4 - Trepidation

El ordered me to wait with the box as she ran into the house. A minute later, she returned, keys in hand. "Let's go." Tucking the gun safe in the bend of her elbow, she unlocked the truck.

Trotting after her, I met her stride. "Wait, what?"

"We're going to the shooting range. No time like the present. Besides, I don't have long to teach you how to use this and shoot accurately enough to actually do damage." It was not meant as an insult, we both knew that, but it still stung a little.

"I just need to tell my kids that I'm heading out with you."

"Sure, I'll start the car."

Scurrying inside, I gave my kids a lame, "El and I are heading to the market to buy some stuff" excuse, kissed them on their cheeks, and winked a goodbye.

The drive to the range was not misspent. El's motor mouth taught me all she could about proper care and maintenance for the firearm. She drilled the safe's combination into my head and had me jot down the four digit code on my wrist. Make it nondescript, she stressed. Rounding up the fifteen-minute ride, Elicia relayed shooting tips 101, but I doubted that what she said would translate to my lacking hand-eye correlation skills.

Since Owen's brother co-owned the range, he allowed us to stay past closing hours. Mark harped on Elicia's skills, bragging about how she was a cleaner shot than Owen, who had grown up hunting. The information was all the more intimidating under her appraisal yet reassuring that El knew what she was doing.

By the end of the day, the majority of the rounds I fired ended up barely clipping the target or completely off. However, I did manage to shoot the silhouette's, ahem, crown jewels. Albeit, it was accidental. El had the laugh of her life at my expense, but I was too exhausted to blush. My poor biceps were used to the daily weight of various Holt McDougal textbooks, at most. Only one bullet pierced ring eight. Nonfatal but crippling, Elicia assessed with a nod of approval.

On the route back, El let me sleep, and I was eternally grateful. With fatigued muscles, popped ears, dried eyes, brain overload, sweaty skin and sore everything, dreamland came faster than I could pull the revolver's trigger.

XXX

Elicia was out. That meant there were just two adults left, including myself. The other was Owen, the man my best friend entrusted her life to. Yet, I could not be on edge more enough. I could not plead away my irrational thoughts more enough. I could not hate myself more enough.

"Andy," Owen said to me after I jumped out of my skin at his touch. "I'm not him."

"Sorry," I squeaked. "I know."

"You need to conquer that," he said. Owen's eyes were as sharp as his tone whilst he stared me down.

Squirming under his glare, I took a step back and averted my attention.
"No. Don't look at the ground, it makes you look weak." He commanded, "Look at me."

Swallowing, I shifted my gaze to his chin and dragged my eyes up until they stopped at his cheekbone.

"I know you're afraid, I can feel it." Owen's husky voice sliced the air. "But so will Jim."

I supposed I was imagining things when I went to wipe away cold sweat and met dryness. My body shook, no help from the slight breeze entering from the kitchen's cracked window.

"El told me you went to the gun range last night." Owen added, "Managed four clean shots, too."

Saying nothing, I shrugged. Four out of fifteen was nothing to brag about.

"I want to help you get better, but you need to let go of your fear. Otherwise, it'll paralyse you." Owen picked up his mug and ambled to the breakfast table set for two.

Motioning for me to join him, I tiptoed like a wounded mutt to the opposite chair.

Owen said nothing as he unclasped the top three buttons of his blue and orange plaid shirt. Tugging the neck of his flannel aside, he pointed at a long-healed scar marring his collarbone.

I furrowed my eyebrows. "What happened?"

"When I was in high school, I got into the wrong crowd, became a rebellious prick - even landed myself a night in the jail. But my dad was a cop, so the charges disappeared. God, I was hell to my parents, bless their hearts. So, to fix me up, they sent me into the military straight out of high school." Letting go of the shirt's lapel, his rich brown eyes went soft. "Military was the best decision my folks made for me because it taught me that I couldn't survive in the world the way I was headed." Owen sighed, his chest rising as air filled his lungs. "I entered the Army, back then my decision was influenced by the rush of shooting weapons, not because I wanted to protect and serve. Thankfully, that came later with maturity."

I always imagined Owen as a church-going choir boy, so his confession alarmed me, not entirely in a bad way, though.

He continued, "I was a good shot, but nowhere near sharpshooter skill - the position I had wanted the day I first fired a semi-automatic. So, after I heard that I wasn't proficient enough, I was angry, mind you, I was nineteen. But, I was good with hand to hand, better than most of the recruits in my training group."

I stared at him, dead in the eye like he wanted.

"This" —Owen nodded to his scarred bullet hole— "happened when I was twenty-seven. I was on my third tour, on base with a group of guys planning how to draw out the Iraqi militia. We were ambushed, the first killed was Ludo, the best shooter of the group and ... my closest friend in the core."

Swallowing, somehow, I had an idea where his story was headed.

