Page 63 of His Last Shot
No! No, no, no. This can’t be happening.
He stops, his gaze unwavering on the floor, a palpable tension in the air while I wait patiently to hear the words that I know are coming. “I can’t keep kissing you. It’s happened four times now, and I can’t be the one that keeps starting this.”
“What do you mean?”
“It means just that, Rachel. For whatever reason, you are afraid. Are you afraid of us? Afraid of me? Afraid of what?”
He lifts his face, and it’s like I’ve slapped him. “I have never been more sure of anything in my whole life. But this constant back and forth. This feeling of rejection I get every time we are together and you push me away. I can’t do it anymore. And I just don’t—”
Whatever he was going to say stops on his tongue. He pivots to leave, walking to the door and grasping the handle. He pauses, not turning to look at me. Hisback rises and falls with each shallow breath, his rigid stance noticeable as he lingers.
His silence screams more than words ever could; I know he wants to say more, so I stand here paralyzed, a cold sweat prickling my skin.
Then, he speaks. “I desire to be consumed by you.”
Whoa.
He continues, still facing the door. “I want you to overwhelm, complicate, and burn through my life and everything in it. My thoughts, my future … everything. Nothing has ever compared to you.”
Perhaps for the last time, he shifts to look at me. “When you’re ready to be consumed by me, let me know. Because you’re it for me, Rachel. You and your illness. I want it all.”
Then he delivers his final knock-out punch. “But …” He pauses. “I won’t wait forever. The choice is yours.” He’s still not leaving. I wait. I breathe. “Choose yourself. Choose us.Please.”
The knob turns and clicks, slicing through the thick silent tension in the room. As the door creaks open, he cautiously takes one, two, three steps out, and suddenly, something snaps deep inside of me.
What am I doing? I can’t let this man walk out of my life. The one and only man that has truly looked at me and saw me. Saw past my RA. My demon that holds me hostage. He will fight this battle with me, shoulder to shoulder. We can walk through anything together.
If I let him get in his truck and leave, he won’t be back. I’ve made this too hard.
Sheer panic at the sight of him walking out of my life—literally—filters through every nerve ending in my body, and before I can stop it, I call out to him. “Johnny!” It’s as if my feet have turned to stone, rendering me immobile and unable to move. Frozen in place, my arms hang, dangling by my side.
I’m afraid. But I’m pushing. Pushing past the fear and self-loathing.
And pulling love in.
He comes to an abrupt halt, takes a moment to collect himself, and then turns towards me with a deep frown.
As I wipe away the single tear of joy that slides down my cheek, I can’t help but smile. “Consume me.”
In a split second, he’s back in my living room, forcefully closing the door, the jarring force shaking the walls. He stops just inches in front of me.
His chest heaves with each labored breath, rising and falling.
His eyes, sharp and bright, lock with mine as I tilt my head back; a silent challenge passes between us.
“Are you sure?” he rasps out.
Lord help me.
“Please,” I whisper my plea. “Make me feel alive.”
In one fell swoop, he snakes his arm around my waist and draws me flush to his body, pressing me firmly against his chest as his mouth crashes into mine. I’m breathless. The world falls away.
And I surrender.
The brick walls I built like a fortress around my heart come crashing down around me. With every pass of his mouth, the bricks fall at my feet. Every doubt, insecurity, and fear I had crumbles to the ground.
I’m free.
