Chapter Thirty-One – Fawn #2
The hatchet buries itself right into the thick middle red ring and sticks like it’s magnetized. For a second, none of us moves.
Then, Dylan blinks hard. “What the fu—”
Torin pushes off the wall, his eyebrows leaping in surprise. “You have got to be kidding me.”
I blink at the target, completely unaware of how I managed that. “Did I just . . . Hell yeah!”
“How? How?” Dylan asks, flailing his arms as if he has been cheated. “Absolutely not. No. How did you do that?”
Torin bursts out laughing. “That’s your first throw . . . You’ve never done this before?”
“Yup. I guess just beginner’s luck?” My voice is radiating pride. Ha. That shows them.
I’m not going to admit I’ve seen videos on this.
Torin shakes his head and heads to the box to get a hatchet. “I knew she’d be cute . . .” he says to me with a soft smirk. “But remind me never to mess with you. Fuck.”
I can’t help but grin.
Dylan looks from the target to Torin and then to me before letting out a huge sigh. “Okay, cool. I love that for you. Not that I was going to show you how it’s done.”
Torin reaches for another hatchet and hands it to Dylan, giving him a pat on the shoulder. “Okay, show us what you’ve got, buddy. Impress your princess.”
Dylan turns his head and stretches out his neck as if preparing to go to battle. “Step back and watch greatness.”
I lower my voice to a goofy, macho tone to mimic what he said earlier. “Don’t hurt yourself now, big guy.”
Torin leans against the wall, folding his arms again. “This is gonna be interesting . . .”
Dylan takes a step into the lane, straightening, taking a deep breath that puffs out his chest, and raises the hatchet. He throws hard.
The hatchet hits the target . . . for exactly half a second. Then, it bounces off the wood with the enthusiasm of a rubber ball. It ricochets backward — straight toward Torin’s head.
He drops down in an instant, his body almost folding in half. “HOLY SHIT!” The hatchet clangs to the ground behind him.
My man.
My heart is thumping wildly in my chest as I gasp, my hand shooting to my mouth. Torin’s face is priceless: his eyes are blown wide, his hair sticking up every which way, and he has his hand pressed to his chest, as if he’s making sure his heart is actually beating.
“Fucking hell, Dylan!” Torin continues, pulling himself up and smoothing his shirt. “I know you want Fawn to yourself, but you don’t have to kill me to get me out of the way.” He’s laughing, though, his head bent slightly in a gesture of amusement.
Dylan sprints to his side. “Dude, you okay? I mean, I didn’t mean to aim for, you know, the actual head area.”
Torin waves him off. “Yeah, yeah, I’m good. I just watched my fucking life flash before my eyes, like a full highlight reel. First bike. The first time I broke my jaw. Every crappy haircut.”
He’s safe, so I feel like I can laugh now.
Dylan is completely freaked out. “Okay, new rule . . . no standing behind me, or next to me, or anywhere within a four-foot radius.”
Torin’s muscles strain as he reaches for another hatchet from the wall. Dylan stands by my side. He places an arm around my shoulders, and I move into his embrace instinctively. “So,” I say, “how are you feeling about losing Cal for two weeks?”
Dylan scoffs a laugh. “Cal’s always off doing something. It’s actually pretty nice to see him with someone, to be honest. Seems like Delilah keeps him on his toes.”
“Don’t you think they’re going too fast? I mean a vacation . . . that’s intense.”
“Nah, look at us three. Maybe we should all go away together. I’m thinking of a secluded cabin. Log fire, or perhaps even a beach. Just as long as we’re worshipping you all night.”
Dyland brings my hand to his lips and I feel flutters develop in my stomach.
“Don’t get me horny. I’m trying to aim here . . .” Torin says, assuming a manly stance, his boots rooted to the ground and his shoulders square, his hatchet low.
“To be honest, he’s fucking lucky,” Torin continues, his eyes narrowed at the target. “He’s probably gotten out of the charity event . . .”
He throws — the hatchet thunks onto the very edge of the board.
I blink. “Charity event?”
Dylan swallows hard, as if he were hoping to avoid the subject. “Oh yeah, it’s this stupid thing the rink has every year.”
With ease, Torin pulls his hatchet out and points it at Dylan. “Now tell her the rest . . .”
“The figure skaters want my team to perform a dance number with them,” Dylan says, squirming uncomfortably.
I raise an eyebrow. “Okay, that doesn’t sound bad. You love dancing.”
“Go on . . .” Torin raises the hatchet again and gestures with it as if conducting an orchestra to a full confession.
“Uh . . . I’m paired with Harper Turner,” Dylan sighs, letting his arm fall from my shoulder.
Honestly, I’m not the jealous type, and I’m definitely not going to start now. It’s for charity, and I really trust him.
