Page 53 of His Last Shot

A low hum vibrates in my chest as his fingers, light as feathers, dance across my skin while he cradles the pendant. “I wear it every day.”

He drops the star, and it lands softly against my chest. His shoulders slump with relief as a small, satisfied smile plays on his lips. “I’ll see you tonight, my love.” He pivots, pausing momentarily before his plump lips graze my cheek. They linger; my eyes flutter close, and I’m completely gone.

He walks away, leaving me dumbstruck with shock at the whole encounter, clutching onto a bag of Vermont Cheddar.

Johnny

I’m sitting on the bed of my truck with my feet dangling and a stomach full of nerves.

My heart hammers against my ribs, a frantic drumbeat accompanying the tremor in my hands; I’ve never been this nervous. I know she said she would come, but what if her anxiety got the best of her again? What if she went home, thought about it, and got scared?

However, my heart tells me what I want.

Rachel.

Forever.

As my wife, the mother of my children, and the woman I plan to grow old with. Nothing sounds better.

With a thud, I land on the ground from the truck bed, surveying everything one last time to make sure it’s all in order.

Our usual blow-up mattress sits in the truck, covered in blankets.

The sight fills my heart with anticipation as the prospect of lying next to her here again after five years floods my brain.

Next, I check the lights I have strung from the trees to the top of my truck. Everything is up and ready.

I mean, I am quadruple-checking at this point.

Next is the card table. It’s covered in a white tablecloth, and resting on top are two candles flickering in the night. The final touch is a wine glass for her and a Starbucks coffee for me. A single red rose lies in the center of it all.

I step back and admire the work I pulled together quickly.

It’s simple.

After all the complications that our relationship went through … her pushing me away, us coming together in spectacular fashion, then being torn apart in the worst way.

We are due some simplicity.

A pair of headlights approaching from the distance brings me back to my reality. I watch as the car crawls forward and strain to make out the make and model. But then I realize it’s been five years. She may drive something different .

All of my insides are quivering and churning as I wait. Rachel drove a Honda Civic before. Now that this vehicle gets closer, I can make out that it’s a black SUV of some sort.

The SUV parks next to my truck, and the door opens.

I choke on nothing but the surrounding air.

She’s breathtaking.

Oxygen whooshes out of my lungs silently as I let the moment settle.

Our eyes lock.

The universe shrinks to only this moment, frozen in place.

Her long hair falls over her shoulders in shimmering waves. Her long legs are on full display as a yellow sundress hits mid-thigh, catching the breeze. We stand …

Breathing.

Wanting.

Loving.

She inhales sharply, turning her gaze to the ground, trying to gain composure, her chest heaving under the fabric of her dress.

But the urge to caress her, hold her, and god help me, kiss her, consumes me.

As she always has.

“Love.” A tremor runs through me as I whisper my nickname for her, my voice shaking, while approaching with caution.

Suddenly, her head snaps up, and she bursts forward, running to me. With a joyous laugh, she launches herself into my arms and wraps those long legs around my waist, just like they do in those dumb dating shows she loves so much.

Not so dumb now, huh?

My hands find her waist, and with a gasp, our mouths crash in a fierce, desperate kiss, the air around us crackling with urgency.

All five years tumble down into this one kiss.

A fire that has lied dormant for one thousand eight hundred twenty-five days is roaring to life.

Five years of built-up frustrations are being unleashed .

She recoils her legs, and I place her on her feet, all the while our lips never coming apart. Before I know it, her hands are threading through my hair, her mouth working along with mine, as if our lips never forgot the assignment.

It’s crazy. Unbelievable.

The desire to touch every square inch of her body is making my hands act of their own accord.

One lands on her waist while the other finds her neck.

My thumb strokes down her throat, followed by my mouth.

Her head tilts to the side, granting me better access.

Her breath hitches, a gasp escaping her lips, causing us to break apart.

“We need to slow down,” she says through pants.

No lie there.

I nod, wanting to break through all the yellow tape as my senses flicker back to life. She’s right. We have time. All the time in the world now.

My fingers trace the delicate curve of her cheekbones as I press a soft, lingering kiss to her lips. As she melts into me, her gentle hum vibrates against my mouth. Her smell overpowers me, and GOD, did I miss that smell so much.

