"Tuck it into your shoulder a bit more. You're trying to hold it too far away from yourself. Yeah, like that. Good job."

Devyn was good with pistols; she was really good with pistols. But she'd fired a shotgun all of twice in her entire life, so she and Ian had decided it was about time for her to learn how to use one.

She pulled the trigger. The gun's recoil hit her body instead of just going into her arms, and it was so much stronger than the upward jolt of a pistol.

"Holy shit," she said, laughing a little. She could hardly hear herself from through the earmuffs she had on to block out the sound of the gunshot.

Ian, who was standing beside her with his left hand on her back, pulled one side of his own earmuffs off and smiled briefly. "I felt you jump. More than just from the recoil. It startled you, didn't it?"

"Yeah, a little bit," she said loudly. "It was so loud, even through these, and that recoil was just ridiculous!"

"You'll get used to it if you shoot these a lot," Ian said. He was pretty much the master of shotguns—although his friend Anthony was a better shot, he didn't know the guns as well as Ian—so she knew it probably seemed insane to him that the recoil was such a big deal.

"You know," Ian said, taking his earmuffs off, "hang on just a second. I have another gun in mind that you might like more."

"Still a shotgun?"

"Yep."

She clicked the safety on the weapon she was holding and unloaded it as Ian left. She glanced over her shoulder to see the door close.

Devyn looked down and sighed. It was symbolic, that closing door. As much as she loved Ian and as much as he was fun to be around sometimes, he was a lot like a closing door. That's all she ever got when she tried to dig deeper into his past, his mind. A barricade to block her out.

She wiped away her thoughts when Ian came back in, holding a very different-looking shotgun.

"This one might be more comfortable for you," he said, sliding cartridges into place near the back of the barrel. "It can be held like a traditional shot gun, or," he continued, folding part of the gun back onto itself, "more like a pistol."

"Cool," she commented, taking the gun from him and testing the feel of it. It was a little lighter and smaller than the previous firearm he'd given her, and the grip and trigger were much like a pistol's. "You still don't hold it out in front of you, I assume," she said, "but it does feel more like what I'm used to."

He nodded, dropping his earmuffs back on his head. "Go ahead."

Devyn held the gun up and allowed Ian to make small adjustments to her posture and aim, then fired. She pumped the gun to put another cartridge in the chamber, then fired again. Both shots hit the white of the target, not the black, but they were still decent, she thought.

"So Ian," she said, raising her voice so he could hear her through the earmuffs. She was loading the gun up all the way—six shots—before firing again. "When did you first shoot a gun?"

Ian didn't have to consider in order to answer. He watched the target or her gun, not her face, as he said, "Technically the first time I shot a gun was back in 2010 or so, when Anthony and I were still making…videos. But I only actually learned shit when the organization approached me as a recruit. Three years ago."

She nodded and fired, the recoil still bucking the gun into her shoulder too much for her liking. She was about to continue when he spoke.

"How about you?"

There he was again, redirecting the conversation away from himself.

She answered anyway. "My dad loved to hunt when I was little, so he let me shoot his shotgun a couple times when I was, like, eleven. I started my history with pistols when I was twenty and training for the police force."

Devyn was twenty-nine years old—only a year younger than Ian—and worked for the city police department. Her love of pistols went beyond that—it was really more of a hobby—but a small reason for her keeping the job was the availability of her pistols. Being a police officer wasn't the best of careers, but she'd learned over the four months she'd been dating Ian Hecox that it was a lot better than his. His work life consisted mostly of training, while hers consisted of sitting around a lot.

"Nice," Ian said. "You've been dealing with guns a hell of a lot longer than I have."

She grinned deviously at him. "That's why I'm a better shot."

"Oh, burn," he said, chuckling. "You are, though."

She smiled and fired the last five shots in relatively quick succession. One of them didn't even hit the target. "Not with this piece of shit, though."

"Hey, I like that gun. It's a Mossberg 500. Pretty decent shotgun."

"Here, you shoot it," she said, holding it out to him.

He shrugged, taking the firearm and loading a single cartridge into it. He flipped the piece down to hold it like a standard shotgun, which he was more comfortable with, and aimed.

His bullet blasted through the side of the bull's eye.

"Seriously?" Devyn said, smiling and scoffing in indignation.

