She found her dad in the guest bedroom packing. She’d no idea their marriage had deteriorated to the point that they were no longer sharing a bedroom. He looked tired. Not from lack of sleep, but from years of putting up with a loose cannon. He closed his suitcase, then zipped his duffel. “I just texted you my new address. I’m moving to a retirement community in central Florida. Most of the residents get around on golf carts.” He hugged her. “I love you, honey.”
“I love you, too. Safe travels.”
A mix of emotions—anger, frustration, and sadness—swirled in her head. As she headed out the front door, she almost collided with her mom’s boyfriend. Great. She mumbled hello.
Ross sported a sleazy smile, slicked-down hair, and a suit that screamed Saturday Night Fever. His dark shirt, unbuttoned to his naval, revealed a thick rug of chest hair billowing through the gold chains dangling around his neck. “Carly, hey. Did you hear the big news?”
“Sure did.” He reeked of so much cologne she had to turn away.
“I’m the new sheriff.” He stepped close and she backed up. “Are you as wild as your spicy lil’ mama?”
“Get lost, Ross.” She walked to her car.
“I was hoping we could get to know each other,” he called out. “You know, I bang the cougar and her hot daughter.”
Refusing to acknowledge his disgusting comment, she jumped into her car and drove away. Once out of sight, she stopped at the curb and pounded the steering wheel. “They are soooooo fucked up!”
She didn’t even try to stop the tears. She was alone. No one was there to criticize her or tell her to eat less or stop eating altogether. Her business was hanging by a thread and she was getting evicted. The universe is definitely sending me a sign.
Though surprised, she was glad her parents were splitting up and her dad was starting over. Initially, her dad had gone along with her mom’s interest in “branching out”. After a few years, he stopped seeing other women and had asked Lisa to do the same. She refused. At long last, his patience had run out.
Mom isn’t his problem anymore. Lucky guy.
In light of these changes, Carly had no intention of returning to her mom’s house, especially now that creepy Ross was moving in. Total effing weirdo.
She wiped her cheeks, punched up her playlist, and drove toward the firing range. “I wish you were here, Mrs. Hott. You were always so kind to me and you always had the best advice.” Carly sniffled. “Ash isn’t the only one who misses you.”
Carly parked in the lot, pulled her Glock 19 from the lockbox in her trunk. She removed the cartridge and packed it and her gun in its case, then shouldered her duffel and grabbed her range bag.
After checking in, she changed in the locker room. Emerging in jeans and a long-sleeved shirt, she headed over to the firing area.
Once there, she covered her ears and eyes in protective gear before taking her position in the fifty-yard lane. After loading her weapon, she took a moment to center herself. Still raging mad from the conversation with her folks, she tried settling down. Despite years of practice, she was still wielding a dangerous weapon.
She closed her eyes and envisioned her happy place—a sunrise stroll at the beach, the morning sun warming her face. She breathed deeply and took aim. She homed in on the target, widened her stance, slowed her inhale, and fired on exhale.
She hit the paper dummy in the shoulder. C’mon, concentrate.
Ten minutes into it, the tension in her neck still wouldn’t release. She hoped the evening with her parents would blur into the background, but with each shot she fired, her frustration mounted.
On the way to the firing range, Sin’s driver made a quick stop at Maverick’s so he could collect his range bag. Having confirmed Carly’s location, Maverick made his way to the far side of the building. The lane beside her was empty, so he donned his protective gear, pulled his Glock from his case, loaded it, and stepped into the space. He loved watching her practice. Her form was terrific and she hit the target way more times than she missed.
Tonight, however, something was off. Tension had hiked up her shoulders and her stance wasn’t right. After lowering her weapon, she looked over at him.
Her tight smile didn’t touch her eyes. When she turned back, she centered herself, raised her gun, and fired, completely missing the target. Whoa, woman, what’s up with that?
Over the next hour, they practiced side by side until she lowered her weapon and removed the cartridge. He fired for another five minutes before stopping. Together, they headed toward the range’s clubhouse.
“You want a drink?” he asked.
“I’m gonna head out.”
“You were off tonight,” he said.
Frustration radiated off her. “No shit.”
“Should I guess?”
“You won’t even need three.”
