Page 112 of Piece You Saved

Without a word, I turn away, focus on the tree and fire.

Miss.

Because who can hit a target when someone is watching them as intently as Harley is watching me?

I shoot again.

Miss again.

The way things are going, I might as well throw the gun at Rylan’s head and hope for the best.

“Your arms are dipping right before you shoot,” Harley says quietly. “How’s your stomach, Jane?”

I keep my arms up. Probably higher than they need to be, but up is up, and a tree—and Rylan—is tall. “Fine.”

From out of nowhere, I remember what Aden and I were doing in the bathroom. Aden said Dariel, Kade, and Harley were downstairs working on a plan to get Rylan. Would he have heard?

“No pain? Or—”

“I’m good,” I say in a rush, willing him to go inside because his presence is distracting.

I do everything right. Keep my arms up. Focus on the tree. Envision Rylan’s sneering face waiting for me to put a bullet in it. I even think about feeling my way into a good shot.

And you know what? I still fucking miss.

I lower my gun and swing to face Harley. “Why are you here?” His lips part. “Not out in the garden. I mean, here. With me? Why did you come here?”

He straightens from the wall and moves toward me.

I edge back a step. “Maybe you should stay there.”

His lips quirk in a half-smile. “Why would I do that, Jane?”

If I told him why I wanted him to keep his distance, it would make this feeling more real than it is, and it’s real enough already.Tooreal.

I watch him approach and say nothing. Do nothing.

When he’s a foot away, he studies me for a beat and holds his hand out. “May I?”

I stare at him, confused.

Again, his lips quirk. “The gun? Bullets?”

Face flushing, I shove the gun at him and fumble to grab bullets from my pocket.

He doesn’t just take the gun. He peels it from my hand in a way that means we touch as much as possible for as long as possible, and he never looks away from me as he does. When he moves to take the bullets, I dump them in his palm, dropping a couple as I back up.

And I wrap my arms around myself so he can’t touch me again.

Or you can’t touch him.

I strangle the thought before it can take root.

He’s smiling a little as he turns to the tree, reloads, and raises the gun in a two-handed grip. With the ease of someone who has ridden this rodeo many times before, he fires off two bullets one after the other, leaving a two-second pause between. Both bullets burrow deep into the same place in the tree. Front and center.

If Aden had a target painted on the tree, Harley would have won first prize.

That’s how good he is.

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