Ian shrugged. "The target's only seventy yards away."

O O O

Ian drove Devyn home late that afternoon. They always had to take his car when they went places, because she wasn't allowed to know where he lived, so she could never drive to his house. She'd never seen his house or been in his bedroom. She'd never complained about it either, so Ian hoped she didn't mind how little she was involved in his life. The truth was, when you lived like Ian Hecox, no one could be involved in your life. Not truly.

"Hey, thanks for the lesson on shotguns," Devyn said, pulling her dark hair out of its ponytail.

"Yep. Any time."

"See you…Saturday, maybe? Or late Friday. I'm busy until then. But yeah, maybe we should meet up and go on a more…typical…date?"

"Uh, sure," Ian said, taking a moment to think about his schedule that week. "Friday evening will work for me."

"Great," Devyn said with a smile. She leaned across the car's console and kissed Ian on the cheek. "I'll see you then."

Ian smiled and didn't say anything as she left the vehicle.

He loved Devyn. He'd only known her for just over four months, but she was…. He didn't even know. She was just right somehow.

But some part of him said this relationship couldn't last. She was the only girlfriend he'd had since Melanie, and given that the relationship with Mel hadn't worked out, he felt like this one had no chance. Not with the way his life was now. The way he was now.

When he parked in the garage, Anthony's car was already there, still making small noises to suggest it had just barely been turned off.

Ian stepped inside the house to meet up with a sweaty and shirtless Anthony in the hallway.

"Where were you?" Anthony asked, not rudely, as he balled up his shirt and chucked it past Ian into the mudroom, where it landed on the side of a laundry basket.

"Teaching Dev how to use a shotgun."

"Oh, good for you. I had to do obstacle course training."

"Mm," Ian said absentmindedly on his way to the kitchen, "with a weapon or without one?"

"With. It's fucking hard, man. Why do they make it so hard? I'm not in the fucking military."

Ian shrugged, pausing to look back at his friend. "You have to admit, it is useful. You never could have done that trick with the catwalk those months ago if you hadn't done obstacle courses."

"What, when I jumped it and rolled?"

"Yeah. Whatever you did."

"I guess that's true. Looking back on it, that didn't seem very hard, but I guess you're right."

Admittedly, Anthony shouldn't have been complaining. About a month ago, he had agreed to train harder than he had been before, doing more physical stuff than just gun fighting work. He didn't need gun fighting practice. Though really, he didn't need a physical workout either. Ian didn't really know why Anthony had agreed to more training when Ian hadn't. He was bored, maybe?

When Ian had grabbed some excuse for a dinner and Anthony had gotten out of the shower, they sat in the living room, Ian looking at his phone and Anthony studying some papers the organization had given him.

It took Ian a few minutes to realize that he was doing nothing but killing time while Anthony was actually working. Come to think of it, that was happening a lot with their free time lately. Ian would try to see if he could spend time with Devyn, while Anthony would just keep working, never objecting to Ian leaving as often as possible. It made Ian feel kind of bad all of a sudden.

"You need any help over there, dude?" he offered, turning his phone off.

Anthony looked up. "Oh, uh, no. Not really. Thanks, though."

"What are you even doing?" Ian asked, realizing he had no idea what Anthony would be working on.

Anthony tucked the top page behind the others. "Researching this guy named Courcell. The organization thinks he might be up to something illegal. The more I look into it, the more I agree. I mean, he is fucking rich. He could be up to anything."

Ian nodded, sighing. "Is this gonna be another mission where we have to bust into somewhere and shoot a bunch of guards?"

Anthony shook his head, grimacing. "No. They're thinking….They're thinking that if we decide he is doing something dangerous or illegal, I'll go in for an assassination. Just a…just a solo mission."

"Oh." Ian didn't like that idea. He didn't want anyone to take Anthony away and send him on his own. Ian still liked to think that Anthony had retained some semblance of innocence.

He knew that wasn't what was tormenting Anthony, though. Anthony's issue was that he would be required to murder someone again.

Ian still remembered—vividly—the effect Anthony's first kill had had on him. The constant waking up at night. The intermittent breakdowns he would have for the entire week after the event. The inability to shoot a gun for days.

Ian had done for Anthony what Anthony had done for him after he'd come back from his first mission: just been there for him.

