Page 47 of His Last Shot

I watch as she shimmies around the small space, her hips swaying with each turn and pivot, remembering how those hips felt in my hands.

Now, she’s standing right by my head as she raises the back of the bed, then reaches to grab the pillow, but not before leaning in.

Her face is … so close. And she still smells like summer.

Warm breath and hushed words caress my ear. “Please, just act normal. As much as I want to, I can’t. It’s too dangerous. And I’m at work.”

She lifts her head and our eyes lock, noses touching, lips hovering, tempting me .

Instead, I nod. As hard as it is to be near her and not pull her into this bed with me, I understand.

Just because I ended up at her place at work, our reality still exists. Dexter is still out there. A threat that’s always looming large.

She preps my hand, and minutes later, she’s stitching me up. We sit in silence, the moment frozen in time. But if she thinks I’m going to sit here and not talk to her, she’s nuts. We can pretend to be only patient and nurse to each other while I dig for information.

Watch me.

She pokes my skin with the needle as she concentrates. “So, how long have you worked here as a nurse, Rachel?”

She doesn’t look up. “I graduated from school about a year and a half ago and started here soon after.”

“Do you like it?”

She flicks her eyes at mine, and a small smile dances across her lips. “I love it.” She goes back to stitching. “A former boyfriend of mine pushed me to do it. And I’m so glad he did. He changed my life.”

I let those three sentences sit with me for a second, filling me up. “I bet he would like to know that. Even though you aren’t together anymore.”

“He knows.”

Yes. He. Does.

“We may not be together, but he will always be the most important person in my life,” she adds with a quiver in her voice.

“Why aren’t you together anymore?” I ask. And to anyone outside of this curtain who can hear us, this sounds like a normal conversation. But for us, right now, it means the world.

She sighs, stopping mid-stitch. “It’s a long story, but sometimes, we catch a bad break.

” Her gaze lifts, and we connect. “Like in pool. You break, and the cue ball slams into the balls, and for the briefest moment, your life looks full of hope and promise. That was us. But then, the cue ball falls into the pocket, and it’s over.

You lose, and the possibilities are meaningless without that cue ball. That’s what happened to us. ”

The subtle way she references one of my greatest loves resonates deeply. “So, you guys scratched on the relationship?”

She nods, finishing the stitch. “Something like that.”

“But the beauty of pool is that you can always re-rack the balls and try the shot again. It doesn’t have to be your last.”

“I would love to play the game again someday.”

“I bet he would, too.”

The uncomfortableness returns, but it seems like it unlocks something inside of her. She drinks in a tight breath as the mood shifts. “I saw in your chart that you’re single. Is that still accurate?” She swallows. “Is there anyone at home to help you with the after-wound care?”

I smile at her subtle probing.

Call me crazy, but I love this little dance we are doing right now. It’s a little playful yet also hurts, all tied up in a neat bow. Funny how I wanted to get out of here only twenty minutes ago, but now, this ER is the only place I want to be.

I smile and answer her. “I live alone.”

“So, no girlfriend to assist?” she continues her investigation while pausing mid-stitch.

My heart rate increases. “No. No girlfriend.” Not since Rachel. Never if I can help it.

Her cheeks pink as she grins while keeping her head low, sewing my skin back together, clearly happy with my answer.

“Well, find someone to help and keep the wound clean and dry so it can heal properly.”

“My cousin’s wife Laura can help,” I say, playing the part. “She’s a nurse, too.” But God, how I want it to be Rachel.

“Good.”

With time running out and only a few more stitches to go, I need more information about her. So I probe. “How about you?”

“How about me what?” The thread glides through my flesh.

“I can’t look in your chart. Are you single? ”

She smiles. “Now, Mr. Givens, watch yourself. That’s inappropriate for you to ask, and besides, I don’t date patients.” With an evil smirk, she glances up. “Yes,” she mouths while shaking her head, trying to stifle her laugh.

Thank the good Lord above.

