Page 23 of His Last Shot
But let’s be real. If they need people to audition, I’m a shoo-in.
“Maybe. But first, you need to tell me why you were upset.”
She leans on the work station behind the bar, rows of liquor line the wall behind her. Thankfully, it’s Tuesday, and this place just opened, so it’s a ghost town right now. In about an hour, people will fill this joint after a hard day’s work, ready to cut loose with some alcohol. But right now, I have her undivided attention, which I love.
With a long sigh, she steps closer and rests her elbows on the bar, her tank top leaving nothing to the imagination. In order to avoid staring like a perv, I avert my gawking and focus on the big brown eyes I could get lost in. “Why am I telling you this?” she asks herself, then pauses. Her gaze darts around the bar as if to make sure no one is around to hear this. “I want to apply to nursing school,” she declares in a low voice.
A wave of pride, warm and undeniable, swells in my chest. During our night under the stars last week, she shared her dream of becoming a nurse. Despite my attempts to encourage her, her voice still carried a tone of doubt and uncertainty. Who knows, I could have planted a seed.
Her telling me this feels like a secret shared between just the two of us. “Your face lit up when you said that.” Grinning at the memory, she tucks a piece of hair behind her ear.
Gosh, she’s adorable.
A sudden, intense need to touch her, a primal urge, overwhelms me. Gingerly, I reach out and place my palm on her forearm. Her skin is just as soft and warm as I remember. Internally, I sigh in relief because she doesn’t resist or pull away. Instead, a tense breath leaves her lips, the air charged with unspoken energy between us. This slight connection is like color filling my black-and-white world. Heat fills the tips of my fingers, sparking as the electricity sizzles between us.
I inhale deeply and refocus on the conversation. “Rachel, that’s incredible. So what’s the problem?”
With an even shake of her head, her concentration is glued to my hand on her arm. A worried frown creases her brow as she nibbles on her bottom lip. I can practically hear the gears turning in her head as she tries to decide whether to trust me with this personal side of her life. The confident woman that Rachel puts out there with her customers is not the same woman that stands here behind this bar, full of fear.
And I want to strangle the person who makes her feel this way; my hand is clenching into a fist just thinking about it.
She remains quiet, so I push … a little more. “Why would pursuing your dream make you cry? A dream should make your heart soar. You deserve to soar. And shine.” On instinct, my thumb glides over her soft skin to add comfort.
“It’s a long story,” she starts, so low that I can hardly hear her. “But it’s my unc—”
“Rachel?” A voice comes from behind me and interrupts our moment. A short, pudgy man glares at me; his eyes are burning coals.
It’s dear ole Dexter.
Instantly, his presence causes the surrounding air to crackle with unspoken hostility. His focus zeroes in on my hand resting on Rachel’s forearm.
Rachel’s back goes ramrod straight as if she was just caught making out with me in the alley behind the bar.
If only.
She yanks her arm away, breaking our connection. A heavy loss washes over me at the release of her touch. She grabs the rag she abandoned, folding it into a perfectly neat square. “Hey, Uncle Dexter.”
Between our initial meeting, what Rachel told me, and Scott’s revelations, this man is no good.
Standing at my full height, a good foot taller than him, I maintain eye contact as I loom over him.
“Sorry to interrupt time with your friend here,” Dexter says, trying his hardest to appear intimidating and scary.
He’s failing.
“He’s not my friend,” Rachel quips back.
My head whips around, the sharp movement causing my neck to pinch as her eyes flick to meet me for only a millisecond.
Is she … scared of him?
I thought our connection was real. I would definitely say we are ‘friendly’ if nothing else. A strange stillness settles between us at her hesitation to introduce me or even acknowledge me to her uncle. Each passing second amplifies my discomfort.
Something is itching at me. And it’s telling me that this man is controlling and a bully.
I’m going to make it my aim to find out.
With my usual charming smile fixed in place, I extend my hand to the puny man. “Nice to see you again, Dexter. It’s been a while.”
