“And this.” I show her the trigger guard. “Remember, your finger never goes here unless you’re ready to fire. Not even to feel what it’s like. Not even if someone dares you. Never.”
“I won’t, ever,” she promises.
“Good girl.”
I close the case. Lock it. Return it to the Range Rover.
The whole demonstration took maybe three minutes. But it’s enough. Ben knows the gun exists but stays hands-off.
That’s the point. Demystify it. Make it boring. Just another tool with protocols attached.
Like learning to break down a chicken or deglaze a pan or separate ice. You respect the sharp edges but you don’t fear them.
“Can we explore now?” Ben asks.
“Short loop only,” I tell her. “Stay in sight of the vehicle. Jess and I are right behind you.”
She takes off. Not running exactly. More like an excited walk with Frederick bouncing against her side.
Jess and I fall into step behind her. Close enough to see her but giving space.
“You good?” I ask quietly.
“Define good.” Her voice is tightly controlled. The same way she sounded during the press siegewhen she was absolutely not fine but pretending otherwise.
“Can you make it through the weekendgood?” I clarify.
She looks at me. Those warm brown eyes that usually sparkle with some joke or observation are flat and scared.
But she nods. “Yeah. I can make it.”
“If you can’t, we leave. No shame. No judgment.”
“Marco.” She stops walking. Forces me to stop, too. “I’m here for Ben. I’m staying for Ben. Whatever I’m dealing with, I can handle it.”
The words are steady but her hands tell a different story. She’s gripping the straps of her bag like they’re the only thing keeping her upright.
I want to pull her close. Want to kiss her until that fear melts into something manageable. Want to drag her back to the Range Rover and drive straight back to Manhattan where the trees are contained in parks and the threats are photographers instead of whatever the fuck happened to her out here.
But I can’t. Because Ben’s twenty feet ahead picking up pinecones and narrating their qualities to Frederick.
And because Jess asked me to let her handle this.
So I do.
Still, I’m starting to wonder if this whole thing was a bad idea.
“Okay,” I tell her. “But the second you need out, you say the word. Promise me.”
“I promise.”
We keep walking. The afternoon light filters through pine branches in that golden way photographers probably lose their minds over. Itsmells like earth and sap. I love it, honestly. The steel and glass of the city can be so sterile, sometimes.
But I have to be mindful of Jess, I remind myself.
Ben finds a fallen branch. Insists it’s a “treasure.” Adds it to her collection of pinecones and smooth rocks.
Jess counts breaths when she thinks I’m not looking. One, two, three. The Brave Rules she taught my daughter now keeping her own panic at bay.
