Range Cold

This story is an entry for the

The 2023 "Hammered: an Ode to Mickey Spillane" Author Challenge

.

Note: While this is certainly not the first story I've ever written, this is absolutely my first Loving Wives story. I always consider my writing a bit mediocre, but I've been assured by my beta readers that this one is good. So thank you.

I plan to be very responsive in the comments, so let me know what you think, and I'll respond if possible.

____________________________________

Our truck comes to a slow stop, as I shake myself from my thoughts. The parking lot is completely dead. A thin layer of snow has built up on the asphalt, entirely undisturbed. There is something hauntingly peaceful about the sea of white; no matter how many times I see this sight, it never ceases to have an effect on me.

"Damn, Lizzie. It's so beautiful out there, isn't it?" In the driver's seat next to me, my husband smiles. "Just like you." He winks at me, and I can feel my heart threatening to break all over again. I can't let it show. I can't!

I return his smile, closing my eyes to block out the view of his face. Behind my glasses, I know that my eyes are threatening to tear up, but I have to stay strong. If I let on about the raging emotions inside of me, even a little, I'll give everything away.

From behind me, in the backseat of the truck, a second voice pipes up. "I agree with Jason. I'm really glad you recommended this trip, Elizabeth. We haven't been to the shooting range together as a group since... well, since college maybe?"

Jason laughs. "Well, it's hard to get out to the gun range these days. It's a decent drive into the boonies, the cost of ammo keeps going up, and with conflicting schedules..."

"Remember when we used to go all the time?" Faye's voice is full of a wistful longing, and I can hear her shifting around in the back seat, getting everything ready.

I force my voice to maintain a normal register. "Oh, those were the days. I had no idea how to shoot back then. Jason had to teach me everything!" I am amazed at how natural my words sound. I shouldn't be... I've been keeping up this charade for a while now, but of course, they've been keeping theirs up for longer. I should bow to their superior skill.

Faye's voice rises cheerfully, as a chuckle escapes her lips, "Alright everyone, say it with me now!"

"KEEP YOUR BOOGER HOOK OFF THE BANG SWITCH!"

We all say the mantra in unison, and a chorus of laughter erupts. That's good. Laughing is good. It makes it easier to hold back other emotions.

"Remember," I say, still giggling. I can't decide if the sound is genuine or not. The expression is funny, but not as hilarious as what my life has become. That's the most humorous joke of all. "The number one rule of firearms safety is to

have fun

!"

"No! No! NOO!" My husband scolds, chuckling as well. "That's a

bad

one! Don't go around saying that!"

"Now wait a minute, Jason. Elizabeth told me that you were the one who taught her that line! Don't be hypocritical now!"

"I will neither confirm nor deny such accusations!"

"I'll confirm it for you then!" I smirk... Oh God, I feel like my head is going to explode. "He

did

teach me that expression, but it's okay. We're all hypocrites here!" I am still laughing lightly, and I notice the briefest pause from my companions. They look at me evenly, but the smiles return to their faces instantaneously. Damn, they're good. Almost perfect.

"I suppose everyone is a hypocrite in some way or another," Jason muses.

I nod and open the truck door. The cool air floods in, and I feel a shiver run down my spine. This is perfect weather for murder. I don't know if I want to laugh or cry or kill myself. I suppose I've already made that choice, but I'll finalize my decision soon enough.

My boots crunch into the fresh snow, and I open the rear door for Faye. She hands me one of the gun cases, and I take it easily. She slips down from her seat and places her earmuffs on her head.

"Damn, it's cold out here," she mutters, trembling visibly, as her words form puffs of steam in the frosty air.

I place my own muffs onto my ears, and I raise my voice to counterbalance the change. "It is! It's a shame there's no indoor gun ranges near us!"

Suddenly, Jason appears by my side. He's already donned his eye and hearing protection, and he leans down to kiss the top of my head. The simple gesture throws me for a loop, and I wonder if I can go through with this. I can. I know I can. It's just a matter of timing and patience.

We retrieve the other guns from the truck, and we walk the short distance to the covered shooting benches. Jason sets down his gun case, and steps over to the outdoor electric heater. With a switch and a whir, the machine comes to life, and we all collectively sigh as the warm air begins flowing across us. It doesn't have the best area of effect, but we're all bundled up pretty well, and the hot air feels nice across our exposed faces.

