Authors: Trisha Grace
Paige nodded as Justin rattled on, then repeated what he’d just said when he narrowed his eyes at her. “I’m listening.”
“I thought you’d be a better student than this.”
“I am a good student. If you give me a quiz on everything you’ve said, I’ll ace it. I’m just not too sure about actually shooting a gun.” She stared at the black piece in his hand. “It reminds me of how much I hated Drew joining the army, how he was shoot, and how he lost his leg. I could kill someone with that.”
“You can, but you can choose not to.”
She pursed her lips, not saying anything.
Justin didn’t push her when she didn’t reply.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t think things through. Forget about this, I’ll think of something else.”
Paige reached out and grabbed his arm with a small sigh. Among all her own arguments and counterargument, one was more prominent that the others—she wanted to feel safe and not only when she was around someone who could protect her. “I’ll do it.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.” She straightened and began for the first time to pay serious attention. “Let’s begin.”
Justin unlocked the gun’s safety and gave her the instructions.
She licked her lips as she held the gun in her hand. “Is it strange to feel nervous even though the gun isn’t pointed at me?”
Justin laughed and covered his hands over hers, adjusting her aim. “Don’t worry. Give it a try.”
She leaned back, knocking into Justin as she squeezed the trigger, sending off a shot.
It wasn’t the recoil that sent her against Justin; he had already prepared her for that. It was how loud the shot was.
One of her hands moved over to rub against her ear.
“You’ll get used to it. Remember not to lock your arms.” Justin stepped away from her. “Try it on your own.”
She stared at cardboard and noticed a hole in the badly drawn head.
“Try aiming for the chest. Bigger surface area,” he instructed.
She tried. She took aim and fired, then laughed when she completely missed, not just her target area, but the entire cardboard.
Justin laughed along with her. “It’s all right, let’s try again. Try to hold your hands in position instead of jerking it up.”
“Bullets delivery,” Mrs. Seymour announced as she came around the corner, holding two boxes in her hands.
“Where’s Mr. Seymour?” Paige asked.
“Digging for more things to shoot at,” Mrs. Seymour said with a slight shake of head. “He’s already stolen all my apples, oranges, and even the lemons I was going to use tonight.”
Paige chuckled as she saw how frustrated Mrs. Seymour was.
“He’s bringing the watermelon, too. Specially for you, he says,” Mrs. Seymour continued with a roll of her eyes. “All right, I’m going back before he starts stealing the bacon strips or something.”
Mrs. Seymour thrust the two boxes into Justin’s hands and hurried back where she came from.
Paige fired another few rounds and missed, but she figured out the adjustment she had to make.
This time she took aim, made the adjustments, and squeezed the trigger. “I got it!”
“Great, we brought more targets,” Mr. Seymour announced, carrying a large box in one hand and two different rifles in the other. When he set the box down in front of Paige, she could see a few more pistols inside.
She arched her brow and looked over at Justin.
“He loves his guns.” He winked at her and went over to help set up the new targets that Mr. Seymour had stolen from the house.
While Justin arranged their targets, Mr. Seymour picked up each of his gun and told her in great detail about each gun. He explained how each gun worked, when it was made, and even who made it.
Mrs. Seymour cast a sorry glance over at Paige, then picked up a rifle, shifting it into position with perfect ease.
Once the lecture for each gun was over, Mr. Seymour would urge her to give it a try.
Justin let her play with the rifles for a while before making her return to practice the pistol he’d given her.
Hours of practice and plenty of bullets later, she was getting quite good at it.
She still couldn’t hit the apples or oranges, but hitting the chest of the sadly drawn man was getting relatively easy. Out of five shots, Paige usually managed to get at least three shots into the cardboard’s chest.
She also managed to put some bullets into the watermelon that Mr. Seymour had prepared for her.
If only she could stop the cringing reaction before each shot and keep her eyes open; that would give her a better aim. She tried, but she each time she pulled the trigger, the same reaction would repeat as she braced herself for the loud blast that would send her ears ringing.