Of course, Anthony was a lot more open about how he felt than Ian. Anthony, though hesitantly, had actually told Ian what he was thinking and how he felt, and had usually wanted Ian there when he had a breakdown, even if he'd tried to push him away the first time. Ian, on the other hand, had pushed Anthony away every time he'd shown up to comfort him, until eventually Anthony had stopped trying to talk to him; he would only sit beside Ian with an arm around him or something, no longer trying to coax any emotion from him. That was Ian's tactic with a lot of things, he realized; he was always putting up walls to lock other people out of his head, and to lock himself inside.

Reason number 608 that Ian was a crappy friend.

"Hey, so when are your next plans with Devyn?" Anthony asked, still skimming through the content of whatever pages he was holding.

Ian looked up, finally breaking out of his realization chain. "Oh, this Friday. She's hoping for a date other than the two of us shooting guns."

"Well," Anthony chuckled, "that's not the usual girl's idea of romance. Although I guess Devyn's a little different." He paused, frowning at the papers. "You're so…I wish….Never mind."

"What?" Ian asked.

"Nothing. I shouldn't have said anything."

Ian looked at his friend for a long time. Anthony wasn't usually too hard to read, but Ian was having a little bit of trouble this time around. Was Anthony jealous? Was he really envious of Ian?

"Okay, well, if you want help with anything, tell me," Ian said, then left the room. He wasn't really irritated at the thought that Anthony might be jealous of his relationship with Devyn, but it seemed ridiculous for Anthony to think of it like that.

After all, it wasn't as though Devyn could ever really become a part of his life.

O O O

When she got off work on Friday, Devyn called Ian up while she drove home.

"Hey." Ian's standard answer to a call.

"Hi, babe." Devyn winced. Should she call him babe? "So where are we meeting tonight?"

"Your place. I'm gonna pick you up and drive you to where we're going."

"Ooh, so it's a surprise?" she said, humorously overeager.

He chuckled. "Yep, pretty much."

"Or do you just not have a plan yet?"

"Damn, you figured it out." He clicked his tongue in mock disappointment, then said, "No, seriously, I do know where we're going. Nothing too fancy, but you'll like it."

"Sounds great. You'll be over here at, what, eight?"

"Maybe more like seven-thirty."

"Cool. Not too early to have some hot sex when we're done."

Ian snorted. "Didn't know that's what was on your mind." He sounded a little surprised, but amused.

She laughed. "Always. No, I'm kidding. Of course I'm kidding." Pause. "So how was your day?"

She could almost feel him shrug through the phone. "Kinda busy. I've been doing more research than I have training lately, though, so a different kind of busy than usual."

"Yeah?"

"Sounds like there's a city gang we're considering going after. More lowly than what we usually do, but they've been too much of a problem lately. You heard about that?"

"Hell yeah. I'm surprised I haven't gotten called on them yet. They don't usually hang around my sector, though. Plus, it's odd that there's a gang here. This isn't even a very big city."

"I know," Ian said, sounding almost wistful at the mention of the city's size. Devyn knew he missed living in Los Angeles.

"Good luck with that research," she added. "So, I'm almost to my house now. I should probably hang up."

"'Kay. See you at seven-thirty, then."

"Yep. Love you. Bye."

"Bye."

She hung up as she turned her hatchback Toyota into her neighborhood. Had Ian ever said 'I love you' to her? She was reasonably certain he had. But maybe not…. Why was he so hesitant all the time? Was he trying to push her away?

Don't be an idiot, Devyn, she told herself, feeling ridiculous. He's taking you on a date and he's the sweetest thing in the world. He may not reveal his feelings all the time, but that doesn't mean he feels differently about you than you do about him.

O O O

"Are you leaving?"

"Yeah, dude. I'm going on a date with Devyn, remember?"

"Oh, right," Anthony said, nodding and looking back down at his computer screen. "Enjoy yourself."

Ian paused on his way to the door. "You ever gonna take a break from that?"

"Yeah, eventually," Anthony said, rubbing his eyes with one hand. "I've got a bit of a headache, so I can't do this forever."

"Okay. Don't work too hard, man. You have a tendency to do that."

Anthony smiled wearily. He had been overworking himself lately, Ian knew. "Don't worry about me. Go enjoy your time with your girlfriend."