Jason stretches his back. "Well, I suppose I'll set up the targets for you lovely ladies. I guess I'll set them up at 100 yards? Then..."

"Oh no! Wait!" There is no tremor in my voice. If there had been, I would have blamed it on the cold. "This trip was my idea! I'll set up the first round of targets. It's only fair." Without waiting for approval, I grab the stack of targets and the industrial stapler. "Range Cold!" I shout, out of habit; Jason ingrained that idea within me years ago. You never step past the shooting table without announcing that the range has gone cold; not unless you want to risk accidentally getting shot. We haven't even taken the rifles from their cases yet, but I couldn't bring myself to step away from the shooting bench without repeating the phrase.

"Range

VERY

cold," Jason exclaims, and we all begin laughing again. I notice Jason and Faye share the briefest eye contact, and I turn my back immediately, marching towards the berms.

Tears begin flooding my eyes, and I can't stop them now. The only sounds I can hear are the gentle crunching of the snow beneath my feet, the quiet call of a moronic bird who was too stupid to fly south, and the shared laughter of my husband and his secret paramour.

It takes a solid minute for me to walk all the way to the targets. The time gives me all the opportunity I need to contemplate my life up until this point, and my plans for the rest of my life. Looking into my past and future within my mind, all I can see is pain and suffering. There was happiness in the beginning, I suppose, but somehow all that does is make the agony that much deeper. The greater a treasure is, the more it hurts to lose it, right?

I wonder how long ago my treasure was stolen from me. I'll probably never know for sure, but I imagine that it's been a while.

Honestly, I feel like if I lost out to anyone other than Faye, I could have taken it better. It isn't just the fact that she's been my closest friend since highschool. It isn't even the fact that she's been playing me for a fool this whole time. The worst part is the memory of me holding her close in her college dorm room, crying with her and cursing the boy who cheated on her and broke her heart. I can barely even remember that guy's name now. It was Charles, I think.

They had dated for something like a half a year. A far cry from 13 years of marriage. We're all hypocrites, I suppose, but some are worse than others. Before I reach the last target, my tears are all gone. Some are frozen to my cheeks, I think, but I'll be sure to clean them off before I get back.

I can't decide if her betrayal is worse than Jason's, but I certainly feel more willing to forgive him. He's my husband, and if he slept with any woman other than me, I'd be heartbroken. Faye, on the other hand could fuck any man in the galaxy, and I wouldn't care. There was only one solitary guy that I needed her to stay away from, and she couldn't resist.

I wonder what they are talking about right now. It isn't often that they get to spend time alone with me fully aware of it. Are they arranging the date for their next escapade? Probably not. I'm pretty sure they plan those things out months in advance. Of course, it helps when the wife of the husband is a trusting fool, now doesn't it?

As I staple the targets in place, a funny thought touches my mind. They could shoot me, right now. A range accident. So simple. So easy. They would face some scrutiny, I suppose, but it isn't like I'd be available to contradict them. I'd be a cooperative corpse. Part of me wishes they would do just that.

"Come on, Jason. Just grow a pair and shoot me already. Then I'll be dead, and you can spend the rest of your life with your new lover. Range Hot. Take the shot." My voice is low, and I'm almost whispering, but even at this distance, I wish he could hear me. "Just make it a clean kill, babe. I don't want to suffer. Haven't I suffered enough?"

I turn and look at the pair. They are standing far apart at the moment. Very proper. Not suspicious in the slightest. Smart. Not smart enough, I suppose, but still clever. I always respected my husband for his cunning mind.

Jason waves me back, motioning for me to hurry. I want to scream at him, but I just begin walking again. He wants me back? How ironic.

As soon as I reach the shooting benches again, Jason extends out a hand and pulls me within range of the heater. The sudden wave of heat feels so amazing after freezing in the open air. The guns have been laid out on the table, and they are just inside the heater's warmth, which will hopefully keep the chill off the cold steel.

The range scope is set up as well, pointed towards the targets, along with our firearms.

"Who's going first? I can, if you want. Jason? Elizabeth?"

"I think Lizzie should go first. This trip was her idea, after all."

I smile tenderly at my husband, channeling every single positive memory I can in order to keep from crying. I don't know if it is working well, but I haven't broken into tears yet, so I guess that's a start.

