Damn right I do. He’s my knight in shining armor. All who nuh have a bad man fi protect dem a bat.That last line makes me laugh. Nickoi lays out several guns. Some I recognize. Most I don’t.
“Next time yuh use these, take out your own,” he says, and I pull mine from my bag. He walks me through everything, parts, reload, unload, locking. Then stance, grip, trigger pull.
It’s giving: Certified Gunman Professor.
“I’m impressed,” I say, smiling. “Mi cya say yuh never teach me nuh’n.” He doesn’t crack a smile. He’s locked in. I think it’s because I’m holding a loaded gun now. Understandable. He gives me a list of rules. I repeat each one. He nods. Then his eyes turn to mine.
“How yuh fi treat all firearms?”
“Like they’re loaded. Even when they’re not.”
He nods again, slow.
“Alright. Position the gun like how mi do mine.”
I copy him. He circles me, eyes sharp, correcting little things. My shoulders tense. He’s so serious, it’shotbut unnerving. I miss his goofy smile. I miss his dimples. But also…
Wah yuh want? Yuh love him this way and yuh still a complain.He closes the space between us, chest brushing my back.
“Keep yuh trigger finger outside the guard and off the trigger til yuh ready fi shoot,” he murmurs, his voice right at my ear.
I nod, breath caught in my throat.
“Know your target. Aim small, miss small.”
His hand covers mine, his veins flexing, body warmth melting into me and I can barely think straight.
I aim.
I breathe.
I shoot.
It lands close.
“Me? Affi try again!” I squeal, jumping around.
He finally laughs, dimples and all.
“Aight, do the next one on your own.”
I nod, eyes on the target, gun steady in my hands, and this time I don’t miss.
51
Reveal
The drive home is calm. Quiet, but not in a bad way. I rest my head on Nickoi’s arm, watching the houses blur past. It’s peaceful. “Babe, when are we going back to the shooting range?” I ask out of nowhere.
“Inna two weeks,” he answers, still focused on the road.
I breathe out.
In yer too quiet..
I glance up at him. “Babe?” I call again, softer now. He hums. Half-listening “I did something bad,” I say, in the mood to get on his nerves. His fingers twitch slightly on the steering wheel. He doesn’t say a word, but I feel it, he’s alert now. His posture stiffens. His foot presses just a little deeper into the gas.
Perfect.
