Page 41 of Trig

“Nine, don’t fucking move,” I whisper.

“Wasn’t planning on it,” she grits out through her teeth.

“Do you know how to work that gun?” I ask calmly.

He doesn’t respond. He doesn’t move. The boy doesn’t even blink.

“You’re mad. I get it. I miss my mom too. I wanted revenge. I wanted to kill everybody who I felt was responsible for taking her away from me.”

Something in Francisco’s eyes changes. I slowly stand up which sets him off. His muscles tighten as he takes one step forward. His finger on the trigger starts to shake.

“Easy. We don’t want any accidents. Can you take your finger off the trigger for me?”

Francisco shakes his head. Nine looks over at me in panic.

“Look. My mom was my world. There was no one like her. Maybe that’s how you feel about yours? Maybe you had a different relationship with Natasha than I did. I’m sorry she left you, but I’m here now and I promise I’ll protect and love you the best I can. I’m not perfect, but I’m good at that. You have my word.”

Francisco starts to cry, causing the gun in his hand to shake. Right then, Mya, wearing her roller skates, barrels right down the hall, across the floor, crashing into Francisco. They both tumble and the gun goes off. Mya yelps and grabs at her behind as I run and grab him and wrestle the gun away. Mya begins to scream bloody murder.

“Oh my God! I think she’s shot.” Nine panics while ripping off Mya’s pants.

I’m squatted down holding Francisco in one hand and the gun in the other. We both watch as Mya gets stripped down. A trail of blood runs down the back of her bare leg.

“It’s just a graze,” Nine says with relief as she clutches her chest.

I aggressively pull him up off the ground and then tuck the gun into the back of my waistband. Nine runs to get the first-aid kit and a pain reliever as Mya lies there crying.

“Are you crazy? You could have killed her. You can’t run around this house like a goddamn thug, pointing guns at us because you have big feelings. You wanna be pissed at me and Nine? Fine. But no guns. No guns when you’re sad. No guns when you’re mad. No goddamn guns, ever!”

“You sound like Dr. Seuss,” Francisco replies.

“Say one more word. I dare you,” I yell. “I am this close to losing my shit and I will knock you into next week.” I pause. “Now, say sorry to Mya.”

“You said ‘not another word’,” Francisco mutters.

“Boy!” I shout.

Francisco looks down, mumbles ‘sorry’, and then shuts up. My tone has put the fear of God into him. Nine runs back in like she’s an EMT.

“That jackhole shot me,” Mya shouts from the floor, pointing her little finger at him.

“Jackhole?” three of us repeat.

“I’m not a jackhole,” Francisco yells.

“Drink this. The meds will help with the pain.” She pauses. “Where did you hear that word, Mya?” Nine says, while bandaging her butt cheek.

“Videos online.”

“It’s not appropriate,” I reply.

“Neither is shooting me right next to my cornhole,” she shoots back, while wiping her eyes.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Nine says.

“Ooooooh, Mom cussed,” Mya whispers.

“We don’t say jackhole or cornhole,” Nine responds.

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