"I'll go first," I say with a shrug. I suppose I'm pretty rusty. I step over to the box of cartridges, and I dump a bunch into my hand, feeding them into my coat pocket.

Faye chortles, politely. "I forgot, Elizabeth! You always put the rounds in your coat pocket. Why not just put them straight from the box into the clip?"

"Well I..."

"Magazine," Jason corrects. "You've been away from the range for too long, Faye. Sorry, Sugar, you were saying?"

"I was saying that putting them in my pocket helps warm them, so they aren't so cold when I put them in the mag."

"Oh yeah," my former-friend nods. "I forgot."

Before long, I've used the rounds from my pocket to fill the magazine, and I slip it into the rifle with a click. The metal of the gun is indeed cold, but not as freezing as it could be. The weapon was my grandfather's, an M1 carbine. I remember his story about the time he was forced to use it. Not a pretty tale. He always wanted to pass it on to a grandson, I think... but I was all he got, so I guess he had to make do. He never taught me how to shoot it though.

I take a seat, and point the rifle towards the targets.

"Range hot!" Jason hollers, and I can feel all eyes falling upon me.

I'm still wearing my shooting glasses, and I silently pray that they are hiding the moisture which is building up in my eyes. I can barely see the target. I squeeze the trigger, and the recoil startles me. The kick is relatively light, but I'm not a very big girl. Still, it doesn't hurt.

"Uhhh... you missed pretty bad, Elizabeth." Faye says, and her grin is audible in her voice. "Low and to the right. It's been a while since we've done this. I'm sure I'll be rusty too."

I fire off a few more shots, but they are all wild. One nearly cuts the bottom of the paper, but none come anywhere near the actual target. "I think I need to get my eyes checked!" I say, feigning a laugh. I wipe the moisture from my eyes, as nonchalantly as possible. "I must still be half asleep."

"It's okay, sweetheart!" Jason's voice is so warm and understanding. Somehow that makes the entire thing worse. "Let me show you, just like I did the first time." He sits on the bench behind me, wrapping his warm, strong arms around my body. It takes every single bit of my willpower to stop myself from bursting into uncontrollable sobs. I have to be strong! I

HAVE

to be

STRONG

!

"Awww..." Faye coos. "I remember when he taught you how to shoot, back when you had absolutely no idea what you were doing! He wrapped you up just like that!" The urge to turn and blow her head off is nearly overpowering. I can't. Jason would try to stop me anyway.

"Remember, baby. Relax your muscles. Don't tense up. Point the weapon down range, and breathe in. The target should be slightly blurry, and the rear sight should be as well. Focus your attention on the front sight. Squeeze the trigger as you exhale." I know all of these instructions. He's almost quoting word for word his directions from my first lesson.

The strong masculine arms around me make me want to swoon. I love him so much. Why do I have to love this man... this fucking bastard... with all my heart? I don't know, but any attempt to deny the fact is futile. If only he had shot me while I put up the targets. I would have been dead, and he could have been happy. But I suppose it was not fated to be that way.

I take a few more shots. His guiding hands improve my attempts, but I'm still nowhere near the bullseye.

Faye clicks her tongue. "Maybe the guns are out of zero or whatever?"

"No, it's me. I say," laughter forcing back my sorrow. "You guys give it a try and see if I'm wrong.

Faye sits down in my seat and picks up my rifle. Coincidentally, she didn't bring her own gun; she has to use mine... the irony behind that fact is so bitter that I have to bite my lip to stifle a scream. Of course she doesn't have her own. She can always borrow one from her best friend. I've never had a problem with her using anything of mine. With one notable exception, but that hasn't exactly stopped her, now has it?

The rifle cracks, and Jason looks through the scope. "Hey! Not bad, Faye! A little low and to the left." I hear a second report, and again my husband seems impressed. "Even better, but I feel like you may be pushing a little. You're still a tiny bit left, but high this time." A few more shots ring out, and she seems to be improving each time.

She's better than me; it's obvious. I suppose she always has been. Prettier, smarter... she's damn good at getting what she wants, that's for sure. I would admire her if I didn't hate her so much. Maybe her success streak will end today. We'll see.

After she empties the weapon, my husband steps forward. He has his father's old M1 Garand. It's the big brother of my gun; much more powerful. His father bought it from a retired vet. It may have seen combat, but not from anyone in Jason's family. I'm sure there's irony in there too, but I'm too emotional at the moment to ponder it out.