She’s reached the end of thirteen stitches, knotting the thread, which means our time is almost over. Who knew cutting my hand would lead to the best thirty minutes of my whole life in the past three years? This whole encounter has me swaying and feeling unsteady.

She cleans and wraps my hand with such tenderness and ease while spouting off the instructions on what she just did, so I can wrap it at home.

I heard none of it. All I watched was her lips moving.

Lips I haven’t kissed in three and a half years. But seeing her in her element, it’s as if she has been a nurse for decades. This is what she was meant to do. Meant to be.

She’s a star. My north star.

I soak in her every move as she tidies up her metal cart, tossing bloody gauze into the trash. She turns and weeds through some papers resting on the sink, clicking her pen and writing some notes.

“Alright, Mr. Givens, you are all done.” She hands me a bundle of stapled papers. “Here is your after-visit summary that has all of your wound care instructions.”

“Is your phone number on it?”

She snorts out a laugh. “You don’t give up, do you?”

“I’ll never give up.”

Never. It may take months or years. But I’ll never give up on us.

I’m sure returning with the same response would sound unprofessional, so she smiles and mouths, “Me too.”

Stepping forward, I take the papers from her, and our hands graze. She doesn’t let go. I don’t either. Our eyes catch and seize. The air in the room crackles and sparks. We aren’t in the ER. We are somewhere else entirely. Somewhere together. Somewhere Dexter isn’t a threat.

“Any questions?” she asks, her voice quivering because our time is almost up .

Any questions? Yes, I have a million questions. But the one I really had, I got my answer to.

She’s still single. For now. Who knows how long we will have to remain apart? She said she wouldn’t give up, but what if some hot doctor here caught her eye, and that will be that? My life will be over.

Who am I kidding? It already is. My self-confidence is in tatters. She just told me she isn’t giving up, but let’s face it. Rachel in scrubs will turn any man’s head.

“No. No questions. Thank you, though.” I lift my newly stitched hand. “For this.” And so much more.

Hot pressure burns behind my eyes, but I hold it back. She gives me a tight, sad smile. “You’re welcome. Take care, Mr. Givens.”

She turns to leave, wheeling the tray with her. Grabbing the curtain, she pulls it open, exposing us to the outside world, snapping us back into reality. She turns, only allowing her gaze to latch with mine for half a heartbeat before walking out and disappearing into the ER chaos.

I exhale and grip the papers in my hand as I walk down the hallway, but not before looking back one last time.

She’s standing at the elevators. The doors open as she steps in with about five other people.

She turns, looks up, and sees me. We stand in a wordless stare, full of happiness at seeing each other and sorrow because now it’s over.

I wave. She smiles. The doors close.

With my head down, I make my way out into the parking lot, the whole encounter playing on a loop in my head. How is it possible? How was that moment the best and saddest of my whole life?

I reach Scott’s truck and open the door, sliding in, as I struggle to buckle my seatbelt with only one hand. He’s quiet, watching me intently, smiling like a fool.

“What?” I ask.

“So, how did that go?” He starts the engine, shifts into gear, and pulls out of the parking lot .

“Well, I got thirteen stitches, and when this numbing medication wears off, I am going to be in a lot of pain. And crabby.”

“Oh, come on. You know what I mean.”

Pretending to be unbothered, I flip through the stapled stack of papers while we wait at a red light. “It was fine.”

He huffs out a puff of laughter. “Ooookay, keep telling yourself that. You two still love each other. That much was obvious.”

I ignore him, trying not to give anything away. I flip to the last page, and my heart stops dead. There, in her perfect handwriting, is a note.

I miss you. Everyday all day.

I sigh. “I miss her.” The admission spills out after reading her identical confession.

“Hmmm … well, if it’s meant to be, it will work out. She’ll come around. You’ll see.” He grins. “Sound good?”

His joke lightens my sour mood, but only slightly. Turning, I look out the window as the hospital sails past us, wishing I was still in there with her.

Yeah, Scott. That sounds good.