Page 16 of His Last Shot
You're Kinda Creepy
Johnny
F our days have come and gone since Rachel’s pool lesson. And we haven’t spoken.
There has been no communication, and I’m surprised how unsettling that feels. These past two months, her voice has become a familiar comfort, a rhythm in my daily life. But now, nothing.
Also, the wedding was two days ago.
Maybe she and Drew reconnected and got back together.
My knuckles whiten as my grip tightens around the smooth, cool pool stick.
I aim my cue at the white ball on the table in my garage.
They probably danced the night away in each other’s arms, then kissed as they said goodnight. Or they didn’t say goodnight.
With anger, I hit the white ball, miss the twelve I was aiming for, and scratch.
God, my mind is all over the place. I’m obsessing over this woman like I’m a lovesick freshman in high school.
I try to shake my head of these jealous thoughts piercing through me because this is so unlike me.
But at the end of the day, I worry about her. Like yesterday, for example. It was a tournament night at the bar, and she wasn’t there. Randy told me she called off .
Did she call off because of her RA? Is she having a flare-up? Or is she avoiding me?
None of those reasons puts my mind at ease.
I wonder if she is working tonight. Although it was difficult, I decided to stay home rather than drive over there to help her. I’m sure she’s anxious and questioning my whereabouts; the truth is, I desperately need some solitude to gather my thoughts.
With my next shot in focus, I strike. The one ball bounces off the corner of the pocket, and the cue ball goes in instead.
Another scratch.
I rest my forehead on my hand as it grips my cue. I’m mentally checked out, lost in thought, and unengaged with the game tonight. And this is my happy place. After a day of work and then some dinner, you can find me out here shooting around with my coffee. Just me, my thoughts, and the table.
Lately, all I can think about is that tall brunette with her dark silky hair and eyes so intense they burn into my soul. I’m not even in a relationship with her, and yet I know I could fall in love with her.
Hell, maybe I already am.
It’s a dream. A fantasy, I remind myself.
I round the table, removing all the balls from the pockets, when footsteps mix with the classic rock playing from my phone. My spider sense tingles as my head whips up. It’s late, ten o’clock, so to say that it’s unusual that someone is at my home is an understatement.
A shadowy figure materializes, its outline indistinct against the dim light, and I can’t discern who it is. My shoulders tense, muscles bunching like coiled springs, as a wave of unease washes over me.
Shielding the glare from the blinding garage light, I focus on the growing sound of approaching footsteps.
“Nice house you have here, Johnny. The construction business must be booming.”
Even before I can process the words, his voice—a familiar blend of rasp and danger—gave away exactly who this is.
It’s Dexter. Or Dex. Maybe it’s DJ. I don’t give a crap what this weasel’s name is. All I know is that I do not want him at my house at ten pm.
What in the heck does he want?
I lean against my table, crossing my arms over my chest. “To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?”
Uninvited, he waltzes into my garage. The scent of his aftershave hangs in the air as he scans his surroundings. Including my table. I watch him intently, my gaze never leaving him, like a hawk circling its prey.
He lets out a low whistle. “Nice table.”
“Thank you. Built it with my own two hands.”
He runs his hand along the nap of the blue felt, then picks up the eight ball, tossing it once in his hand. “Centennial balls, I see. The best.”
“Absolutely.” I clear my throat. “What can I help you with … Dex ?”
A flinch and a slight frown showcase his dislike for the nickname, his shoulders visibly tense. Therefore, it is the only name I will address him as.
“It’s Dexter, and I was wondering what your intentions were with my niece,” he commands and then clicks his tongue.
Haven’t we already had this conversation?
He pulls a cigarette out and places it between his lips. On impulse, I reach out and grab it out of his mouth. “Don’t smoke in my house.”
He puts his hands up in surrender. “Sorry about that.” He steps into my space, chest puffed out, a silent taunt in the air as he tries to appear taller and more important.
It’s not working.
“You didn’t answer my question,” he challenges.
My head shakes as a soft chuckle rumbles in my chest, a quiet sound in the otherwise still air. The gall of this man to just show up here and demand to know what my feelings are for his niece. A grown woman who is capable of making her own decisions.
In no way, shape, or form does he deserve any explanation from me. But I want to keep the peace on some level. So, I answer him. “Not that it’s any of your business, but I like her. I want to date her. I’m sure you are aware of how amazing she is.”
His nostrils flare, not happy with my reply. “She’s seeing someone. His name is Drew.” Dear Lord, he didn’t even agree with me about Rachel.
Chuckling, I gather the pool balls, their smooth surfaces cool against my fingertips, helping me with my rising anger toward this idiot.
