Page 90 of His Last Shot
Stunned, I struggle to catch my breath, overwhelmed by the scene unfolding before me. I’m grateful it’s not me they are destroying, but I also understand the message they are sending.
The hammer’s next sharp blow connects with the legs. The slate table top hits the ground at an angle, the pictures scattering across the floor.
With a finality that makes my heart sink, they stop, pivot, and walk out of my garage, leaving destruction in their wake. Big guy number one stops, his large hand engulfing the garage door opener, ready to press it. “One hour.” His meaty finger jabs the button.
The door shuts.
On not just my garage but my life.
26
It’s Only Us and the Stars
Rachel & Johnny
Rachel
Bang! Bang! Bang!
The loud pounding on the locked bar door causes me to jump out of my skin; I quickly hang my apron on the hook.
“Rachel! It’s Johnny. Open the door!”
His voice is frantic and breathless, with a sense of urgency I have never heard from him before. An icy wave of fear and dread washes over me.
Three hours ago, during the finals, my chest swelled with pride as Johnny refused to throw the match, defying my uncle’s demands; his quiet strength speaks volumes as to the type of man he is. And it’s one reason I love him so much.
His integrity.
After that last shot, he ran straight to me as the roar of the crowd rang out in my ears. I felt a surge of pride unlike any I’d known. We partied as a group, then Johnny left, while the bar was put back together, with a promise to come back and pick me up so we could celebratealone.
But now, he’s banging on the door as if he’s being chased by zombies. Which is not what I expected when he returned.
Something’s not right.
I round the bar just as another wave of desperate pounding begins.
“Geez, Johnny. I’m coming!” As fast as my aching hip will take me, I rush to the door, unlock it, and swing it open. There stands my man, his arm resting on the door frame, his eyes shrouded in fear, a manila envelope held high in his trembling hands.
“Your uncle is one sick son of a—”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa. What is going on?” He whizzes past me, tossing the folder on the bar. I shut the door and lock it.
“Take a look.” With a pained grimace, Johnny paces the dance floor frantically, clutching his side. Intently, I watch him as my hand tremors and I grab the envelope, open it, and pull out dozens of photographs.
My stomach drops.
Picture after picture of Johnny’s family. Mallory arriving at school, Laura leaving work, Johnny and Scott on the job, Johnny and me on a date, Johnny and me in his truck watching the stars, Mallory playing outside in what should be the safety of her backyard, Jake playing video games with his buddies, a photo taken through the window of Scott and Laura’s.
As if this isn’t bad enough, pages of our private text conversations smack me in the face. I zero in on one.
Johnny: Is Fire and Embers ok?
Rachel: Sounds perfect. What time?
Johnny: Scott and Laura will meet us at 6.
Johnny: Can’t wait to see you, my love
