Page 81 of His Last Shot
Having her in my arms made everything better. She eventually dozed off, looking like an angel. It was in that moment that I knew I was going to ask her to be my wife. I have no clue when it’s going to happen. But the thought of waking her so she can go home was tearingme in two.
Because I want it.
The life.
I want to see her, a vision in white, walking down the aisle. I want to feel the weight of her gaze as she approaches me, like the goddess she is. I want to wake up next to her every morning, the warmth of her skin against mine, for the rest of our lives. I want to see her, fresh from a shower, her skin glowing, still damp, and smelling faintly of her body wash. I want to watch her with our children, holding their tiny hands as infants, then chasing them as giggling toddlers. I want her hand in mine, sitting close, while our daughter says “I do.” I want us to create beautiful memories with our grandchildren together. Then, as the years turn us old and gray, I want to sit with her on that porch swing outside, our wrinkled hands clasped, sharing memories of our wonderful life.
I want it all.
When I kissed her goodnight, I was already making plans to buy a ring this weekend. The sooner, the better, if you ask me.
At the light right before the block where Dexter’s sits, I shoot out a text to her.
Me: Almost here
Rachel: Can’t wait to see you.
Nerves twisting in my stomach, I pull my truck into a parking spot, the tires crunching on the gravel. And, look, I am a guy that never gets nervous. Well, except when I wanted to talk to Rachel for the first time. Other than that, I am calm and collected in just about any situation.
A final exam that I have to pass in order to graduate? No big deal.
A first date with a beautiful woman? Easy.
Waiting in a jail cell in Daytona Beach for my cousin to bail me out? Cool as a cucumber.
Throwing my life savings at a new construction business with no idea if it will be a success or failure? Whatever.
Getting ready to play in a pool tournament final I have to throw or the pool league’s owner may or may not do God knows what to my family? Yep. That will do it.
The smell of exhaust mingles with the night air as I sit in my truck. The flickering neon sign of Dexter’s casts an eerie light, and I wonder what awaits me on the other side of that door.
Killing the engine, the sudden ping of my phone notification slices my thoughts. A nervous smile touches my lips as I reach for the phone, half-expecting to see Rachel’s name again.
It’s not.
Unknown Number: Remember our deal.
Yeah, thanks for the little reminder, Dex.
A reminder that I don’t need or want. But he knows what he’s trying to do here. Intimidate me into throwing this match.
But I’m calling his bluff.
And, man, am I glad Scott isn’t coming tonight. He knows it’s the finals; I didn’t offer for him to come and watch, and he hasn’t expressed any interest. After everything that has transpired since I first joined the league, it’s better that he’s in the dark about it all.
With a deep inhale for courage, I grab my cue, shoving my phone with Dexter’s text—unanswered—into my back pocket, and walk inside.
A flurry of activity smacks me in the face as soon as I open the door.
Geez. This place is packed!
Country music blares from the speakers. Dexter has transformed the dance floor into a sitting area for spectators to watch the match with portable stadium seating for everyone. It’s wall-to-wall people. Some I recognize as players from other teams, here to watch the finals. Some are patrons I’ve never noticed here before. The OBGs are on their usual perches at the end of the bar, waiting for the action to start. Irene is off in the corner, taking bets.
But none of them are the one person I need more than anyone.
With a sense of urgency, I scan the bar, searching for Rachel. As I do, I zero in on a group of men emerging from Dexter’s back office. Impeccably dressed in suits, all of them laughing and chatting with Dexter himself. My grip tightens around the handle of my cue.
I can’t let him notice me. Not before I see Rachel.