“Funny, that is not what she told me just a few nights ago at the bar. Run that little scenario past her. Oh, and she told me all about Drew. He’s a real stand-up guy. ”
With a determined step towards me, he’s obviously not happy with my statements.
Too bad. His feeble attempts to get in my face are comical, to say the least. He steadies himself and stops.
A long pause follows as he wipes his hand down his face.
“You should probably know … Rachel is disabled. She has RA. You know, Rheumatoid Arthritis?” He allows me a second to take this not-new-to-me information.
I remain unreadable. He coughs. “Anyway, the last thing she needs is someone trying to date her. She should be with people who know her and can give her what she needs.”
I’m shook.
Speechless, I stare at him, my mind reeling from the incredibly private information he had no business sharing. He has no right to tell anyone about Rachel’s medical history. Let alone someone he barely knows. The nerve of this guy. But I’m not about to let him know I know.
“And by this little showy display and unexpected visit, I’m assuming you think the only man worthy of the job is you. Or maybe Drew. But the way I see it … Rachel doesn’t need a man to take care of her. Just stand by her side.”
“I’m her family.”
“You don’t say.”
“And Micah. Plus, Drew. We are all that she needs.”
God, the nerve . I click my tongue. “I hate to be the one to tell you this. But you’re kinda creepy.
” I shrug. “I’ve never been one to shy away from the truth, and I will not start today, so do you know what I see when I look at you …
Dex ?” I step into his space. “An insecure man-child who loves control. He enjoys watching people he claims to love suffer because it makes him feel better about himself.”
“How dare you,” he seethes at me through gritted teeth.
“You have been a thorn in my side since the day I met you! The only reason I am putting up with you is because of the amount of money you are making me. Word is getting out about your skill level, and people are coming in droves to watch you and bet on you.”
In a mock gesture, I place my hand over my heart. “I’m flattered. Truly. And you’re welcome.”
He grunts and turns to leave my garage but stops abruptly, pivoting towards me, his face splitting into the widest, most predatory grin I’ve ever witnessed. “I will tolerate your relationship with Rachel as long as you keep showing your face at the bar, playing and winning money for me.”
Frustration bubbling over, I let out a huff. He’ll tolerate it? Whatever. This man has no control over me, and he can’t keep me from his niece.
He has no power.
But still, he continues. “Just know that I own you now,” he pauses, “Johnson Michael Givens. Born January 25th, 1971.” My back snaps straight as a rod, a shiver tracing its icy path down my spine.
“Parents Cynthia and Michael Givens. Family Scott, his wife and their kids, Jake and Mallory. You own Givens Construction with your cousin, but he has majority stake. You have a surprisingly squeaky-clean record … well, except for that speeding ticket you got last year and that incident in Daytona Beach when you were in your twenties. Now, that sounded like a good time.” His amusement at my expense is clear as his lips crinkle into a snide smile.
“Last night, in fact, you ate dinner at your cousin’s. Isn’t that right? Did you have a nice time?”
What the…? He’s following me.
“They look like a sweet family. And that wife of your cousin’s. What’s her name?” He snaps his fingers as if he suddenly remembered. “Laura. That’s right!” He lets out a low whistle. “Now, that is one hot piece of—”
I charge for him, baring my teeth like an animal. He steps back, hands up.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa. No need for that. Just making an observation. Plus, you can’t tell me you’ve never looked.”
Lord help him if Scott was here.
Despite the rising anxiety, I remind myself to stay calm. I can’t give this guy any reason to retaliate despite my simmering anger. His veiled threats have targeted my family, instilling a sense of unease and fear straight to my heart.
“Like I said, I own you. Therefore, I can destroy you. Fall in line, play pool, win me some money, and I promise to not interfere with you and Rachel … deal?”
I’m trapped.
But I will do this … for Rachel. Because now, a sudden force and urge to protect her from this sick SOB wash over me.
I nod, sealing my fate. “Now, get the hell off of my property. You aren’t welcome here.”
“Careful, Givens …” He takes a once-over of my house. “I may own this someday, too. And don’t force my hand and cause me to visit again. I’ll bring friends next time. And you won’t be standing.”
With that, he taps the button to the garage door and walks away as he whistles. Freaking whistles.
As the door creaks and descends, suddenly, my sanctuary feels like a tomb. I brace myself against the pool table and lower my head. A deep, sickening intuition washes over me as I realize I’ve stepped into something. Something huge.
And the only thing I know for sure is that I need to go along with this. For Rachel.
She deserves better.
And I’m going to give it to her.