Torin and Summer

Chapter 13 (Summer): For The Ages

***TW for violence and death***

"You really should lock your door," a female voice had said to me, causing me to almost jump out of my skin. I spun around, hand to my chest, and there stood Bridgette, gun in her hand, pointed at me.

"Where's Torin?"

"At the store," I said meekly.

None of your fucking business, bitch didn't seem like a wise response given the gun in her hand and her hatred of me. I never understood characters in novels copping an attitude when someone had a gun pointed at them. That just seemed to be asking for it, and I don't care how badass you were. Guns penetrated badasses just as easily as wimps. Meek and mild seemed the best play right now.

"When will he be back?" she demanded.

"I don't know exactly. He ran to the grocery store twenty minutes ago and it was just for a few things. For dinner. I'm not sure what he planned to make, so I don't know if it was something easy like canned soup and crackers or if it was more involved and required more ingredients. Like homemade versus premade. I mean, you have to use a can opener if it's soup, unless it's one of those pull-top cans, but that's nothing compared to having to chop vegetables and grill steaks and bake potatoes --"

Geez, stop talking, Summer!

Bridgette's lips peeled back in distaste. "Just shut up. I don't want to have to kill you before he gets home. But you keep yapping, I'll be forced to just so I don't have to listen to you droning on."

I had nodded dutifully to show the message had been received.

"Go sit on the couch," she ordered me. 

Say please, bitch.

Hurrying over and sitting on the end of the couch furthest away from her, I looked around for a weapon I could grab as soon as Torin walked in and diverted Bridgette's attention from me. Maybe I could bash her head in when she turned to see Torin. The lamp? Would that work? The glass globe that had been my grandmother's? That might require good aim if I threw it, and I had always been the last one picked in gym class because my lack of coordination and anything resembling athletic skill was legendary. Shit! Why didn't I decorate with more weaponry in my home? If I survived this, I was totally getting some baseball bats and  tire irons to display alongside my coffee table books.

Yes, the photographs are stunning in this book about the world's most beautiful scenic spots, but have you ever seen such a gorgeous Louisville Slugger? Look at that wood grain!

OK, Torin needed to get home soon because I was starting to lose it and lose it in a big way. I was rambling about dinner preparations and contemplating changing my decorating style for the next gun-wielding psycho who broke into our home. Who the hell plans for that? Nope, it was clear I didn't do well under pressure and facing a gun was not in my wheelhouse. Torin's wheelhouse? Yes. Mine? Not even close.

Almost as if I had willed him into existence, Torin walked into the house, carrying the grocery bags. He acted calm, and other than a brief glance at me when he first walked in, he kept his attention on Bridgette. He talked to her as if everything was normal and he moved toward the kitchen, forcing her to move to keep him in her line of sight. Of the two of us, I would have chosen to keep my eye on the Torin, too.

Now that her back was almost completely to me, I contemplated grabbing the lamp and smashing the back of her head in. But I'd have to be quiet, quick and coordinated...I was going to hold off for a minute. Instead, I watched as Torin calmed her down when she got agitated, spoke to her as if she'd been invited into our house...and then, without warning (and I'd been watching him closely, waiting for him to make his move), he threw the grocery bags at her face and yelled at me to get down.