"Thanks." Ian suddenly felt guilty for leaving Anthony here alone. They couldn't be—and didn't necessarily want to be—together all the time, but this was yet another case of Ian going to spend time with Devyn while Anthony was left working on his own.

Figuring there was really nothing he could do to please both Anthony and Devyn, Ian gave up trying to come up with something to say. He just said, "I'm gonna stop by the house to change before I pick her up. Anything you want me to check on?"

"Nope, just make sure no one's broken in." It was partly a joke, partly not.

"Okay. See you later."

Ian left and walked out to the small parking garage to find his car. It was only then that it struck him why Anthony had been picking up more and more work and training to do lately.

It was because he was lonely. Ian wasn't around anymore when they had free time, so Anthony was just giving himself less and less free time overall. Poor Anthony didn't really have any friends, not because he couldn't make them, but for the same reason that Ian was having problems with his relationship with Devyn; their job wouldn't allow for anyone to be involved with their lives.

Ian decided there was something very fucked up about the way they were living if this was a problem for thirty-year-old men. Thirty-year-old men should have their lives figured out, right?

Apparently not. Not for Ian and Anthony, anyway.

O O O

Anthony's headache was starting to actually make him consider going to get medicine. He could usually tolerate a headache pretty well, but this one was bad.

His mind drifted off as he stared at his computer screen. Ian really was lucky to get to have a girlfriend. He'd met Devyn, too; she was pretty cool. He didn't care about her the way Ian did, of course. But he wished he had a woman in his life. He hadn't been in a relationship since over three years, back when he and Kalel Cullen had decided to part ways.

Honestly, he was just lonely and bored.

Come on, Anthony. You have bigger fucking problems than this.

Right. Like gangs.

Anthony opened up the window he had with a map of where the gang members had been recently. He was supposed to be looking for any sort of pattern to suggest that they were involved with what the organization was accusing them of.

Instead, he noticed something else.

One of the places some of the gang members had been spotted last was not far from a road that Ian took to get to Devyn's house.

Anthony frowned and pulled his cell phone out of his pocket. It would probably be best if he warned Ian and told him to take a different route. Ian had been looking at the same sort of stuff as Anthony—except Anthony had research about Courcell on top of that—but he probably wouldn't think about avoiding 8th street. The likelihood of something happening was slim, but Anthony could never be too careful.

"Hey, Ian?"

It took Ian a moment to answer even though he'd accepted the call. "Sorry, yeah?"

"You usually take Eighth Street to get to Devyn's house, right?"

"Uh, yeah, I'm on it right now," Ian said. Anthony could hear the frown in his voice.

"You might want to go somewhere different. The gang's been there recently and you know that road isn't very well traveled."

"Oh. Okay. I'll see if I can turn off somewhere and use a different route. Thanks for—" A loud crack sounded from the other end of the line. "Fuck, Anthony—" More unidentifiable sounds interrupted Ian's voice.

Anthony didn't hesitate. He tossed his phone down and left the room without a second thought, the office chair spinning behind him.

O O O

If you shoot my fucking gas tank, you bastards, I'm going to— A bullet through the windshield cut off Ian's mental threat. He put the car in reverse and hit the gas. He heard a thunk behind him. Oh, fuck, he didn't just—

Bullet sprayed the side of his car and he felt one of them graze his left shoulder. He put the car back into drive and pulled forward, noticing the silence as the gunshots stopped hitting his vehicle. Then something burst on the right side of the car and he felt the stability of it change. They just blew his fucking tire.

He stepped on the brakes and pulled off to the side of the road, stopping as quickly as possible. He had a gun in the back—of course—but whether or not he could get to it without getting shot was the real question.

It took a few seconds for his assailants to catch up with his car; in that time, Ian turned off the car so that all the lights were off and got out. It was almost completely dark at 7:08 that time of year, so the less light, the less likely Ian was to be spotted and shot.

He leaned into the back of the car and felt around the floorboards for his pistol. He hadn't taken it out, surely….

His hand closed around the gun's cool shape as a gunshot rang out, missing both the car and Ian. Several more gunshots followed, but cautiously. They didn't know where he was yet, but he had a dilemma now. His pistol didn't have the distance that their—shotguns, maybe?—had, but he couldn't get in the car and bail, either, because of the flat tire.

