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“Thank you. God, thank you.” I’m elated, my heart running rampant in my chest. I get to have my queen without a fight.
I take my beer off the railing and join him, taking a swig as we look down on my little family. Lana looks like a goddess in her bikini, the black against her tan skin, her hair pinned in a wild mess atop her head. Floating around with my son in her arms and another baby on the way—it’s a perfect conclusion to this day.
“How you gonna ask her?” her dad questions, taking a general interest, and to me, it’s a bit foreign since we never really talk. Unless we’re insulting each other...or fist fighting.
“Saturday night, I was thinking you and Becky could watch the little man, and I will have her meet me at my studio, make her think we’ll be going to dinner after a late night of working. I wrote her a song and recorded it, so I’ll play it, and then propose there.”
“We can do that.”
I nod, taking another swig.
“Daddy, come in!” Lana yells up at me.
“Just a minute, queen.” Turning to her dad, I nod. “Thank you for your blessing.” I don’t say more, knowing I don’t need to. We said enough to one another for the day and I got what I wanted. Leaving him standing there, I head upstairs to change into my suit. I’m gonna marry my fucking queen.
“Shooting? You wanted to bring me shooting?”
Jumping out of the truck, I face Lana. “Yeah, your dad and I thought it would be a good idea.” Shutting my door before she can respond, I watch her parents climb out of the back seat as I round the front of the truck to let her out.
“You know I’m terrified of guns. I’m too clumsy to wield one.”
Taking her hand, I help her out, pulling her against me when she lands on her feet. Fuck, she looks edible today. Tight skinny jeans hugging every inch of those long, thin legs, cupping her ass deliciously. She wore an off-the-shoulder top, and it shows me all the skin of her neck, her thin collarbone, and an inch or two of those sexy hipbones. She curled her hair in that way I like it and put on a light stitch of makeup, like her dad and I prefer. Lana is fucking stunning; she can throw on some blush, with that black shit for her lashes, and some chapstick, and you would think she spent hours doing it.
Seeing her parents are busy talking on the other side of the truck through the glass, I push her up against the door, no space between our bodies. “Pretty baby, your skin is making me hungry,” I whisper, biting that sexy little dimple that comes with her smile. She gasps as I pull away. Reaching up to soothe the bite with the swipe of my thumb, I groan.
“My parents are here, so control yourself,” she scolds me, doing a terrible job as she smiles again, placing her hands on my hips. “But really, why a shooting range?” she inquires, her fingers sailing around my back to connect with one another.
“Your dad and I think you could use some gun training. I want you to feel as safe as possible.”
She goes from curious to alarmed with in seconds. “Why? You think Jo— he’s coming back?” Her breathing starts to come out in deep shudders and her chest rises and falls too fast. I realize I shouldn’t have brought up her safety, but I didn’t want to lie to her, and knowing Jeffery, he would have told her before I did. I didn’t want to upset her by not telling her first. Talk about a head-trip.
“Lana, we never know. But I don’t think it’s a bad idea to be prepared in case he does.”
She shakes her head rapidly, fearfully in denial. I think up something quick, peering around the truck at her parents as they watch us from afar, giving us space. I appreciate her father letting me handle my family instead of stepping in when he doesn’t need to.
“Remember in therapy last week, how you said you want to always be prepared to protect your own, to protect this?” I pause, clasping her hand in mine and delicately laying them against her stomach. “Protect our little one and Prince?” She nods, still a little shook. “Then what about this?” I lazily pull her hand to just above my heart and firmly lay it against my chest. “You don’t want me to ever lose you, do you? You don’t want to break my heart and leave me here without you, do you, my queen?”
Hurrying, she shakes her head and steps into me. “No, I don’t. Never.”
My eyes soften and I almost whimper, growing weak for her. “Then let’s make you unstoppable. Let’s take back your power and make the shadows afraid of you. I want you to always know you are safe, that you are the powerhouse behind that safety, Mama.”
Gulping, her forehead connects with mine and her eyes flutter shut the moment my hands cradle the sides of her neck. “Give me back my power, Kingston,” she whispers.
“Forever.” We stay in this position for prolonged seconds, breathing each other in and out, letting the wind around us carry away the last of her resistance.
“Baby girl, come on. Let’s get some shooting out of the way,” Jeffrey interrupts at the right time. Lana leans up and kisses my cheek then walks away, leaving me in place to watch her sashay away.
Just like every day, Lana in her purest form, just simply existing, steals my breath, and the ironclad grip on my heart nearly stops it from beating.
The metal in my hand feels foreign, heavy, and cold. My sweaty, shaky hands seem to be warming it up with each passing second. I know we’re here so I can learn how to protect myself, but with that knowledge also comes another revelation—this is all for the possibility of one day having to defend myself from Joel.
In therapy, we have focused so much on rebuilding my belief that Joel won’t ever come back that now it feels like mistaken false hope. Truth of the matter is, when I really logically think about it, Joel may always come back—unless he’s dead. But even then, he may haunt me in the night. How pathetic is it to think that even in his death he may still have the power to take me over?
Kingston said I have the power, that I am the force behind my road to recovery, but right in this moment, I feel like I’ve taken three steps back.
Daddy and Mama are in the stall next to me, already through one round while I stare blankly at the target off in the distance.
Hands on my hips and a warm chest at my back bring me out of my fog. “Grip it tight, like this.” Moving his hands to mine, he helps reposition my hands on the semiautomatic black pistol. I gulp, as it feels even more heavy and real. I really hate guns; they have always made me uneasy, which makes no sense since daddy has always had guns.
