𝐫𝐮𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐨𝐦𝐞, 𝗲𝗺𝗶𝗹𝘆 𝗽𝗿𝗲𝗻𝘁𝗶𝘀𝘀

𝟎𝟏𝟓

𝐓𝐫𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐁𝐞𝐲𝐨𝐧𝐝 𝐃𝐨𝐮𝐛𝐭
ᴀᴜᴛʜᴏʀ
𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘯𝘦𝘹𝘵 𝘥𝘢𝘺

     "𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭 are we doing here?" Noah asks as she looks at the selection of weapons on the table and protection gear on the rack.

"You'll see," Derek replies. "C'mon," he adds and grabs one of the bulletproof vests and puts it over her head.

"If this is your way of fun, I really don't know how I feel—"

"Relax, kid," he interjects and reaches onto the table to hand her one of the fake weapons.

"Derek," she mutters as she shakes her head.

Even though she knows it's not real, her heart races, pounding so fiercely it feels like it might tear through her chest if not for the thin shield of skin holding it back. Her gaze locks onto the weapon, and in an instant, she's back in that moment—the night she chose it was in her best interest to kill a man.

"I can't—"

"You can," Derek assures her and puts the protective glasses over her eyes. "C'mon, I'll show you what to do."

Derek walks the teen through the tactile firearms training course. She listens, but it mostly goes in one year and out the other. When he tells her to start, she stands in the room by herself before the lights go out. Noah takes a deep breath and holds her weapon out, gripping it tightly.

She walks around the house, checking all of her blind spots. She keeps her back to a wall and constantly checks her six. Derek watches from outside the course, impressed by her smooth and diligent movements.

There are quick movements as target silhouettes jump out from behind corners and doors. A dark figure ejects from a corner, making Noah swivel in that direction and hold the weapon up. She takes a shot but misses, her brief hesitation causing her to overlook the target. She quickly takes another shot, this time hitting her target, but there's a thud against her back. She drops her arms, looks behind her shoulder, and pulls her shirt to see a red paint splatter on the bulletproof jacket. She groans and drops her weapon to the ground, hitting her back against the fake wall and sliding down.

The lights come on and she can see the mock house more clearly. She doesn't look up from her position as she pushes her hair back with the protective glasses. Derek sits beside her, also leaning his back against the wall.

"Couldn't do it?" he asks.

She rolls her eyes as she turns to look at him. "Why did you bring me here? To prove that I'm weak?"

"To prove there was nothing you could've done that day to save her. You were outnumbered, outgunned. You would've gotten yourself killed."

"But at least I would've tried—"

"She did what she did to protect you. To make sure that you were safe and alive. She wanted you safe."

"And you think she wanted to die?"

"To protect you? Yes!" he exclaims. "There are a lot of words to describe Emily, but 'selfish' couldn't ever be one of them."

"Yeah, well, 'dead' shouldn't have to have been one either," she snaps as she curls her legs up to her chest.

"Look, I know this is hard, but I get it, okay?" he asks, using his own trauma as a last resort. "I know I talk about my mom all the time and how much she did for me, but...that doesn't mean my father wasn't in my life. He was my hero if anything."

Noah listens intently, knowing from his tone that the conversation is going somewhere.

"He was a great man, a great police officer, and would have been an even greater father. But I can only base that off what I remember from the little time we had together."