Now fourteen, Bex’s body had filled out. He was an inch taller than Jared, and could have been mistaken for a man in his early twenties. Except for the childlike sweetness that remained in his eyes and his occasional displays of inexperience, I would never believe that he was the same person as the eleven-year-old I had met a few years before. It was disturbing.
I must have looked ridiculous in my black leggings and white t-shirt with Bean balled noticeably in front, crouching and ready in front of what looked like a full-grown man. Bex could have wadded me up like a piece of paper on my best day, and I knew if anyone had witnessed a pregnant woman trading punches with someone twice her size, they would have called the police.
“Bex,” Jared warned without looking up.
Bex’s nose wrinkled, irritated at Jared’s instruction. “I know. The subtle distention of her middle section is a constant reminder not overdo it. I won’t hurt your messianic spawn, Nina.”
I shoved the heel of my hand into Bex’s stomach. He barely paused, but it was still thrilling to me that I landed it. “Someone’s been reading the List of Big Words, again.”
Bex glanced to Jared, and then grabbed me. He twisted me around, more forceful than usual, pulling me into his chest. My neck fit snugly in the crook of his arm. “Okay. Now what?”
I stepped on his foot, jabbed my elbow into his ribs, and then threw my head back. Bex dodged, but had he been human I would have cracked his nose.
“Good,” he said, nodding.
We went over the same old moves dozens of times, and then Bex showed me a few more. They were more offensive than defensive. Bex seemed to enjoy teaching those more, and I certainly enjoyed learning to attack more than I liked repeatedly attempting to free myself from an assailant.
After an hour, Jared brought the bag of firearms over, and then handed me shooting earmuffs and safety glasses. We walked over to a small hill, where Bex set up several targets. He was as excited as I was, but it didn’t occur to me to ask why.
I practiced with a handgun, a rifle, and a shotgun. When Jared and Bex were satisfied with my aim, Bex tied a rope to a branch of the oak tree and hung a large log from it. He unrolled a paper target, and then taped it to the middle of the log. He gave it a shove, and it swayed in a large arc back and forth.
Jared handed me his sidearm. “Less than one percent of your targets will be stationary. You need to learn to hit a moving target.
I lifted the Glock in both of my hand and looked down the sights.
“Anticipation is key,” Jared said.
I watched the log for a moment, and then squeezed the trigger. Bex leapt back with a yowl.
I dropped the gun and covered my mouth. “Oh, God! I’m sorry!”
Jared picked up the gun and tried not to smile. Bex, however, was rolling on the ground, laughing hysterically.
I glared at him. “Not funny, you little worm! I could have given birth right here in the grass!”
Bex immediately sobered, looking to his older brother for confirmation.
Jared laughed. “She’s exaggerating just a little.”
“Again,” I said, holding the gun in front of me once more. After six tries, I sighed with irritation and pulled off the earmuffs, letting them fall to the ground.
“You’re thinking too much,” Bex said. He pulled his gun from the waistline of his jeans and pulled the trigger, never looking away from me. The target had a rip in the center where the bullet made contact.
I blew my bangs from my face. “You can’t anticipate something without thinking about it.”
Bex lifted his gun and pointed it at me, and I mirrored his action. We were at an immediate stand off.
Bex smiled. “Yes, you can.”
Jared palmed my arm and lowered it slowly. “It’s called instinct. It’s in your blood, Nina. You just need to give in to it.”
I looked at the log. “Give in to it,” I repeated, raising my weapon.
Bex shoved the log again.
I shut out everything: the breeze; the birds; the strands of hair that kept sticking to my lip gloss. Everything was frozen, even my inner thoughts. My mind focused on the target, and I was in tune with everything. I could feel the movement of the log, the resistance of the rope as it rubbed against the tree branch, and even the wind speed and how it would affect the path of the bullet. I took in a deep breath and pulled the trigger. Bex grabbed the log and it instantly stopped.
“Nice!” Bex said.
The bullet had landed just a couple of inches above Bex’s. I smiled, and Jared pulled me to his side, kissing my hair.
After that, Bex took the spare tire from under the rear of the Escalade and fastened a target to the center. He walked to the top of a small hill, and I stood halfway down. He let the tire go, and I took several shots as it rolled down the grass to the bottom, falling on its side.
Bex sprinted to the tire and rolled it over, offering a thumbs-up and a smile.
“You did really well today,” Jared said.
I nodded. “I know.”
Jared leaned down and touched each side of my stomach with his hands. “Mommy did good today, didn’t she Bean?” He waited a moment, and then stood. “Everything seems to be okay. Your pulse, Bean’s pulse, blood pressure and breathing are all normal. I don’t think Bean noticed.”
“So we can keep going?”