Chapter 20
Tanner
Present day
I keep Aisling tucked into my side as she frowns warily at the bipod stationed in front of us.
“Why’s it so long for?” she whispers, fingers tentatively reaching out, but closing into a fist before she can touch it.
“It’s a rifle, not a handgun. They look different on the outside but they have some internal similarities.”
She gives me a suspicious little side-eye as if she’s waiting for me to turn that into a metaphor. I huff out a laugh and shake my head, silently telling her that that is not gonna happen.
She increases the intensity of her scowl but then cuddles closer to me as she looks at the weapon again. I wrap both of my arms around her shoulders, a physical reminder that I’m here to help her through this.
“So what are the similarities?” she asks.
“Both of the barrels have rifling to put a spin on the bullet, which helps to increase the accuracy of the shot. And they both have thick walls so that they can deal with high pressures.”
I shrug, and my biceps brush snugly against her shoulders.
“Also, they’re typically used for stationary targets, unlike a shotgun which is for a moving target.” This range only offers rifle practice, but seeing as we aren’t here to actually shoot – we’re here so that Aisling can try to conquer her fear – that works fine.
“I can’t believe that my fingerprints are on some cowboy’s gun,” she whispers, her fists clenching at the hem of my shirt.
I squeeze her tighter. “It’s okay, mine are too.”
“But what if, like, the gun was involved in something bad? And then the police came after me?”
“Aisling, if the police ever came looking, I would take the fall for you.”
Her head whips around, staring up at me in surprise. I give her a half-smile before pressing a kiss against her temple.
“You don’t mean that,” she says when I pull back, enormous eyes going all sparkly when I look down into them.
“Yeah, I fucking do. Why do you think I told you to hand it to me in the first place?”
Her jaw drops open and warmth begins spreading through my cheeks. Uncomfortable with how fucking obvious my feelings for her are, I release her from my arms and look away.
“Okay. Before you touch that thing I need to grab a bullet-proof vest.”
Aisling rolls her eyes. “I hardly think that I’ll be so incompetent that I’ll accidentally shoot myself.”
I give her a smirk of my own. “I meant for me .”
Her jaw hits her sandals and I snicker as I tug one of the vests from the back of the booth.
“Kidding,” I murmur, grinning as she flushes bright red. Then she turns her back to me, huffy as hell. I tuck my chin in the warm crook of her neck. “Lift your arms, baby.”
“Asshole,” she mumbles, before sulkily lifting her arms.
I grin and nuzzle into her as I slip her arms through the holes, pulling back when the suit is covering her front so that I can fasten her up at the back. It’s not compulsory at the range, because it can affect a shooter’s balance and stance, but it’s available anyway as a ricochet precaution. Even though I have no intentions of us shooting anything, I want to keep Aisling as comfortable and protected as possible.
When I’m finished, I pull her back against my chest and walk us to the rifle.
I reach around her and gently adjust the positioning of the weapon on the bipod.
“You wanna touch it, or just have me point each part out to you?” I ask her quietly, wanting to keep this as calm as possible while giving her the information that could help keep her safe in the long-run.
“Um, I can… I can touch it,” she whispers.
I nod and take her delicate hands in mine. Her golden nail polish sparkles in the early morning light, and I brush my thumb over hers, feeling her preen as I admire her.
“Pretty,” I murmur, and she tries to hide her blush. Then, getting down to business I say, “Feather-light touches, okay? We’re gonna use a gentle touch.”
She nods again and I slowly position our hands, one at the butt of the rifle and one at the handguard.
My chest presses warm and firm against her back. I keep my body still and then begin carefully sliding our hands around the stock, matching the depth of our inhalations so that she can stay calm and focused.
“We’re going bottom to top, okay?”
“Yeah,” she whispers.
“Okay.” I tap our thumbs against the back of the rifle. “This is the butt.”
Aisling instantly explodes with laughter, head tipping back against my chest. “Shut the hell up, Tanner!”
“Jesus Christ!” I tighten my hold on her hands, temples throbbing as I hold her steady. “I don’t mess around with this shit, Aisling. That’s just… what it’s called.”
Her shoulders shake dangerously and she turns around to peek back at me, smiling naughtily over her shoulder before sinking her teeth into her lower lip.
At least I’ve distracted her from her fear. I jerk my chin at her, signalling for her to look back at the rifle, and then I tuck my chin back over her shoulder, exhaling as she relaxes into my hold.
“Stock, pistol grip.” I remove our hands and point at the next couple of parts. “Safety, trigger guard, trigger. This is where the magazine will go.” I squeeze one of her hands and say, “This is the handguard. Then up front we’ve got the barrel, flash suppressor, and muzzle. Okay so far?”
“Yeah,” she says breathily, eyes unblinking as she takes it all in.
I pick up the magazine and then use our thumbs to gently test the spring.
“Feel that?” I ask.
She nods.
I press down on the first bullet and her breathing hitches, anxious at first and then a little more relaxed than before.
“Feels smooth, right?” I ask, and she nods again, her soft cheek rubbing against my stubble.
“Yeah, it feels smooth,” she whispers.
“It’s ’cause these bullets are polished real good,” I tell her. What I don’t tell her is the fact that these bullets are actually polished way too fucking good – like, these feel like goddamn sniper bullets.