"After that first shot, everyone went on autopilot. I didn't have my gun, so I grabbed Ludo's. When I checked the clip, I just froze. In all of my nine years, I'd never felt that - never owed my living to anyone. I had never been so terrified in my life even though I had gone through years of training. I froze like a rookie, fear that I could not avenge him consumed me, drowned out everything."

With my eyes back on the laminate, I nodded, sympathising with his distress.

"Within two seconds, I was on the ground, feeling the pain but numbness. The next thing I knew I was waking up in a hospital ICU room." Owen locked his fingers together. "The army honorably discharged me."

"Why? Couldn't you go back in after recovering?"

"I could have, I guess. But the core, officially, discharged me because the bullet fractured my collarbone. I lost a lot of blood and had to have a bone graft and physical therapy to repair the damage. Unofficially, by then, I already had put in enough years to retire my green beret with several medals to my name. I loved my brothers, but I was ready to go, see my parents, my siblings again. It was my way out, so I took it. Call it a blessing in disguise."

Meeting his eyes again, I nodded.

"You need to confront your anxiety, deal with it other than by suppressing it. You can't gamble on having a second chance like I had." Owen stood up.
"I want you to head out with me, teach you some stuff to boost your chances of hitting a moving target as well as some techniques to help defend yourself and the kids."

My head turned to the staircase, refusing to leave the kids by themselves, unguarded, unprotected.

"El should be back in a few."

Not a moment later, the front door unlocked, and Elicia poked her head into the kitchen. With a small smile, she waved her hand. "Owen, help me bring in some stuff?"

The air chilled, just as it was when I woke up. I stared at my interlaced fingers contemplating if I was willing to take Owen's offer. We had never been alone with each other for more than five minutes and El was always in the near proximity. Time stretched, so with nothing better to do, my mind travelled away, carrying me back.

His footsteps echoed on the other side of the door, tracing his steps for, I think I counted, the sixth time.

Honestly, I fared no better. Jitters tazed my system as I stared at the stick, waiting with baited breath for its results. As I sat on the toilet seat, my eyes glued to the blank window, praying for two, pink bars, as advertised on the box. God, we are so ready, I prayed. Please. Closing my eyes, I waited for the timer to ring before taking a peek.

"Oh my goodness!" My jaw dropped to the ceramic tiles. "Jim!" I squealed, bursting out of the bathroom. Tackling him, I flung my arms around his neck, unable to contain my excitement. Hopping from foot to foot, I did my Snoopy dance, somehow avoiding breaking all his toes. "I'm pregnant!"

His eyes lit up as he scooped me into his arms and spun me. "Oh my God!" Laughing like two drunkards, he set me down and pressed his lips to mine with fervid passion.

"I love you," I whispered between kisses.

"I can't believe we're gonna be parents!" Jim held my cheeks.

"I know! I'm so excited!" I giggled, feeling as giddy as a girl asked to the school dance by her crush. Nuzzling into his chest, I listened to his galloping pulse. "Do you think it'll be a girl or boy?"

"Girl!"

I chuckled, "I say, boy." Biting my lip, I peered up at him, admiring his tousled hair that he had let grow out.

"A boy?" Jim repeated. Arching his eyebrow, he backed me into the wall. "I don't care which it is, as long as it's healthy and happy."

"Me neither." With a quick peck on his lips, I ducked out of his hold and grabbed his hand, leading him to the master bedroom.

"Andy." El nudged my shoulder. "I'll watch the kids."

Blinking out of my flashback, I met Elicia's warm eyes.

"Go on with Owen. He won't keep you too long."

Too drained to protest, I nodded and headed out.

Greeting Owen on the wrap-around porch, he beckoned for me to follow him. It was a bit nippy but tolerable without a pullover. Yet, I still wrapped my arms around me, trying to ward off the jitters.

My eyes scanned the field, spotting the coloured leaves sprinkled around like glitter. Elicia's house backed up to woods and in the opposite direction, there was a group of towering hills. If I squinted, I could make out a lonely two-story in between the field and her house. Beyond the hills was a field with trees peeking over the corn.

Owen stopped short and I almost smacked into his back. "Andy, El wants you to get better at your shooting aim, but my goal is teaching you self-defence, should you be disarmed." He handed me the gun safe. "You remember the combination?"

"Yeah." The rectangular tin chilled my fingertips as I fumbled with the padlock. Right. Left. Right. My heart pumped a little faster when I picked up the firearm.

"We're going to use these." Holding up a bullet, I swallowed the stone threatening to clog my airway. "It's just a blank, so it won't do any serious damage if I get hit." Dumping a box of orange pellets into my palm, Owen watched as I loaded the clip.

My hands trembled a bit, despite his assurances that 'they were not fatal.' What the hell are we doing? My anxiety level climbed as I loaded the next bullet.