"Stand back, ladies! Time to see a true marksman at work! This is no girly gun, either! This is a man's weapon!" He places down the rifle. Looking around the table, he turns to me. "Uhh... Lizzie, do you have my clip?"

"

MAGAZINE!

" Faye corrects.

"No...

CLIP!!!

" Jason counters. "The Garand uses an 8 round, en bloc clip. You load the clip into the weapon's integral magazine. I swear, do you remember nothing that I taught you, or...?"

"Here it is, sweetheart." I reach out, handing him the fully loaded clip.

Sweetheart

... that name thunders within my mind, bouncing around the interior of my skull and gathering momentum. His heart isn't sweet any more; at least not for me. That's okay. There's very little sweetness left in me either.

Jason slips the en bloc clip into the weapon, careful to prevent the action from slamming on his finger. He takes aim, pausing only for a moment, and fires.

Looking down the viewfinder, Faye whistles. "Dead center. Very impressive."

"Thank you! Thank you!" He gives a mock bow. He fires a few more rounds, and all of them are on point. He is just as good as always. On the last shot, the clip ejects and clatters to the floor.

I gingerly pick it up. My husband's grin is incredibly wide, and he maintains it until he turns and looks at me. He must be able to see the conflicting emotions on my face, because his smile fades somewhat. "Ummm... is everything okay, baby?"

I nod my head, desperately hoping that I haven't given anything away. "I'm fine! I guess I'm just embarrassed that I'm the only one who can't hit the target today."

"Awww...sweetheart!" He stands and wraps his arms around me once again. The arms that I used to love so deeply encircle me, and it is too much for me to bear. Every bit of my emotions floods in simultaneously, and all of my tough-girl facade is swept away in an unstoppable tide of sorrow.

"I... I just wanted to hit the target, like I used to!!" My words are muffled by his arm, and I am almost screaming into his coat. "Why am I not good enough anymore!? Why can't things just be like they were back when we were younger?! Why...? I try so hard! What more can I do!?" The warmth of his embrace only fuels the fires of hurt and anguish. "When did I stop being good enough...? I used to be good, and I never stopped trying! It comes so naturally to you and Faye! Why am I the only one who has lost my touch?!"

The endless tide of emotions that flood out is more than I can bear, and I break into wild, raging sobs. He pulls me away from his body and looks into my eyes. I expect to see some shared hurt, some degree of mutual heartbreak... instead, there is only confusion, and perhaps annoyance. And pity.

"There's no reason to cry, Lizzie!" His words contain a hint of comfort, but they are almost scolding. To him, I am a petulant child, crying about things I don't understand. I am not a child, but he is correct about one thing. I don't understand... I don't think I'll ever be able to.

He pulls me close again, and I hug him incredibly tightly. I want him so badly... but mostly I just want to be wanted. I've always needed him to choose me, but he's been torn. I swear that will end today.

"Yeah, sweetheart! It's okay!" Faye's voice is so calm and patronizing. If I hadn't set the gun down, she would already be dead. "There's no reason to be upset or embarrassed. Sure, Jason and I did better, but you're just rusty! Give it a minute, and you'll be right back to normal."

Jason and I...?

Jason and I...

Jason and Faye. Together, they are a unit. They make a perfect team, and they are better than me. Separately and as a couple. Why didn't they just kill me when I went down range?!

I wipe the tears from my eyes, and I look down, running my hands down the length of my coat to straighten it out. The cartridges in my pocket clink together. "Honestly, Faye. I don't think it'll ever go back to normal. I've lost something that I can't get back. I'll never be... as accurate as I once was. I can feel it. Maybe, I'll come to terms with being a rotten marks-woman, but I can't go back. The past is in the past. No sense in letting it break me, huh?"

Jason and Faye share the briefest glance. A knowing glance, perhaps? A guilty one? Whatever it was, it's gone in an instant. They've been doing this for a long time... they're damn good at pretending.

Just like that, the sorrow begins to dry up. It isn't instantaneous, but I can feel the process beginning. I rub my eyes, and my husband hands me a rag to blow my nose on. I try to add a bit of cheeriness into my voice as I speak. "Alright, baby. Since you ruined the center of the target, you can go plug up the holes and we'll try again. Maybe I can even cut paper this go round! Set a target up at 150 this time. Maybe that'll be a challenge for you, babe."