He remembered suddenly that he'd never even hung up with Anthony. Maybe if he got back to his phone, he could tell Anthony to come and bring a gun. If Anthony wasn't already on his way. But even then, it would be at least fifteen minutes for him to reach Ian. He could get back in the car and try to drive it—it was already ruined—but if his luck continued the way it was going, his car would end up on fire.

"Fuck," Ian whispered.

Then he turned and ran.

O O O

Devyn finished touching up her mascara and checked her phone. No text from Ian yet. That was okay. It was only seven-fifteen. She didn't expect him to be early, she was just hoping for an 'I'm on my way.'

She went to grab a jacket and put it on before going to sit in the living room. Maybe on their date she would finally get to talk to him about his life. After the preliminary conversation that would be necessary to make him feel comfortable with what she would bring up, maybe she could finally coax out the demons that she knew he was hiding inside himself. She wouldn't turn the date into an interrogation, of course, but she could at least ask.

Maybe for once, he wouldn't turn her away.

O O O

Ian didn't know how long he'd been running, and he didn't know if he was being chased. But he knew he was growing tired. He hadn't remembered that Eighth Street was actually this long, but hell if he knew anything at this point. He was still alive and mostly unwounded. That was what mattered.

No one had shot at him in a while, so he was beginning to think they hadn't pursued him. Why would they want to hunt him down, anyway? He'd left his car, so if they wanted to steal something, they should go for that, not for him. Of course, there was a possibility there was more to this than some members of a gang feeling belligerent, but he was just hopeful that that was not the case.

He slowed down to a fast walk and went to pull his iPhone out of his pocket, only to find it wasn't there. Of course. He'd left it on the floorboard of his car, where he'd dropped it after the call with Anthony. Fantastic. He had no flashlight and no way to call 911.

A shout rose from the darkness behind him and a round of shots flashed from multiple guns, only a couple hundred yards away. Ian threw himself to the ground, his arms over his head, and waited for their bullets to run out. Dammit, did they all have guns? There were so many bullets flying over him or cracking into the ground ten feet from his body….

Then he heard the engine of a car. His first thought was that one of the thugs had started up his car, but he realized that was unlikely, and anyway the engine didn't sound the same. No, this was someone else. If another person's vehicle didn't make the gangsters give up their pursuit, the person could serve as a witness, at least.

The car was driving way too fast up the road before it skidded to a halt behind the eight or so people that were Ian's attackers, silhouetting them against the bright headlights.

The gangsters turned and started shooting at the new arrival.

Goddammit, don't kill the fucking moron who decided to drive through here….

Ian raised his pistol and fired multiple times, but it was way out of his range.

He didn't have to worry for long. He heard a different gun's tone, firing six times. Six people went down, clutching a leg or arm.

There was only one person he knew who could make shots like that.

His confidence renewed, Ian ran toward the gunfight, curving around to the opposite side of the road in the hope of not getting caught in the crossfire. As soon as he was within fifty meters of the nearest person, he stopped, raised his gun, and emptied his six-cartridge magazine. The man screamed and doubled over. Ian hoped he hadn't shot anything vital.

The last thug was down by the time Ian turned to fire at him.

"Can't go anywhere without running into trouble, can you?" Anthony's voice said as the dark-haired man emerged into the headlights' glow.

"Apparently not," Ian said.

"Jesus, you're hardly even injured," Anthony said, looking Ian up and down. "I was so fucking worried." He frowned. "Uh, kind of."

Ian raised his eyebrows. "If you hadn't shown up, I would be in a much worse condition. Now, do you have a phone? We just shot a bunch of people who're going to need medical care."

"Shit, no, I left it back at my office."

"Well, mine's in my car back there. We should get it."

O O O

While Ian made the call to 911, reporting both hostile firearm use and severe injury, Anthony grabbed a small first-aid kit and started to clean Ian's shoulder. He felt terrible, of course, that he was treating Ian's minor wound and leaving the people he'd shot to nothing at all, but he knew that what he had in the kit would do nothing for their injuries. Once Ian was off the phone, Anthony left him to treat his own wound while he went to check on the gang members he'd downed. He could try to stop their bleeding, at best.

As soon as he crouched down next to one of the men he'd shot, the man pulled out a knife from somewhere on himself and tried to slash at Anthony, catching him on the forearm. He'd gotten shot in the leg, but apparently it didn't keep him down. The man made a grab for his gun, but Anthony snatched it by the barrel—which was still hot—and pulled it away.

