “Are you from around here?”
“No. I'm originally from Asheville, but I came here for college. I'm a sophomore,” I add as if that will help anything. It won't because I've already ruined what chances I had at making his father like me. My age, and most likely my smart mouth, stands in the way.
Gabe returns and mentions something about a skeet thrower, and that gets the guys excited. He looks at me, his smile quickly fading as he sees me attempting a fake smile. He lays the gun down, and all the guys over by Larry's truck now.
“Everything okay, Ryan?”
I shake my head. “I don't feel well. Could you take me home?” My voice shakes a little, and I hate myself for it. Maybe it's just older adults that hate me. Not just my parents, but all of them. Teachers didn't care for me, but couldn't deny that I was smart. My friends' parents always thought I was a bad influence. Maybe it's not my parents. Maybe it's me.
Gabe sits next to me. “What's wrong?” he asks, full of concern, but I don't look at him. I can't.
“Nothing,” I sigh. “I want to go home. Please, Gabe?” My eyes were focused on the grooves of the wood making up the top of the picnic table, but Gabe hooks a finger underneath my chin to make me look at him.
“W
hat happened?” When I shake my head, he repeats his question with a harder edge to his voice.
Quietly, I say, “I told you this wasn't a good idea.” A shot goes off, momentarily distracting me as I see something orange fall apart in the sky. To keep Gabe from asking his question again, I explain. “You told me that my age scares you, and you didn't tell them. I don't see why it's a big deal, but that's just me. They care. You care. I don't want to cause any problems, Gabe.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Your father asked how old I was, and I didn't lie. Then he asked if I thought you were too old for me, and I may have given him a smart ass answer. I told him if I did, I wouldn't be here. Pretty sure I pissed him off. Just take me home, please.”
“Ignore my father, Ryan.”
“But-”
“Hey, darlin',” Gabe's grandfather calls out. “You want to try a moving target?”
“We'll be there in a second,” Gabe yells back without looking. He cups my cheeks in his hands, and I notice his father watching us. “Ryan,” he says, waiting until I look at him again. “The girl you were the day I pulled you over, be her today. My father's respect has to be earned, and he's expecting that. Don't let him intimidate you because that's what he's trying to do.”
“Well, he's a jerk for that.” I try to laugh, but it sounds mangled.
“That's how he operates. C'mon. Let's go show 'em what you got.”
Chapter Seven
Gabe
I'm angry that my father upset Ryan, but it reminds me of what I was worried about. What I think about when I'm not around her. The guys seem to like her, though. Except Dad, of course. He's being reserved today. But Ryan quickly shows the guys that she's a force to be reckoned with. It takes her a bit to get the hang of it, but as the orange clay targets are flung into the air, she starts hitting them. She giggles after each round with excitement. She's hooked on the thrill, the weight of the power, and the accomplishment she feels when she hits the marks each time. I love watching her and her confidence grow.
You Before Me Page 9