And since we were always on the same wavelength, she breaks the kiss, buries her face into my neck, and inhales. “You smell so good,” she mutters. “It’s new.” Her lips grin against my neck.

Nuzzling her closer, I smile, my grip tightening. “It is.”

“Should be illegal. You’re not allowed to smell that good.” I chuckle with relief. I thought of her when I picked it out.

She pulls back, her stare embedding itself back into my soul. “I missed you,” she whispers.

“I missed everything,” I reply softly, meaning every word.

A gentle breeze kicks up, blowing a stray hair across her face. I tuck it behind her ear, my fingers lingering for a moment, before uttering the three words I’ve waited so long to say again. “I love you, Rachel.”

Her eyes slide shut. “I love you too.” Hearing her say that was like smooth honey. I slide my palm over and then back down her spine, my thumb tracing lines through the thin fabric of her dress. Our love is open now, transparent .

“Is this it? You and me? No more obstacles?” I ask, still tracing lines, still stroking, never letting go.

She shakes her head. “None. It’s you and me. Forever.”

A few heartbeats later, she glances around, noticing her surroundings. With a soft sigh, she steps around me, and I take her hand in mine. “You did all of this?” she asks as she walks over to the table and grabs the rose, smelling it while never taking her eyes off of me.

I shrug, suddenly unsure. This moment is huge. Us coming together again. I could have done more. “I know it’s not much, but—”

She places her hand on my chest, the gentle pressure of her touch reassuring me. “It’s perfect.”

With a quick turn to the table, she watches me scurry over and pull out a chair, my hand waving over its worn wooden surface. “Madam.” My exaggerated English accent is awful.

Her giggle fills the air as I scoot her in, a joyful sound against the quiet.

Just like that, we are back on track.

As I pour her a glass of wine, she gestures to the coffee cup. “Some things never change, I see.”

“You know me … coffee till the day I die.” I shoot her a wink as I sit and grab my cup, taking a sip of the iced brown sugar shaken espresso. A double shot, no less.

I want to be wide awake for this reunion.

With a soft thump, my cup lands on the table. I reach across, my hand outstretched in a silent invitation. She glides her hand into mine, her skin just as soft as I remember. I rub small circles with my thumb on the top of her flesh.

Even with the memory of our sexy reunion kiss lingering, a sense of foreboding settles in as I know we need to talk about everything that led up to it.

“Let’s rip off the band-aid and hash it all out.

” She nods. “What happened after I left the bar that night? With Dexter. With you. I want to know everything.”

With a long, shuddering sigh that carries the weight of the past five years, she lets it all out. Anger builds in my chest as she relays how Dexter treated her the day after, choosing to never see her again. After everything, he shut her out. Unbelievable.

What a piece of sh—I guess one shouldn’t speak ill of the dead. Whatever.

But then pride replaces anger as she tells me about her schooling and graduation, even though I was there.

Next is her job, and the excitement on her face is something I hope she never loses.

I saw how good she was at her job that day in the hospital, but to hear her talk about it is just plain incredible.

Then relief fills my soul as she tells me about her health.

About how well she is doing with her new doctors and treatment.

“I saw the news report. The one about the rehab facility.” Tears fill her eyes. “You did all of that?”

“Yes.” No hesitation.

“Why?”

The lump in my throat feels like a fist. I swallow it down.

“You have to know I did it all for you.” She chokes out a sob, barely audible above the chirping of crickets.

“The fact that it was a need in the community is important, obviously, but”—I pause to compose myself—“yes, it was all for you. I wanted you to know that even though we couldn’t be together, I still loved you and would always fight for you.

Do you use it?” I lean forward, expecting her answer, hope rising like flood waters.

“Every two weeks.”

Overcome with relief, I gently grasp her hand. “You have no idea how happy that makes me.”

“Me too.” A grin crests on her mouth, so bright it put the flame on the candle to shame. “Johnny, it’s true that I was scared these last three months, but there was another reason that I took so long to contact you.”

I tilt my head, my mind racing. With everything we have been through, nothing is off the table with us.

She reaches into the top of her sundress and pulls out a business card.

I don’t know much, but I know I will not make it through this reunion unscathed if she does more stuff like that.

I’m toast.