The rest of them couldn’t hide their smiles, but always followed up with an encouraging comment on how it would get better.
As the hours went by, she began to feel some prickling on her upper arms and elbows. She lowered the gun, returned the safety catch to its position, and looked down at her arms.
Her skin was slightly pink, and tiny bumps were beginning to form on her upper arms.
They would go away once she got out of the sun, provided that she didn’t scratch them.
“Time to go in?”
She handed the gun over to Justin and reached over to her arm, slapping it a few times. That was the only way she could stop herself from scratching. “Time to go in.”
She wanted to help, but Mrs. Seymour told her to leave the packing to Mr. Seymour and Justin.
Once inside the house, Mrs. Seymour gave her a glass of ice water and a wet face towel. “Put it over your arms, will that help?”
“Yes, thanks.” She gently wiped her arms, then pressed the towel against her skin. Slowly, she shifted the towel down the length of her arms. The water from the face towel took much of the heat away and the itch faded.
She took the face towel over to the laundry basket. “Thanks, Mrs. Seymour, you saved me a trip to the doc.”
“You need to see a doctor for being under the sun for too long? I thought you were in the track team.”
“I also have sensitive skin and absolutely no discipline when it comes to itch. Once the itch kicks in, I can’t stop scratching. Then, I know it’s in my head, but I’ll start feeling the itch all over and my scratching just gets out of hand.”
“You’re one of those who’ll scratch until you bleed.”
“Then I’ll scratch around that wound, but that was when I was younger. I have a tiny bit more discipline than before.”
“How does the doctor help? He ties your hands down?”
“Medicine. A tiny yellow pill that miraculously takes away all the itch.”
Mrs. Seymour laughed. “Are you serious? I didn’t even know such medicine existed.”
“Guess there are plenty of ill-disciplined people.”
“Are you talking behind my back?” Justin asked as he came up behind her. “How’s your sensitive skin, princess?”
“Fine, thank you,” she answered grudgingly.
Justin wrapped his arm over her waist and pulled her closer. “Kidding.”
When he was done packing up, the two of them returned to her house and he asked if she was feeling better. The moment she assured him that she was, he made her practice pulling the gun out from her bag.
He was incredibly patient but tremendously strict.
She tried out several different ways to hold her bag for easier access, then practiced pulling out the gun and releasing the safety catch.
Once they were done with that, Justin told her where to place the gun in the different rooms, reminding her to bring the gun along whenever she moved among the rooms, even the bathroom.
She thought that was rather extreme, but he’d explained it to her as the need to cultivate the habit of bringing the gun when she moved around.
Then finally, the opening of doors. Justin told her that he’d get her one of those doorbells with a camera so she would be able to see who was standing outside the door without having to look through the peephole.
She laughed as Justin proceeded to explain elementary safety rules such as not opening doors to strangers, leaving the chain on when speaking to people she didn’t know.
It wasn’t the first time she’d lived alone.
“What’s so funny?”
Paige shook her head and continued from where he had left off. “Always ask for ID and call the company or department to check if the person is who they claimed to be. Look out of the windows before opening the door to make sure no one is hiding from the view of the peep hole.” She stopped when Justin grinned. “I lived in New York before this, and you forget I’ve a ridiculously protective brother.”
“All right. If it’s someone you don’t know, always hold the gun in one of your hands. Keep it behind your back, not behind the door. In case the person push against it and knock the gun out of your hand.” He moved over to the couch. “Same treatment goes for Cole. Try not to let him in unless I’m around.”
When that was over, Justin asked if she wanted to get the grills for the windows and her backdoor.
She stretched her back, pulling her shoulders back and feeling the ache in her arms. “Can we do that tomorrow? I’m kind of tired.”
“All right, but you’ll stay at the Seymours tonight?”
She nodded and collapsed onto the couch.
“And you’ll practice bringing the gun around even in their house.”