“Want to hold it off the perch?” I ask her, and when she nods her head I slowly lift the rifle up, watching her roll her lips into her mouth out of concentration as she takes the weight, feeling how heavy it is. I hold it up with her and press the magazine into place with a gentle push of my palm.
“Now what?” she asks quietly, totally still as her eyes flick between the weapon and the range. No sound to be heard except the subtle shift of my boots on the gravel and our slow, steady breathing.
“If I was going to shoot it, the next thing I’d do would be lay my cheek against the stock and look through the scope.” I pause for a long, quiet moment before adding, “Then I’d ease my hand toward the trigger.”
Slowly, Aisling presses her cheek against the stock, frowning a little as she tries to see through the tiny scope. I keep her hand clamped in mine, not allowing her to move her fingers toward the trigger.
“Are you a good shot?” she asks when she finally lifts her face from the viewpoint. She twists in my arms so that she can look up at me. Now I’m the only one of us holding the rifle, my whole body unmoving as she presses herself against me.
I look down at her and carefully search her curious eyes. Then I nod.
“Show me,” she whispers.
I swallow hard.
“Aisling…” I’m shaking my head as my eyes move back and forth between her and the target at the bottom of the range. “I’m not sure if that’s such a good idea.”
“Why not?” she frowns, almost looking kind of hurt.
When my dad wasn’t away on a mission, he’d spend our father-and-son time teaching me and my brothers all about this stuff. What each part of the weapon did. How the minutiae of geophysics affects each individual shot.
And above all else, the importance of waiting.
And waiting is something that I’m pretty fucking amazing at.
I swipe my tongue over my lower lip, squinting at the target across the range. Then I glance back down at Aisling’s beautiful face.
“It’s loud,” I warn her. “Louder than you’d maybe expect. We’ll have to put on those ear protectors.”
She shrugs her shoulders, blushing a little. “Sometimes I don’t mind loud.”
I clear my throat, quickly blinking away from her.
Yeah, I remember her not minding getting loud.
“Okay,” I say hoarsely, lifting up one of my biceps so that she can slip behind me as I reposition myself to scope out the shot. We both slip on the headgear, and Aisling strokes at her ear covers. I watch her protectively over one of my shoulders and tip my chin, gesturing for her to stand a little further back.
“When I pull the trigger the stock’s gonna ram against my shoulder and I don’t want to knock you if my position budges.”
Her hands move to the back of my shirt as she stares up at me but neither of us mention it. After a moment of hesitation she finally takes a few small steps backwards, but I’ve got control of the weapon so I nod, satisfied, and turn my full attention back to the target at the bottom of the range.
I lay my cheek against the stock and slow down my breathing, waiting for my heartbeat to drop as I keep my eye on the scope. Aisling doesn’t say anything as she watches me hold my position, and I’m grateful for it because I wouldn’t be able to say anything back to her. Every tiny vibration in my body is going to affect the bullet so I stay still and silent, my focus trained on the plus sign up ahead.
I slowly tighten the trigger, then hold still, waiting through one heartbeat, then two, then three.
In the next second I shoot the shot, grunting as the stock jumps back against my shoulder. The blast is so instant that for a few seconds nothing can be made out, but I wait it out, keeping my breathing even.
When the vibrations settle I check my shot through the scope.
Barely a centimetre to the left of the plus sign, and slightly above, the smoothness of the bullet making the shot perfectly clean.
A dimple pops in my cheek, a secret smile trying to break free, but I stay still and refocus.
I shoot again. This time I’m a centimetre to the right of the target and slightly above, and I wait for the sound of the shot to quiet down before I pull the trigger for one final time.
Dead centre.
I lower the heavy rifle as I take in my handiwork, smirking quietly to myself as I take stock of what I just did.
Satisfied, I set the rifle down, stretch out my back, and turn around to face Aisling.
Her head is tilted to one side as she blinks at the target sheet.
Maybe it’s for the best if she actually doesn’t look at that too closely.
I clear my throat and move around her, positioning my body at her back so that I can undo the bullet proof vest.
“There,” I rumble, easing the padding gently down her arms and then slinging it back over the post that I got it from. I remove our ear defenders, wrap my palm around her wrist, and begin dragging her away from our shooting booth.
“Did you–?” she sputters, blinking rapidly between the target board and then back to me.
I clear my throat, not saying anything.
“Did you just–?”
“No.”
“But I can see–”
I shove my free hand through my hair and glance over at her.
“Tanner, did you” – she throws a disbelieving look back over to the target, the hand that I’m not hauling wrapped tight around my forearm – “did you just shoot the bullets… to make the shape of a heart?”
I pull us to a sharp stop in front of the ranger’s door and I look down at her, eyes burning as they meet hers.
Her lashes flutter as she tilts her head back to look up at me.
“Tanner?” she asks warily, brows arching as if she’s afraid of the answer.
But I don’t need to give it to her. She already knows the truth.
I brush the pad of my thumb over her soft cheruby cheek and then wrap my hand back around her wrist. I open the door for her so that we can head back to my car.
“Come on,” I say, my voice deeper than usual as I jerk my chin for her to walk through the door first, and then follow behind her. There’s an almost-smile playing on my lips. “Let’s share that muffin.”