Page 29 of His Last Shot

“I told him about it pretty early in the relationship. Of course, he said he was fine with it and never acted like it was a big deal. Which, at first, I thought, ‘Wow. This is awesome. It doesn’t even faze him.’” I huff at how na?ve I was.

“But sometimes, when my flare-ups were hitting hard, I would need him. Some compassion might have been nice, ya know. Instead, I always got, ‘Suck it up!’ or ‘It’s not that big of a deal.’ And my personal favorite, ‘This is all just in your head.’”

The brushing stops. “He actually said those things to you?” I can hear his teeth grinding together.

“Yes. All the time. Which made me second-guess myself. Like maybe he’s right.

This could all just be in my head, and I’m being overly dramatic.

” I sigh. “For the whole time we were together, I always doubted myself. And in the end, he eventually ended up choosing someone else. Someone who wasn’t broken.

Which is why I didn’t bother getting upset.

He did what he did because of me and my RA. ”

“No, Rachel. He did what he did because he is a selfish SOB that didn’t love you enough. No one deserves what happened to you.”

He continues brushing as I let his reassuring words wash over me. “Maybe. But I guess I’ll never know. He was older, so he probably didn’t care enough. I was just his young and dumb fiancé who was overly paranoid about her chronic illness.”

Carefully, he sets the brush on the table next to the chair, its bristles softly scraping against the surface. “Is that why you are so guarded and afraid of men older than you?”

“And customers, since that’s how I met him. So, yeah. My guard is up now.”

“Is your guard up with me?”

There it is. The million-dollar question.

Silence fills the room as I decide how to answer. My heart pounds.

I nod.

The weight of my reply is almost unbearable; I’m so completely torn right now.

I need Johnny more than I need air. But the walls I’ve built around my heart are still there.

And I fear they always will be. And yes, I agreed to this date.

But now that the truth is out there, how will things be?

Will he tip-toe around me? Treat me like a porcelain doll? I don’t want that.

But I want him. So bad. Sometimes, I hate myself and these doubts.

He places his hands on my shoulders and gives them a slight squeeze as he kisses the top of my head. “I better go,” he whispers.

My quiet admission is all the answer he needs to know where my head is at.

He swings his leg up and over my head with such ease it’s like he’s a freaking ballet dancer.

I watch as he plants his feet directly in front of me, extending his hand.

I grip it, and the effort to stand causes a sharp, agonizing protest from my bones as my grunts and groans fill the air. Before I know it, we are face to face.

“Unless you don’t want me to?” he asks.

Yes, no. Yes, no. Yes, no. Each option swirls in my head like a tornado.

“I don’t know what I want.” And that’s the honest-to-God truth. Him being here feels so right. Letting him leave feels so wrong. But there is still so much hurt in my heart. Every one of my insecurities flashes like neon signs .

His hands envelope my face, a comforting touch amidst the uncontrollable thoughts. Unconsciously, I step closer, the scent of him filling me as my hands instinctively find their way around his waist.

Our mouths inch closer with every passing second. I want this. I want this so bad. More than I have ever wanted anything in my whole life.

Slowly, our lips brush as ragged breaths catch, and a current surges through me, making my skin burst.

Once again, jolting me to my senses.

I jerk back, a strangled noise catching in my throat, the air thick with the scent of fear. Dejected, Johnny’s shoulders slump, his head hangs low, and his arms fall limply at his sides, a picture of utter defeat. With a determined set to his jaw, he takes a step back.

My skin, still tingling from the memory of his hands on me, quickly grows cold, a stark contrast to the lingering eagerness in my heart.

“I’m so sorry,” I whisper as I wrap my arms around myself. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

This guy, this incredible, amazing man, is ready. He is ready for me.

“I can’t keep doing this, Rachel.” The confession hits me like a physical blow.

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. His back 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.

I’m alive.

On instinct, I snake my arms around his broad back, pulling him closer to me, our lips moving as if we have done this a thousand times before.

His other hand lands on the back of my head as he weaves his fingers through my wet hair, pulling me to him.

The speed of our kiss intensifies, and something akin to fireworks explodes throughout my whole body.

My hands clutch onto his back with purpose, wanting more of him. Needing more of him.

But he doesn’t take more. Out of nowhere, he softens the kiss. As my lips yield to his, a lightness fills the air. Johnny’s lips are undeniably meant for kissing. I’ve decided that kissing him every chance I get is my new goal in life.

How is this man so perfect?

I’m sure I’ll get my answers later, but right now, I mold my mouth to his, yearning for more as my pulse races.

This kiss, this perfect kiss, is warm, sweet, and full of passion.

My mind is clear of all that troubles me.

For the first time in my whole adult life, my RA isn’t front and center in my mind.

It’s only Johnny, this moment, and his mouth.

The world and all of my fears melt away.

Taking his time, he pulls away, breaking our connection yet leaving behind a soft, lingering peck, while his hands gently cup my neck. As I let out a satisfied sigh, I muster the strength to open my eyes, instantly connecting with his longing gaze. Nothing compares to this.

This feeling.

I’m falling.

My hand journeys up his chest and rests on his shoulder.

A sly smile forms on his face, and his heart thumps beneath his shirt, quickening with anticipation.

My lips part, and he captures the tiny whimper with his mouth, consuming me.

Another kiss follows, then another, each one deeper than the last.

After an eternity, we break apart. His calloused fingers gently caress my face, then he plants a light peck on my nose before pulling me into a tight embrace; his arms encircle me in a comforting hug. Wrapping me up in his orbit.

A wave of safety, love, and anticipation flows through my soul, soothing it. Passion courses through my veins as I bury my face in his chest, sucking in a deep breath, taking in his scent of forest trees and vanilla.

“Are you ready for what happens next?” He exhales.

I pull my head away to look at him, curiosity and anticipation filling my heart. “So what’s next?”

“Our forever.”

“I’ve never wanted anything more.”

I’m ready. For us.

Neither of us wants to let go. Neither wants this night to end. So, for God knows how long, we stand locked in an embrace in the middle of my living room, our bodies pressed together, our breaths syncing.

This man, this all-consuming man, is claiming me and our life together.

And I’m here for every second.

“God, I can’t wait to start this new chapter with you. I’m going to show you everything.” He cups my face again as that sly smile I love so much makes an appearance. My favorite dimple follows. “Are you ready for that? Ready for us? ”

“I’m ready.”

His lips meet mine again, and I know without a shadow of a doubt that my life has just begun.