She stared at him for a split second before nodding away. She was sure the Seymours wouldn’t mind. “Anything else?”
“You can do it you know. Even if your stalker turns up here, you can beat him.”
Paige gave him a small smile. She was grateful for all that he had done and all that he was intending to do for her, but she wasn’t sure if a pep talk would change anything.
“You’ve been letting him control your life. Truth is,
you
control his.”
She laughed dryly. “Right.”
“He’s obsessed with you. His moods are controlled by you or how you behave. His thoughts are consumed by you.”
“So you’re saying that I should stop seeing you and stop talking to any male species so as to keep my stalker from sending me hate mails?”
“No,” he said in all seriousness. “I’m saying that if your worst case scenario happens, if he does somehow get his hands on you, the control is yours. Think about that.” He gave her a peck on her forehead.
Justin always managed to present things so differently, and his points always seemed absolutely logical. She’d never thought of things between the stalker and her in such perspective.
“Can I think about it in my nap?” She yawned softly.
“At the Seymours,” Justin said.
“At the Seymours,” she agreed. “What are you going to do?”
“Go visit Travis?” he said with a shrug. “Remember the gun.” He placed the gun into the black box.
Justin walked her to the Seymours before giving her a peck on her lips and going back toward his car.
Mrs. Seymour grinned as Paige walked into the house. “Where’s your bodyguard?”
“Going to Travis’s.” She yawned again, her hands covering her mouth as she slumped onto the couch.
She didn’t think that shooting at targets could be so tiring. She pulled the black box onto her lap and opened it. “I’ve strict instructions to practice carrying the gun around with me. So don’t get frightened if you see me walking around with it.”
Mrs. Seymour laughed and gave her a pat on her lap. “My dear, you can tell him that you don’t want to do it. I can see you don’t really enjoy playing around with the guns.”
“That’s because I’m not good at it,” she said with a sheepish smile. “I’ll be fine with more practice.”
She wasn’t sure if having a gun around with her when she was about the house or outside would make any difference, but Justin had spent all morning teaching her how to use it, so she was going to practice as she promised.
Paige eyes flew opened when she heard the soft raps on the door.
“Paige?”
She ran her hand through her hair and sat up on the bed. “Yes?” she said as she stumbled off the bed and opened the door to see Mrs. Seymour standing outside.
“I think Cole is waiting for you outside your house.”
She took in a deep breath.
He was supposed to go back to New York. He was supposed to disappear and things were supposed to return to normal. Why was he still here?
“I’ll go talk to him.”
“Do you want me to go with you?”
She smiled at Mrs. Seymour’s frown. “No, it’s fine.”
Mrs. Seymour nodded uncertainly. “Well, scream if you need anything.”
Justin must have said something about his suspicions to them.
“Don’t worry. He’s never hurt me before.” The line between Mrs. Seymour’s brows deepened, so Paige quickly added, “I’ll scream if I need help.”
“All right.” Mrs. Seymour went down the stairs, and Paige closed the door.
She changed out of her pajamas into a light blue T-shirt and beige shorts before heading out of the Seymours and toward her own house.
Cole was pacing on the front porch, pausing every now and then to pound on the door. He noticed her as she was halfway across.
He stopped pacing and waited for her as she went over. “Why aren’t you at your house?”
The words seemed demanding, but he’d asked it calmly enough. This was the Cole she knew.
“I was over at the Seymours.” She cringed slightly when she saw the bandage over his nose and the pink, purplish bruise that spread toward his eyes. “What are you doing here? I thought you’ll be on your way home.”
“I’m not giving up,” he said as she stepped up her front porch.
He lifted his hand and Paige saw the familiar black velvet box he was holding.
Oh, no.
She sighed and took a step away from him. “Cole—”
“I’ll do anything to get you back.” He reached over for her hand, seemingly trying to make her take the black velvet box.
She pulled her hand back, shaking her head violently. “No. You don’t understand. I don’t love you,” she spoke slowly, enunciating the last four words. “We are not getting back together.”