Page 70 of Fated to Her

Waking the next morning, I find myself between Eli and Cyrus, who are both still asleep. I sit up then carefully climb over Cyrus and hop out of bed. I stretch, my back aching from not moving all night. Digging through the bags, I find some tights and slip them on along with a shirt. I slip on a dressing gown I’ve found in one of the bags Cyrus has brought home yesterday.

I can tell it’s late in the morning, and we have overslept by the sounds of people outside and the light filtering in through the small window. Being as quiet as possible, I find the box with the sat phone. Opening it, I retrieve the yellow phone that resembles more of a wireless house phone. I turn it on to see it only has two bars of battery and no reception.

I sneak out of the room, needing to pee. Emery is not on the futon in the living room, making me wonder where she has gone. The cold stone floor makes my toes ache as I move toward the front door, needing to get to the toilet. My bladder screams at me which causes me to rush out the door and around the side of the house. I toss the door open and hurry in, a sigh leaving my lips as I pee.

When I finish, I wash my hands then dry them on the dressing gown. I retrieve the phone from my dressing gown pocket, check the reception, and find I have reception outside. I step into the sun and dial my mother’s house phone. We’ve had the same number since I was a child, and I know it by heart.

The phone rings out before I try her mobile, which also goes to voicemail. Sighing, I leave a message telling her I’ll try her again later or for her to call this number back.

Walking around the front of the house, I notice something going on at the arena next to the house, causing me to stride over to the fence. I find targets made out of straw with red paint on them, and Maverick is teaching some of the children how to throw knives. I glance around, trying to figure out how to get into the arena and then find a wooden gate. I push it open, step in, and sit on one of the pews, observing. Maverick goes around, showing the kids how to hold the knives, parents leaning on the fences, watching their children and chatting to one another.

Maverick, noticing me, comes over with a smile. “Hey, Adeline.”

I smile, giving him a wave just as he sits next to me. He glances around, looking for Eli and Cyrus, no doubt.

“They’re still asleep,” I tell him.

“Are you allowed out here? I don’t want you getting in any trouble with Eli.”

“He’s just overprotective, and no, he doesn’t know. I was trying to call my mother,” I tell him, showing him the phone.

He nods. “Did you get ahold of her?”

I shake my head. “No, she must be working, and I can’t remember my sister’s number. Do all the kids train?” I ask him, watching a little blonde-haired girl toss a knife, hitting the center of the target.

“Yeah, once they hit five, we start training them. You want to try?” he asks.

I chew on my fingernail nervously.

I don’t feel like being shown up by a bunch of kids, but I’m not completely inexperienced. My father taught us to throw knives at an old tree in our backyard when we were kids, but I haven’t thrown a knife since I was eleven and Mom told him it was too dangerous after my sister dropped one on her foot.

“Come, I’ll show you,” Maverick says, holding his hand out to me before pulling it back. “Sorry, forgot. No touching.”

He walks me over to a target and hands me a knife. I glance at the parents standing on the other side of the fence.

“If you want me to try, you might want to get them to move,” I tell him, and one of the men laughs, hearing what I said and shuffling over and away from the target.

They move more than necessary; my aim isn’t that bad, but I’m definitely not confident in my ability to throw a knife and hit a target. Maverick taps my feet with his before showing me how to stand and then grabs another knife, instructing me on how to hold and throw it. His knife hits the dead center of the target.

I hold the cold steel handle, getting used to the weight of the severely unbalanced knife in my hands that is as big as my forearm. Maverick displays to me once more, and I nod, also trying to remember what my father used to tell us. Surprisingly enough, I manage to hit the target on the first go, but the outer red ring; I’m a little shocked it even stuck, expecting it to fall out.

“Not bad. You done this before?”

“Yeah, when I was a kid and not with such a huge knife,” I tell him.

He nods, handing me another. The little girl at the target beside me holds her knife up. “Lady?” she says, staring up at me.

“Addie,” I tell her.

She smiles, her dark curls framing her face. She must be around nine or ten years old.

“Hold it further down,” she says, showing me.

I adjust my grip on the knife.

She throws her knife, and it sticks into the target all the way to the handle. “And throw it harder.”

I listen before having a go, the knives getting closer to the center the more I throw them. I find I’m getting the hang of it after a while and actually having fun. Maverick whistles so everyone can walk to their target to retrieve their knives. I trot over, pulling mine from the target.