“That’s fine,” I reply honestly. “I don’t have a problem with that. Plus, I trust you.”
Torin moves forward and throws his hatchet again, this time with much more force.
It hits the wood but again misses the center, as if the target has taken offense at the insult and pushed back against it.
“Yeah, well,” he says, pushing his fingers through his hair to smooth it back, “I’ve got to lift someone Dirty Dancing style . . .”
Dylan’s eyes widen. “Princess, listen to me,” he presses, his voice urgent. “I can get me and Torin out of this situation. Right now. Today. Just give me the word, and I’ll make it happen.”
“Dylan . . .” I press my hand against his chest to calm his swirling thoughts. “I trust both of you.”
His shoulders relax at my touch. Torin’s jaw relaxes too.
Torin steps closer, and it’s like gravity finally notices my existence. His fingers cradle my face delicately, his thumb tracing my cheek, and he kisses me. Then, he rests his forehead against mine, and our breaths entwine. “Let me show you how much I trust you,” he whispers.
Something hard presses into my hand, and I glance down — a hatchet.
He’s given me a hatchet. What’s he doing—
My brows pinch together as I look back up at him. “Torin . . . ?”
He deploys a cunning smile, as if the entire process was evident to him, and proceeds to pace toward the target board. When he reaches it, he stretches out his arms and legs to complete his striking pose of a starfish. “I trust you enough,” he calls out, “to throw that and not hurt me.”
“What the fuck?” My voice cracks. “Torin, that’s not you trusting me — that’s you trying to die in front of me. Big difference.”
“Do it, Fawn.”
I focus my gaze on the hatchet and then again on Torin; his dark eyes lock with mine, and he is filled with that stupid, beautiful confidence.
“Torin . . .” I warn, realizing he has obviously lost his damn mind.
Just as I’m able to offer something different, Dylan swoops in like the most unhelpful backup dancer in the world. “If she won’t do it, can I?”
Torin and I spin our heads in tandem. “No!” we both bark.
Dylan’s face falls instantly, looking like a puppy that’s been scolded.
My heads jerks side to side while my pulse hammers somewhere behind my teeth. “Torin, I don’t want to hurt you,” I say.
“You won’t,” he whispers, his confidence so absolute, it sends a warmth coursing through my chest. “You’ve got me.”
I stare at Torin, spread out on that board like some deranged volunteer, and all I can think is: What if I actually hurt him? I’d never forgive myself.
Maybe I could throw it and purposely miss. Like, throw it so wide it hits a whole different county.
“Fawn . . .” Torin says, remaining calm, “If you don’t do it, I’ll let him throw it, and there will be a seventy percent chance it will hit me.” He points his chin toward Dylan.
What the hell!
Dylan flashes his eyes, looking at me like he wants me to say no. He’s looking for a fix of chaos.
Open-mouthed, I stand there. “That’s blackmail!”
Torin shrugs, completely nonchalant. “Nah. I’m giving you a choice.”
Right . . . a choice. Either I chuck the thing and risk scratching him, or Dylan gets to throw it and actually takes him out. I’ve watched Dylan throw. His hatchet nearly killed Torin a few minutes ago, yet he’s dead serious.
My teeth clench as my eyes narrow on Torin. “If this goes fucking wrong, it’s on you, Torin Anderson!”
Before he can even close his eyes or Dylan can blurt out some disastrous commentary — I act on pure adrenaline.
I throw the hatchet, and it flies fast, landing dead center between Torin’s spread legs. It hits the wood with a violent bang, quivering inches from where future Torin juniors would’ve existed.
“FUCK! You actually did it!” Torin’s shout resounds throughout the entire building.
I blink, shocked by the speed of my own reaction. “That’s what you wanted!”
“I was joking! I wasn’t actually gonna put you through that!”
“TORIN! What the fuck? You even threatened to let Dylan do it!”
He backs off the board very cautiously, as if it might spring out and finish him off. He looks at it, and his face relaxes into a mixture of fear and excitement.
“Fuck,” he says. “That was a thrill. I haven’t felt that in ages. I need to check my pants, though.”
Dylan is frozen. Actually frozen. He’s speechless for the first time.
Torin finally approaches me, his arms open wide, like he’s getting ready to initiate one of those huge bear hugs, but I push at his chest. “No! No. Seriously, you weren’t going to let me do it?”
He laughs, shocked, the buzz still racing through his system. “Baby, I figured you’d scream and drop the hatchet.”
“Don’t ever do that to me again, Torin.” I smack his arm even as he laughs against me, heart pounding against my chest.
“I swear, I’ll never put you in that kind of situation again,” he tells me, still a little breathy but sincere, looking down at me. “I’m so sorry.”
The apology releases something in my chest. His eyes are still wide with adrenaline, but his hands are holding me tightly. I take a deep breath, releasing the tension. “That was nuts.”