Page 22 of Little Bird
He grabs her and pulls her under his arm, laughing. “Taryn, it’s been too fucking long,” he mutters. “Where the fuck have you been?”
I’m even more surprised to see that she’s laughing too, though she reaches up and tweaks his nipple to force him to let go of her. He yelps and shoves her right into Simon, who takes a quick step away from her, his hands in the air and his eyes on me like he’s afraid I’m going to come to her rescue. I’m not, but by this time everyone else is laughing, and I find myself joining in.
And for a moment, it feels like we’re all sixteen again and in the middle of some colossal prank that Taryn no doubt came up with. One where we end up sitting in the one-room jail at the end of town, getting a lecture from someone’s mom about how we need to grow up and learn to behave ourselves.
When my gaze clashes with Taryn’s, however, my smile dies. Because that version of Taryn left four years ago, and I’m not sure yet who this one is.
“What’s so funny?” a voice behind me asks, interrupting us. I turn to see Sammy Lennon standing on the sidewalk with one hip popped out, gum in her mouth and her hair in disarray. She looks like she just got out of bed—or out of trouble, which is far more likely.
“Nothing,” I say quickly. Sammy isn’t related to me by blood, though she’s a stepcousin of a sort, being the stepdaughter of my uncle. But I don’t want her saying anything to her stepdad about me being in town laughing with my friends.
I don’t like the idea of that getting back to my father.
“We were just getting reacquainted with Taryn,” Miller says, still grabbing at my stepsister.
She avoids his grabbing hands and holds one out to Sammy. “Taryn Matthews,” she says simply. “Gabe’s stepsister.”
“Ex-stepsister,” I correct. I know my voice is cold and dismissive, but I don’t correct it. I don’t want Sammy getting any ideas. The girl is more trouble than everyone else in town combined, and though she didn’t have much to do with us when Taryn was around, the last thing I need is for her to suddenly realize how complicated the situation is.
I see movement out of the corner of my eye, though, and watch Taryn step forward to shake hands with Sammy. “Former stepsister,” she agrees easily. “I’m only in town for a little bit.”
Sammy grins at her like she’s just met her new best friend. “Are you staying with Gunner and Gabe? Boring. If you need a break, come find me. I’ll show you around town.”
I watch, horrified, as Taryn returns the grin and says she will. Terrific. That’s the last thing I need: my ex-stepsister and my stepcousin becoming best friends. Telling each other all about their lives and running around making trouble for everyone.
Sharing their secrets about me.
“Actually,” I say, grabbing Taryn and pulling her toward me, “Taryn and I are just on our way to...” I look wildly across the street, trying to think of something that’ll get us out of here. The ice cream parlor won’t work. Everyone will follow us there. But the building next door will do just fine. “The shooting range,” I finish. “I promised Taryn I’d teach her how to shoot.”
Taryn glances up at me, her face plastered with suspicion, but I don’t bother to explain.
“We’ll see you guys later,” I mutter.
And the next thing I know, I’m looping Taryn’s arm through mine and dragging her across the street like we actually have a date at the shooting range. Like I want her all to myself or something, and everyone else is getting in the way.
I don’t see my mistake until we’re in front of the hardware store and she’s looking up with an expression that says she sees right through me and saying, “Teaching me to shoot? Why Gabe, how sweet of you. It’s the one thing you didn’t let me do when I was here before.”
She turns and walks into the hardware store, leaving me on the sidewalk with two thoughts in my head: One, I didn’t let her do it because the idea of her with a gun was terrifying.
And two, it’s ridiculous now to think that giving her a gun might have been the most dangerous thing possible. Because I handed that girl my heart. Let her straddle me and grind down on my cock while my hands were buried in her hair, her lips sealed over my own. I let her wrap her tiny fingers around my soul and claim it for her own.
I would have been better off handing her a loaded revolver and letting her point the thing right at my fucking head.
Gulping at that image, I take one step, then another, and follow her into the store and toward the back, where the shooting range is.
This is a no good, very bad idea. And I’m not sure how I’m going to get out of it now that we’re on this path.
Gabe
I step to the line, lift the Sig 1911 up in front of me, and stare down the barrel of the gun, literally, toward the target. It’s not my gun, and it’s not my favorite—I prefer Glocks, which feel more solid to me—but this is what Sam, the owner of the store, had on hand, and I wasn’t going to go back to my house to get my own gun.
Hell, I don’t even remember why we’re here in the first place. I didn’t come out today to shoot, and I’m sure as hell not going to let Taryn have a go.
Giving her access to a gun still feels like a really, really bad idea.
I breathe out, steady my hands, and take three shots, then pause to look at the target. Dead bullseye, all three of them, and a thrill of excitement runs through my veins.
Hey, don’t come at me. There’s nothing wrong with feeling proud of a job well done. Shooting isn’t my main thing, but I’m pretty fucking good at it, and I don’t mind showing off a little bit.
