That helps settle some of the fear and anxiety swirling inside me. I breathe easier as I pull out of the parking lot and head for Cull’s place.
“There’s something else I wanted to talk to you about now that we aren’t at school.” He’s popping his knuckles, knee bouncing.
“Alright.”
“So, after I got home last night, my dad brought up taking me to the gun range. He wants me to learn how to use a handgun.”
“Why?” I ask. It’s not like we’re strangers to guns. We live in the South, and here, owning one is practically a personality trait. Cull and I both hunt with our Dads. For Dad and me, it’s more for bonding than bagging a buck, but if we do, we break it down and put the meat in the deep freezer.
“He wants me to be prepared… in case things escalate.”
I pull up to his house and kill the engine. “They already have,” I sigh.
“Yeah, unfortunately. He wants me to be able to take care of myself, and you if the need arises, and I can’t say I disagree.”
“If it helps ease your mind, I’m all for it.”
He exhales, his body relaxing.
“Did you think I’d be against it? It’s not like we’ve never handled a gun before.”
“I know. I just wanted you to understand the reason.”
I don’t like it, but this is the reality we are facing.
“My hero,” I tease, gripping his chin and pulling him into a kiss.
“Want to come in?” he asks against my lips.
“I’d like to come in something, yes.”
He snorts a laugh. “And you say I’m the dirty one.”
“I’ve learned from the best.” We’re both reaching for the door handles when his mom pulls into the driveway.
“Cockblocked again,” he groans, schooling his face into a pleasant smile, watching as Mrs. Eliza climbs out with grocery bags.
“Judging your expression, you were either up to trouble or about to be. Which is it?” she asks, rounding the car.
“What makes you think I was getting into trouble?” Cull deflects, taking the bags from her hands. I remember my manners and grab a couple, too.
“Please. I’m your mother. You’ve had the same guilty face since you were three and got caught sneaking cookies from the pantry.”
We file through the door and into the kitchen. Cullen drops the bags on the white marble countertop and leans against the gray cabinets, arms crossed. “Well, I’m eighteen now,” he declares with a smirk. “Ask questions like that, and you might get more of an answer than you want.”
Mrs. Eliza laughs, cheeks coloring. Cullen’s family has always been more open than mine, especially when it comesto sex. My parents are great, but stuff like this? Definitely not dinner table material.
“Well, I’m home now.” She smiles, pointing a finger between us. “So no hanky panky.”
“Yeah, don’t worry,” Cullen mutters.
“I’m gonna go. I’ll pick you up around eight.” I give him a quick kiss, still getting used to the fact that our parents can see us like this, and head back to my car.
But as I drive home, anxiety creeps back in. The idea that things might escalate to the point Cullen would have to use a gun rattles me to my core.
Even if someone’s been harassing us, I don’t want anyone getting hurt—especially not killed. And if it ever came to that? If someone made Cullen feel like he had no choice?
I’d rather take myself out of the equation than let him carry that kind of weight.
