CHAPTER TWENTY
Angela watched closely as Jude showed her the different parts of the gun he’d chosen for her. His movements were confident and quick. Clearly, he was very familiar with guns. Meanwhile, she’d already forgotten the name of the gun.
Was there anything he wasn’t good at?
His comfort with weapons was yet another reminder that his job required him to be ready and willing to take another person’s life—should they be a threat to the ones he was charged with protecting. She wasn’t sure she’d ever be comfortable shooting someone.
"First, we're going to go over basic safety. This is the most important part, and I need you to really listen to me."
Angela focused on his words as he explained how to hold the weapon, where to keep her fingers, and how to check if it was loaded. His voice was patient but serious, and she found herself hanging on every instruction, determined to show him she was taking it seriously.
She hoped she could remember everything, because it was a lot. And despite her best efforts, it was hard to completely focus on what he was saying when just being near him was a distraction.
“You’ll need to put these on,” Jude said, handing her a pair of earmuffs.
He put his on while she adjusted hers over her ears.
“Do they feel okay?” Jude asked.
Angela’s eyes widened as she nodded. “I can hear you really well.”
“These are electronic and are designed to enhance low-level sounds while dampening loud noises. They make it easier to communicate while we’re down here.”
When he gave her the gun, he stepped closer to adjust her grip, the warmth of his hands over hers making it difficult to concentrate on anything else.
"Like this?" she asked, trying to ignore the way her pulse quickened.
"Yes. Good.”
He circled around her. “Keep your feet shoulder-width apart." His breath stirred the hair near her ear as he helped her position herself correctly. "Now, line up the sights."
She squinted down the barrel, trying to focus on the target at the other end of the range rather than on Jude.
"When you're ready, take a breath, exhale, then squeeze the trigger," he instructed, his voice low and steady.
Angela tried to follow his directions, but her hands trembled slightly as she held the weapon. The gun was heavier than she'd expected, and the weight of it reminded her of the times she'd seen Jim clean his rifle at the kitchen table, the way his eyes had gone cold and distant when he handled it.
"I can't seem to keep it steady," she admitted, frustration creeping into her voice.
"That's normal for your first time.” Jude moved behind her again, his chest nearly brushing her back as he reached around to help adjust her stance. “Here, let me help you."
When his hands covered hers, guiding her grip once again, Angela's breath caught.
She could feel the solid warmth of him behind her, could smell the clean scent of his soap mixed with something distinctly him.
Her heart hammered against her ribs, and she wondered if he could feel how nervous she was—though she wasn't sure if the nerves were from the gun or from his proximity.
"Better?" he asked, his voice close to her ear.
She nodded, not trusting herself to speak. With his hands steadying hers, the weapon felt more manageable, though she was acutely aware of his closeness.
Even though he was well into her personal space, she didn’t feel uncomfortable. In fact, she felt safe and protected.
"Now, remember what I said about breathing. Take your time."
Angela inhaled slowly, trying to calm her nerves and focus. She wanted to do this well. She might not have the enthusiasm for it that Kiara did, but she understood the importance of everything they were doing. Because of that, she’d try to do her best to learn what Jude taught her.
She exhaled lightly and squeezed the trigger. The gun kicked back harder than she'd expected, the sharp crack of the gunshot echoing through the range despite her ear protection. The recoil sent a jolt up her arms, and she stumbled back a step, bumping into Jude.
"Easy," he said, his hands coming up to grip her shoulders, steadying her. "You did great on your first shot."
Angela blinked as she looked down the lane at the target. She'd missed it completely, but somehow that didn't matter as much as the fact that she'd actually pulled the trigger.
"I can't believe I did that," she said, surprised by the rush of adrenaline coursing through her.
"How do you feel?" Jude asked. Though he’d released her shoulders and moved around to her side, he was still standing close to her.
She considered the question, taking inventory of her emotions. The fear she'd expected wasn't there—or at least, it wasn't the paralyzing kind she'd felt when watching Jim handle his weapons. This felt different. Controlled.
"Better than I thought I would," she admitted. "It's loud, though."
Jude's mouth curved into a small smile, crinkling the corners of his eyes. "That's why we have ear protection. Ready to try again?"
