Page 101 of His Last Shot
Johnny
Three years since the breakup
Eight thousand seven hundred and sixty hours.
Three hundred and sixty-five days.
Fifty-two weeks.
Twelve months.
Winter.
Spring.
Summer.
Fall.
Another year gone.
Without Rachel.
“Okay, so do you see the mistake you made there?” I ask my student, Brandon, standing in my garage, holding a pool cue, studyingthe table.
“I think so.”
“Alright. What happened?”
“Too much right English?” He turns with a quizzical expression.
“Exactly. And what was the result?”
“Well, the cue ball curved more than it should have.”
“Good. What else?”
“Which caused me to hit the six ball too much to the left, missing the pocket, which, in turn, didn’t set up my next shot.”
I slap him on the back. “Exactly! You’re getting it.”
“Slowly,” he says with exasperation.
“It just feels that way. You have come a long way. Now, set up the shot and try again.”
Brandon isn’t my only student. After everything, I needed something to get my mind off of the absolute crap show that is my life. So I started offering pool lessons out of my garage. Teaching the game at Dexter’s to my team ignited a spark in me. There’s nothing better than watching students learn and grow as players. It’s amazing.
Rachel was the one who lit this match. It was that day in the bar, when I was supposed to be teaching her, and the so-called lesson ended with her perched on the table and me kissing her.
I’d love to tell her. If only she knew.
On the day of her graduation, I knew I was taking a risk going to watch her walk across that stage. But nothing was going to stop me from going. The amount of pride I felt was unlike anything I have ever experienced.
But I paid the price. While on the job the next day, I walked out, and my truck was destroyed. Tires slashed, windows busted. It was total destruction. A small note rested on the driver’s seat among the broken glass.
Next time, it will be your family.
But I had to know for sure if they were truly safe.
