Page 73 of His Last Shot
We stand off, his chest heaving and his breath coming in short, sharp gasps. A thick tension engulfs us. He knows I’m not backing down, so his shoulders slump, surrendering. “You have one hour,” he says through gritted teeth as he gets out his phone, texts someone, and waltzes back to his office.
I’ll take two.
Me: Hey, are you still at Scott and Laura’s?
I toss my phone into the console, waiting for Johnny’s reply, my leg shaking with anxiety. After that heated exchange with Dexter, I need him. My phone pings almost immediately.
Johnny: I’m here. We are ordering pizza soon. Everything OK?
Me: I just need tosee you.
Johnny: Wait. Aren’t you working today?
Me: I am. I was. I’m not. I don’t know.
Me: It’s a long story.
Johnny: Of course, love. We are all here.
Me: Ok thanks. Love you.
Johnny: Love you more.
I don’t doubt that last text.
Thirty minutes later, I pull into Scott and Laura’s driveway, and Johnny greets me at the door. I jump out and practically run to him. “Hey, sweetie, what is—” I crash into hard muscle and wrap my arms around his waist. “Well, this is a surprise,” he says through a chuckle that rumbles through his chest and encases me in his secure arms.
I angle my head up and peer into his deep eyes, full of concern. “What’s going on?” His voice softens as he smooths his hand down my head.
“I got into a massive fight with my uncle,” I choke out, trying to contain my tears.
“Wanna talk about it?”
“Yeah.” He releases me, wrapping his calloused hand around my wrist and leading me to the swing on the front porch. We both sit, and I rest my legs over his. He immediately skims his fingers along my thigh.
I rapidly word-vomit out the entire argument between my uncle and me, trying to catch my breath between sentences. He listens.
As soon as I finish, I exhale and rest my temple on his arm that’s stretched out behind me. His feet continue to rock the swing. The faint sound of laughter coming from the living room behind us fills the outside air. The chains squeak.
Back and forth.
Back and forth.
Back and forth.
“What are you going to do?” he asks.
“I was hoping you could tell me that.” We both chuckle, the laughter warm and comforting.
Back and forth. More squeaking.
“I can’t tell you what kind of relationship to have with your uncle, Rach. That’s your decision to make. But I will tell you this.” I regard him, anticipating. “Live your life. Do what makes you happy, and don’t let anyone tell you what that is. Not even me. You are a strong, independent, sexy woman.”
“What does being sexy have to do with anything?” I ask through a giggle and pink cheeks.
“I just like to throw that into random sentences here and there to remind myself that I have been lucky enough to land you. Kinda like, ‘Hey Rachel, wanna go catch a movie? You are a strong, independent, sexy woman.’ Or ‘Rachel, need help cleaning up tonight? By the way, you are a strong, independent, sexy woman.’”
I playfully slap him on the chest through my giggles. “You make me happy. The happiest I have ever been in my whole life,” he declares, then leans forward and kisses me softly.
