Chapter 9
Marcus reached down, unexpectedly offering a gloved hand to help the boy up from the dusty ground. Lucas looked at the extended hand for a second before taking it, letting the older man pull him smoothly to his feet. The gesture was small, but it marked a definitive turning point in the afternoon.
“The junior league meets on Tuesday evenings,” Marcus said, his voice lower now, devoid of the public authority he had brandished earlier. “We supply the .22s and the ammunition. You wouldn't have to haul that heavy .308 up the hill every week.”
Lucas shook his head, holding onto the strap of his canvas bag with both hands. “Thank you, sir, but I only shoot this one. It was my dad’s.”
Arthur stepped closer, resting a heavy, reassuring hand on the boy’s shoulder. “I understand that, son. But an old Remington needs maintenance, and ammunition isn't cheap. The club has a mentorship program attached to the memorial shoot. It covers range fees and cleaning supplies for kids who show discipline.” Arthur pulled a small business card from his shirt pocket and pressed it into Lucas’s palm. “Call the number on Monday. Ask for Tom.”
May you like
Lucas looked down at the card, turning it over in his fingers. The embossed letters felt crisp against his skin. He slipped it carefully into the same pocket that held the court document, securing it next to his heart. The hostility that had greeted him when he first walked under the white tent was gone, replaced by an unspoken acknowledgment that he belonged here just as much as anyone else on the firing line.
As the afternoon sun began to dip behind the western ridge, casting long shadows across the gravel parking lot, Lucas turned toward the exit path. He walked with a lighter step than he had when he arrived, though the worn canvas gun bag remained heavy over his shoulder. He knew the challenges waiting for him at home—the quiet rooms, the mounting bills, and the empty chair at the kitchen table. But as the wind carried the faint, familiar scent of gunpowder away into the valley, he also knew he had found a place where he could stand tall, steady his breathing, and hit his mark.
