Chapter Twelve
Rory hadn’t been this nervous since the second time he’d held a shotgun in his hand with a deer in the crosshairs. The first time, he’d been confident with the delusion of a thirteen-year-old man-child. He’d held the g*n to his chest, eager to get his father’s approval and prove himself as a man would have. Rory remembered his father’s lessons of cleaning a g*n, caring for it, loading it. And most importantly, understanding the responsibility of wielding it.
He’d tracked the deer, to his father’s approval. He’d trapped it and had gotten it in his crosshairs with his finger resting on the trigger.
He had hesitated that first time, and the deer’s ears had perked up, sensing it was in danger. The deer’s awareness pushed aside any residual hesitation, and Rory had pulled the
