Page 33 of His Last Shot

What Do You Want From Me?

Rachel

W ith music streaming throughout the bar and the liquor stocked, I flip the lock on Dexter’s door.

It’s three pm. Opening time. Which means I’m all alone until four, since that’s when the rest of the staff arrives and the kitchen opens. Around that time, our regulars, including the OBGs, amble in. When they are here, it gives this place a familiar, comforting atmosphere.

My other true north and calming presence is spending the evening with his family. Scott gave him grief the other day, saying he’s never around anymore since he met me. I mean, he’s not wrong. But then Scott went for the jugular and told Johnny that Mallory missed him.

That was all it took.

But it’s fine. It’s Sunday, our slowest day of the week, which also means we close a few hours early. I’ll meet Johnny at his place when I get off. My body tingles at the thought.

As I head back to the bar, Dexter emerges from the hole that is his office. Immediately, my shoulders tense. Our relationship has changed as of late. He planted this seed of resentment when he shut down my nursing school ambitions, stifling my hopes and leaving me unheard.

It was a turning point for me. It took time, but ultimately, I realized he has no interest in helping me grow as a person. He likes me here in this bar, slinging bottle necks with hurting joints, dating Drew, and controlling my life. Something I let him get away with for far too long.

But then Johnny entered the picture. Because of him, I feel special, valued, and like I deserve to have what I want in life. Like I can achieve anything. I’m a woman of beauty and strength, and I’m desired.

My hands cover my cheeks as they pink with thoughts of Johnny. Dexter pulls up a bar stool and sits. “It was nice running into you and Johnny last night.”

“It was,” I lie.

“But you really hurt Drew.”

Rolling my eyes, I huff out a small chuckle as I grab myself a water from the cooler under the bar. I unscrew the cap and take a quick sip; the coolness doing little to calm my nerves. “Nope”—I screw the cap back on—“he hurt himself when he cheated on me.”

“Come on, Rachel, we both know he messed up and wants to fix this. He still loves you.”

“He told you that?”

“He did. Last night, after we left.”

With a shake of my head and a sigh, my disbelief hangs heavy in the surrounding air. “Okay, I am not cool with you talking about our past relationship with him. It’s none of your business.”

“I just want you to be happy.”

Oh, please. He just wants to keep us all under this roof to control us.

“Well then, you should be thrilled because I am with a man who is making me the happiest I have been my whole life.”

He clicks his tongue. “Johnny isn’t the right man for you. You’ll see.”

I shrug. “I guess we will.”

“He’s going to disappoint you. Drew and I—”

I’m done.

I slam my hands on the bar. “What do you want from me, Dexter?!” He flinches, and his eyes widen. It’s rare for me to react this way around him. Normally, I would cower and conform to whatever he wants from me.

But that was me then .

Not anymore.

“If you claim to love me like you say you do, then act like it. If you preach, and I quote, ‘we are family, and family stick together as one,’ then stick by me and support me! And stop trying to control my life, derail me from going to nursing school, and push a man on me that I don’t love or want to be with. JUST STOP!!”

Lost in the heat of my plea, I didn’t even notice Micah enter the bar. He’s at my side faster than I realize. “Hey, hey! What is going on?”

“Get your sister under control, Micah.”

I rear my head back. “Excuse me? No man controls me! Not anymore! Are you kidding me right now? Did you not hear anything I just said to you?!” My head is burning, a searing heat spreading through my scalp.

My tense, rigid stance causes my elbows to lock.

Out of habit, my left hand rubs my right elbow.

Dexter only stares at me, and I study his face. It’s void of any affection. No empathy or understanding. I see nothing.

Which causes an enormous hole to open in my heart.

Uncle Dexter raised us. He was a good provider.

And I know he loves me. But he changed when his dad died, and he took over Dexter’s.

The love of power and money clouded all of his judgement.

His heart then grew cold, and a craving for control overtook him. Even control over me and Micah.

I will admit, I miss the Dexter of old. Honestly, the reason for his change doesn’t matter to me anymore.

I’m not his therapist. All I know is I am a thirty-year-old woman who is ready to live her life with the man she loves.

A man who loves her unconditionally. A man who supports her, cheers her on, and wants the best for her.

Johnny is it for me.

And now, all of Johnny’s warnings about this man are playing in my head on a loop. He knew from day one that Dexter was trouble. On so many occasions, he tried to warn me. Telling me to be careful.

Dexter is my family. Other than Micah, he is my only family. I just want us to … stick together as one.

That hope is long gone .

I turn to Micah. “Will you be okay for like an hour?”

“Where are you going, Rachel?” Dexter asks.

With my back to him, I ignore his question and address my brother. “I just need some air. I’ll be back in an hour.”

Micah’s eyes flick to Dexter briefly before landing on me. “Take as much time as you need. And tell him I said hi.” He knows where I’m going.

As I’m undoing my apron from my waist, Dexter protests. “Rachel, I am your boss, and I did not give you permission to leave.” No longer acknowledging him, I grab my purse from under the bar and sling it around my shoulder.

I waltz past him with my head held high. He’s practically foaming from the mouth, spitting as he rants. “Rachel, if you walk out that door—”

I turn on my heels. “You’ll what? Fire me? Go right ahead. I couldn’t care less,” I spat at him.

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 to see 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.

“Ugh!” I dramatically exclaim as I roll my head back. “I don’t want to go back to the bar tonight.” I shimmy closer and snuggle into him, his scent warming me from the inside out.

“Then don’t. Stay here with us. Mallory would have an aneurysm if you stayed.”

Chewing on my bottom lip, I consider his offer. It is Sunday, so Micah and the other bar waitresses could handle it. Suddenly, staying here with this family—people who are slowly burrowing their way into my heart—seems a lot more enjoyable.

“Okay … I’ll stay.”

Johnny’s head recoils. “Really?” I nod in agreement. His fist bumps into the air. “Yes! Best Sunday ever!”

I shoot a text to Micah.

Me: I’m staying.

Micah: I figured. Have fun, sis. Love ya. We can handle this.

Johnny swings my legs off of him and stands in front of me, extending his hand. I glide my palm over his, and he helps me up, then leads me to the door.

“Hey guys! Guess who’s coming to dinner?

!” he shouts into the living room as we enter.

Mallory’s head whips around. We make eye contact, and the biggest smile I have ever seen stretches across her face.

She sprints off of the couch and launches herself into my arms. Simultaneously, four sets of eyes widen upon the contact.

Because of her autism, Mallory doesn’t like touch of any kind. She has what she likes to call a Hug List. A list of people that she gives hugs to. It’s small and elite and only family.

And I think I just made the cut.