“What’s for dinner?” she asks with a huge smile on her lips and a look in her eyes that saysdon’t try me.
Thane leans out from the kitchen and lets out a low wolf whistle. “Just keeping it simple. Spaghetti and meat sauce with a salad.”
“Sounds like a plan,” I say, sitting next to the quiet Bash Brother in hopes of a peaceful meal.
Dinner starts out easily, just enough to lull me into a sense of peace. Then Anders has to go and open his big damn mouth.
“Heard you tore it up at the gun range, little guy. So, are you really a sniper?”
Again, I avoid Everett’s eyes. “Technically just a sharpshooter, never went to sniper school.”
“Still,” he presses, “Everett says you hit all of the bullseyes.”
DB puts down his fork. “Some of those targets go up to a thousand yards.”
I sneak a look over at Everett, and he’s grinding his jaw. It’s a punch to the gut to realize he doesn’t want me to be a part of this at all. And I don’t know why it’s so upsetting. I mean, I wasn’t even aware of this two days ago.
But I’m coming to realize that since Asadi died, everything in my life has been like my clothes, not enough, too much, not made for me. And this afternoon was the first time in a long time I felt settled, like I knew what I was doing and I could be good at it.
Fine. I don’t need him to believe in me.
“Actually, the last one goes up to twelve hundred yards.”
“And you hit it in today’s winds?” DB looks at Everett, who finally acknowledges me and nods.
I swirl spaghetti onto my fork, trying to keep my cool. “The cheap-ass scope kept fighting me, but I figured out where it was off and was finally able to make the adjustment.”
DB leans forward, curious. “And what did you think of the gun?”
I laugh, holding my arms out to about the size of the gun. “Massive overcompensation is my guess. I mean, it’s fine, but if they’d had a better scope, they wouldn’t have needed so much gun.”
It feels nice to be trusted with these kinds of questions, which only makes Everett’s doubt hurt more sharply.
DB knocks on the table, I assume for good luck. “Thank god for small favors. Bad guys who make poor gun choices kill fewer people.”
“True story.”
Anders snorts. “I would have given anything to see you shoot this afternoon. It must be nice to level the playing field.”
He doesn’t mean it in a bad way, but Anders’ comment hits me wrong. Shoveling another forkful of spaghetti in my mouth, I ask, “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Parker points to something on my chest. Fuck. Nothing proves I’m a serious adult like spaghetti stains on a white T-shirt.
Anders laughs at my misfortune and answers, “You’re, what? Five foot tall? Not exactly tough without your gun.”
Odd elbows his brother, shaking his head. “Anders.”
“What? It’s true.” He turns to me, holding up his hands. “Dude, you’re smaller than Roly, and you’re nowhere near as built as he is. How else would you defend yourself except with a big damn gun?”
“Anders, shut the fuck up,” Everett growls out.
I drop my fork on my plate, letting it clatter loudly. “Yeah, well, Roly is built like Roly, and I took him downjustfine.”
As soon as the words are out of my mouth, I want to take them back.
I’d sat next to the man as he cried about his father, accepted his invite back to the gym, and here I was, disrespectful and snarky, using him as a punching bag for my own fucking insecurities.Again. How fuckingpetty.
The table falls silent. Even Asa has nothing to say to me.