Angela nodded, raising the gun once more. This time, without Jude's hands guiding hers, she had to concentrate harder to remember everything he'd taught her.
Feet apart, grip firm, sight alignment, breathing. She took her time, blocking out everything but the gun and the target.
The second shot felt more controlled, though her arms still absorbed the recoil with a jolt that traveled up to her shoulders. This time she managed to stay planted, and when she looked downrange, she could see a small hole near the edge of the target.
"Much better," Jude said, and the approval in his voice sent a warm flutter through her chest. "You're getting the hang of it."
Angela lowered the weapon, surprised by the small surge of pride she felt. She'd actually hit the target, even if it was just barely. "I can see why some people find this satisfying."
"It's about control and precision," Jude explained, stepping closer to examine her stance again. "You're doing well for someone who was so nervous about it."
The compliment made her stand a little straighter.
She'd spent so many years being told she wasn't quick enough, smart enough, good enough at whatever task Jim or Sandra had assigned her.
Having someone like Jude—someone whose opinion she valued more than she should—tell her she was doing well felt like a small victory.
"Let's try a few more rounds," he said. "I want you to get comfortable with the weight and the recoil."
Angela nodded and raised the gun again.
Over the next several minutes, she shot at the target many times. Jude helped her reload, then she tried again. Some of her shots hit the target, though never the bullseye.
“Can you hit the bullseye?” Angela asked after she’d emptied the gun for a second time.
The corner of his mouth tipped up. “Maybe.”
“I want to see,” Angela told him. “Otherwise, I’ll always assume I’m better than you.”
Jude chuckled at that. “Well, if you practice enough, you could be better than me.”
She set her gun on the shelf that was on the divider next to her. “I think I need some incentive.”
“Alright.” Jude removed the gun from the shoulder holster he wore. “Let’s see how I do.”
Angela moved to the side as Jude stepped to where she’d been standing to shoot. He didn't hesitate the way she had.
His movements were fluid and practiced as he raised the weapon, and Angela studied the confident set of his shoulders, the way he seemed to become completely still for a moment before firing.
The gunshot cracked through the air, and Angela's gaze immediately went to the target. A hole had appeared dead center in the bullseye.
"Show off," she muttered, though she couldn't keep the admiration out of her voice.
When Jude glanced over at her and winked, Angela’s heart just about stopped. The moment didn’t last long, and soon he was focused back on the target.
When he fired again, another hole appeared right next to the first one. Then a third shot, so close to the others that Angela wondered if he'd hit the same spot twice.
Lowering the gun, he turned to face her. His expression was a little smug, but there was a twinkle in his eye that made her smile.
She shook her head in amazement. "That's just not fair. How long have you been shooting?"
"Since I was twelve," he said, ejecting the magazine with practiced ease. "My dad started taking me to the range when I was old enough to hold a gun properly."
“Was he a good shot?”
“The best,” Jude said. “My goal from the moment I first held a gun was to be as good as he was.”
“And did that happen?”
“Eventually. Once we moved here, where I had more access to this gun range, I improved significantly. I was around seventeen when I finally bested him.”
“I bet he was proud of you,” Angela said.
Jude didn’t talk often about his family, but from the little he’d said about his dad, she felt confident in that statement.
Jude’s expression saddened, though he did smile. “He was.”
“You and your dad were close?”
“Very. When my mom left, it was just us guys.”
“You didn’t see your mom again?” Angela asked. “Was she like Jill?”
“No, she’s not like Jill at all. While my dad had primary custody because they both felt I’d be better off living with him, she insisted on having visitation. She always made sure she saw me at least once a week when we lived in New York. I would also stay with her on some weekends.”
“And do you see her much now?”
“Not much other than video calls or if I happen to be in New York with Duncan. However, we do talk once a week.”
Angela knew the purpose of their time together that day was to train her on guns. But they had very little time with just each other, so she wanted to take advantage of it. He knew so much about her that it only seemed fair—at least in her mind—that she know more about him.
“Did she remarry?”
“Yes, and she had two more kids.”
“You’re a big brother?” For some reason, that fit in well with the protective air he gave off.
“Uh…” His brow furrowed. “Yes?”
“Do you hang out with your siblings much?”