"I'm putting on a vest and some other stuff, and then we can begin."
As I inserted the remaining six rounds, he donned a full body armour suit. Short of a helmet attaching a transparent visor covering his eyes, Owen looked like a happy medium between a SWAT officer and hockey player, completely opposite of the cowboy attire I was accustomed to.

"Are you ready?" Owen stood next to me, and I fought against my instincts to run and hide.

Pursing my lips, I shook my head. Not really. "Yes," my treacherous lips said instead.

"We'll start with the basics and depending on how fast you catch on, we can run through the more challenging scenarios."

With a wary nod, I averted my mind off of my churning doubts.

"Now, these moves are all about counter attacks and using the weight of your opponent to your advantage, which is me in this case. Since you're not that tall and don't have much body weight on you, you're at a slight disadvantage when paired with a guy of my stature and strength." He added, "No offence."

Shaking my head, I said with tight lips, "None taken."

"Raise your gun and position your stance as if you were going to shoot the post."

Obeying, I squared my shoulders and planted my feet straight. Dragging the gun up until my elbows had a slight bend, I squinted my right eye and licked my lips, ready to lodge a pellet into Owen's wooden fence.
My body, so attuned to spontaneous arm sweeps, jumped ten feet into the air, leaving my brain unable to catch up. When the gun flew out of my hands, I yelped, my cry startling me into the beginnings of a panic attack. Gasping, I stumbled to the side, eyes wide with terror as King Kong pounded on my chest.

"Andy, it's alright."

I saw palms, but not the face, and my anxiety bringing about another wave of dark spots.

"Andy, listen to me."

It was Owen. Owen is calling out to me, my head tried to rationalise.

With gentleness, he pressed on my shoulders and kept his hands there until reality reigned me back in. "I didn't mean to scare you. I'm sorry," he said.

A spiteful part of my mind wanted to add retort, The hell you didn't mean to! What did you expect? But tears threatened to pool, so I bit my lip, willing them to disappear instead.

His hands abandoned my shoulders, and I felt a bit better that he wasn't as close. "I don't think we should use the gun right now."

Nodding, a blush warmed my cheeks as I eyed the handgun resting on a bed of dead leaves. My stomach twisted, so I blinked away my morbid thoughts.

"Let's just do some basics, okay?" Owen removed some of his padding and unloaded the clip for me.

We started with some rudimentary defencive moves before adding a punch and retreating with blocks. In time with a steady rhythm, I jammed my fist into his protected abs, ignoring the agony radiating in my clenched fingers from the stabbing the firmness.

By the time my session finished with Owen, the only thing I realised was how out of shape I was. Even, Owen conceded that I had "a lot of work to do." Every time my fist slammed into his vest, I ended up with a bruised pride and throbbing knuckles. I did not know which sucked more. By the end, I was ready to stir a steaming bath to forget my pathetic fitness level. How I survived twenty minutes of training was beyond me. Without having properly exercised in years, this whole session was hell to my muscles but good for my brain.

Really, it was. I learned some pretty interesting manoeuvres, like S.I.N.G.. Owen drilled me five times before I was able to recite, "Solar plexus, instep, nose, groin" back to him with the corresponding motions. The way he hammered the acronym in my brain reminded me of how the nuns made El and me memorise the Lord's Prayer.

Owen deemed that we should call it a day, with a capital P for pity stickered to his forehead. At that point, I couldn't even muster the will to defend my dignity. I was wiped. As we dragged our feet to the house, I coddled my knuckles. If my hands were any indication, I knew I would be sore for days, but tolerance was the most fine-tuned skill in my arsenal.

El was serving my kids bacon and scrambled eggs, with a side of ketchup, when I trudged into the kitchen. Her pearly white teeth flashed as she wiped her hands on a dish towel and ushered me into the living room.

Sitting us down on the sofa, she asked, "How'd it go?"

My teeth tugged at my lip. "As well as shooting with you went." Wincing, I tugged at the sleeves of my cardigan.

"Sore?"

With a snort, I smirked. "Everywhere."

Elicia grimaced. "I can dig around for some Tylenol, but I doubt I have any left. I forgot to pick some up at the convenience store."

Waving my hands, I brightened my smile. "No, it's fine. Nothing I can't handle." Without even intending to, my quip dampened the air, stiffening the mood when El's eyebrows knotted. At once my breath hitched, contriteness contorting my face, and an apology haste on my tongue. "I didn't mean it like that," I concluded.

"I knew what you meant." A compassionate simper ameliorated her malaise.

"Honey!" Owen called from the front door.

"Just a minute," she said. Swivelling her attention back on me, El cradled my hands. "It'll get easier, and you'll get better. We have time."

A/N: This goes out to one of my silent (but not always so) reader, Squeaks7 from #2k16LitAuth. She's always one of the first to read the challenge of the day, and I don't often get to thank her! Thanks, girl! ❤️️