So much for that plan. He was just going to have to wait for the police and ambulance.

"Anthony!" he heard Ian call.

Frowning, he stood up, still holding the shotgun's barrel. "Yeah?"

"Get your gun ready. Now."

Anthony dropped the weapon he was holding and pulled his rifle from his back, reloading it and putting another bullet in the chamber. He jogged back to Ian. "What's the problem?"

"I hear others. The whole gang must be here. And it sounds like most of them have guns." He turned to look at Anthony. "Did you bring another gun? I don't wanna have to use my pistol again if I can avoid it."

Anthony spoke quickly. "Your 590's in the back, but I might not use this rifle. By the time I'm able to see them, they'll be too close for its range. You're better at blind shots."

"No, I'm not," Ian said on his way to Anthony's car. "But you should probably use your pistol if you have one."

Anthony clicked the safety off on his rifle—he might as well make a few shots with it—right as the first gunshot came from the darkness, barely missing Anthony's head.

As he dropped to one knee and tried to fire in the direction the shot had come from, he realized that he and Ian had a huge disadvantage. They were lit up by Anthony's still-running car, whereas the gang was in complete darkness. Anthony didn't even know how many people there were.

Chaos erupted as gunshots started coming from all around them, lighting up the world in bright flashes.

"Anthony!" he heard Ian shout, not far from him. "Back-to-back!"

Anthony nodded—though he was fairly certain Ian couldn't see him—and didn't say anything. When they'd found each other in the madness, they stood back-to-back, and Anthony was able to feel Ian's movements behind him.

They were badly outnumbered, if Anthony was guessing correctly, and could barely see what they were shooting at. The best they could do was fight together and hope they could survive long enough.

O O O

Ian had gotten hit with a bullet at least twice—neither were bad wounds—before sirens announced the arrival of the police cars.

He could feel Anthony losing energy behind him—had he gotten hit too? Ian had no idea how many people they'd taken down, if any. But they'd lived long enough.

The flashing red and blue lights flared as two police cars drove up from the direction Ian had been heading only minutes ago. The gunfire lessened considerably at the arrival of the vehicles, and if Ian had to guess, he'd say some of the people had already fled.

"Drop your weapons and put your hands above your head," came a voice from the megaphone above one of the cars.

The shots ceased and there were several clattering noises as people dropped their guns. This gang had the guts to fight two armed men, but they stood no chance against two—now three—cars of police officers.

"Ian?"

It was a familiar voice. Ian turned to see Devyn lowering a pistol and running up to him. She wasn't wearing a uniform, but she still had a weapon with her.

He dropped his shotgun out of the way as she embraced him.

"Are you okay?" she said from over his shoulder.

"Yeah," he answered, putting his free arm around her and leaning his face into her hair.

She backed away and held him at arm's length. "You've got blood all over you!"

He looked down at himself and chuckled weakly. "It's not the worst I've looked."

"Anthony?" Devyn asked, looking over to the taller man. "You're okay too?"

Anthony nodded. "Yeah, I'm good. Thanks." He looked like he might have been in more pain than Ian, but he was holding on just fine.

"Good. You two need to go to the hospital."

O O O

A week later, Devyn and Ian sat side by side on her front porch as the sun set. They considered this their make-up date, though Ian was wearing faded, torn jeans and Devyn was in a baseball cap. But they didn't need anything fancy.

."Do you want to get away from the agency, Ian?" Devyn asked, breaking the silence.

Ian looked at his lap, drumming his fingers on his leg. "Sometimes. Yeah, a lot of the time, actually."

"Then why haven't you quit?"

He sighed. "Because there's no one else other than me and Anthony. There are other people working for them, sure, but no one who's done the shit we have. Besides, how can I…." He shook his head, then tried again. "How can I go back to the life I had before? I was making videos on YouTube. It was…it was a very different life, Devyn. I was a different person."

"And you can't try to go back?" His arm was around her and she caught his hand over her right shoulder as he tried to pull away.

"No. No, definitely not. Not after what I've…done." He was still staring at his jeans.

"What is it that you regret so much?" she asked, her eyebrows knitted. She was getting nervous from asking him all these questions, just certain that he was going to push her away.

