Page 87 of Cruel Debts
When I'd been afraid of running lead on point when we swept through hostile, overgrown territory, I hated how weak it made me feel. So I started volunteering for the lead spot in the lineup. So much that my sergeant began to suspect I had a death wish. But with every time I ran point, it got easier and easier. Until one day, I cocked my gun, calmly stepped into the front, only to be pushed to the back by another man who took my self-taught lesson to heart and wanted to face his own fears.
Until the day that it was no longer a fear of mine.
I didn't want to scare her, though, so I didn't share that story.
"I want to go back up," she said suddenly, her gaze locked on the mountain before her. "But I don't know if I can."
"But you want to?" I stared at her curiously. "Why?"
"Because I don't want to be afraid of heights anymore. I'm missing out on so much. I want to conquer it." Her hands balled into fists at her side as she stared solidly up the side of the cliff. "I want to take the scarier path, too."
"Why don't we start small and work our way up, huh?" I took her hand and smiled. If she could face this fear, then I could face my own about my inability to protect her the way she needed, and how much of this I actually deserved or didn't deserve. "Steps. Not leaps and bounds."
"Progress is progress, right?" She squeezed my hand, and I smiled back down at this small woman determined to teach me a thing or two.
I might not know what the future held for us, but I could face each day like it was the last one I'd ever live, and enjoy them to the fullest. Live them like I wanted to. Without fear of what was just around the corner.
Regardless of what that shadow in the hall in front of me turned out to be.
"Progress is progress," I agreed, and she took the first step, leading us both back up the cliffs to face our fears together.
I couldn't always protect her, but dammit, I could do my best. And I had to hope that was good enough. That I was good enough.
For both our sakes.
THIRTY-SEVEN
LIAM
"Absolutely not."
"ButLiam?—"
No fucking way. I wasn't about to give in this time. I wasn't Asher. I wasnotteaching Trinity McCoy to handle a fucking gun.
"It's not happening, Trin." As if following me around the kitchen would solve her problems, or make me cave, she turned it into her personal job. Every time I stopped, she did, too. And sometimes she didn't, causing a pileup that never failed to aggravate me.
On the third time around the dorm as I tried to remember what the hell I forgot I was after, I stopped dead in my tracks, spinning on Trinity with a scowl that had cowed grown men in the military.
"Trinity fucking McCoy, just get it out of your head. I'm not teaching you how to handle a gun?—
"—sowhat you want to do first is get a handle on the weapon's feel in your hand."
I couldn't believe it. Not only did I cave, but I agreed to skip a gym day to teach her how to handle a pistol.
To be fair, she made a good argument. It wouldn't hurt her to have some sort of self-defense in a place like this, and considering she'd already put her hands on mine, it might have been smarter if she knew how to actually use it instead of just pretending.
When she decided to sit on me for dinner, I could either give in or be embarrassed. The choice was simple, if only to save my dignity.
"Like this?" She tilted the pistol in her hands back and forth, testing the weight it held. "It's not that bad. Yours was heavier last time I?—"
"Yeah," I said slowly, my hand reaching out with the clip in my palm. "This is where a lot of that weight is."
She took the clip and put it in the gun, and a frown blossomed across her face. "Oh, you're right. This is much heavier now."
My nod was blank. "Right." I hadn't had to teach someone how to handle a gun in a very long time, and it wasn't one of my stronger skills. Handling them myself, sure. Using them to end someone from a million feet away? Sure. Assembling and disassembling them with ease? You bet. But I didn't really need to teach others the skills. There were drill sergeants for that shit. They could learn from them, like I had.
The last person I taught to hold a gun properly was?—