It took him a long time to answer. By the time Devyn was considering saying something else, he finally said, "I never told you this, Devyn, but I…I have killed before. I've killed f—more than one person."

Her throat tightened. The idea that Ian, who was often so sweet, gentle with animals, and who, while a good shot, never took comfort in firearms the way Anthony sometimes did, could actually kill someone—more than one someone—was unreal. Until last week, she'd never even seen him shoot an actual person.

"You know," Ian said quickly, "let's just not talk about it, I'd rather—"

"No, you should talk about it, Ian," she told him, cupping his bearded jaw in her palm and turning his face to her. She wasn't going to think of him differently because of this. "You've got so many thoughts just trapped in your head, and you never talk to anyone about it, do you?"

"Not exactly," he said, his gaze lifting from her lips to her eyes.

"It doesn't have to be me," she said, running her fingers through his crew-cut hair. "But you should talk to someone."

"Sometimes it feels better to keep things to myself."

"I understand that, but not everything." She smiled slightly as she said, "Ian, I don't even know when your birthday is." Then she leaned in and kissed him.

He smelled and tasted of…well, Ian. There was no other way to describe it. But she didn't kiss him for long before pulling away, her hand still on the back of his head.

"It's November thirtieth, by the way," he said quietly.

She smiled. "I'll remember that."

O O O

Ian and Anthony had just gotten back from yet more shooting at a gun range when Devyn called to give Ian the letter.

It was three weeks after the conversation Ian had had with Devyn. They'd had an argument since then, but nothing serious.

Ian was hanging his belt of pistols in the closet when he heard his phone ring. It was quite late, so he figured it must have been Devyn.

"Hi, babe," he said.

"Hi. Um, do you think you could come over to my place real quick? There's something I wanna give you." She sounded nervous. "I was going to just drop it off or send it by mail, but since I, uh, don't know where you are, I knew that wasn't gonna work."

"Oh…kay," Ian said, frowning. "You alright?"

"Yeah, fine. Just come over. Everything will make sense then."

"Okay. See you."

"Yeah."

By the time Ian had driven over, he was starting to worry about what Devyn would want to give him. He really had no idea.

She was waiting out front, wearing a long-sleeved V-neck and skinny jeans. Her hair was pulled back, like usual, and Ian thought she looked quite nice, though she had no makeup on or anything.

"Hey," he said, turning off Anthony's car—which was still driveable, while Ian's was not—and getting out.

"Hi."

"What's up?" he asked. Something felt wrong.

"I've just—I've just got some things I need to say." She looked at the cement of the driveway, then up at Ian. "I think you're a really great guy, Ian. I've loved having this relationship with you, and you've taught me a lot about…a lot of things. But I've figured out already that…that we weren't meant to be together. I don't want to be expecting things from you that you can't give. That's not fair to you. So, I—I thought I'd call you over and say bye. And, um, I'm sorry."

He looked back and forth between her dark brown eyes, remembering that he needed to breathe. "So we're, uh, breaking up."

She nodded, blinking quickly. "I wrote this," she said, holding out an envelope, "because I knew I wouldn't be able to say everything."

He stared at it for a couple seconds before taking it. "Okay. If—if this is what makes you happy."

"I'm sorry," she said again. "I'm hoping it'll be better for both of us."

He nodded. "That's okay. Yeah, it's fine. Thank you for talking to me about this in person." He started to back away.

"Ian?"

He looked at her.

"Don't forget who you really are, okay? If that—if that makes sense."

He wasn't sure that it did, but he nodded again anyway.

"Bye," she offered.

"Bye…Devyn," he said. Somehow he felt like he didn't fully understand what had just happened, but nevertheless he got back in the Chevy and drove away.

When he'd parked in his driveway again, he turned the car off and picked up the envelope from the passenger's seat.

He read the whole thing, and then sat, staring at it, not leaving the vehicle. There were parts of it he read and reread, over and over again.

I know I'm telling you all of this not long after what you told me a few weeks ago, about what you regret. But don't you dare think that that has anything to do with this. I'm a police officer—I know things like that have to be done sometimes.

And at the end: I still love you, Ian, and I know you return the feelings, but you just won't open up to me, and I can't be with someone like that. Thanks for the memories. -Devyn ●