Page 55 of His Last Shot

Rachel everything I hold dear revolves around him.

I hang my apron and walk over to my gorgeous hunk, who hasn’t been himself all day. I’ve asked him repeatedly if he’s okay, and he reassures me every time that he is.

But I know better.

As I approach him, I watch him vigorously brush the table like he’s mad at it, his jaw tight. The bristles scrape loudly against the felt, so I stroke his back. “Hey, hey, slow down. You are going to rub a hole right in that felt if you aren’t careful.”

He stops and lowers his head while letting out a long, drawn-out sigh. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”

Wrapping my arms around his waist, I lean forward, resting my chin on his back. “Are you sure you’re okay? I know I’ve asked you a million times, but…” The question lingers in the air .

With a flick of his wrist, he throws the brush onto the table, and it lands with a soft thud. He turns to me, his calloused hands gently resting on the curve of my hips. “I’ve never been better.”

“Good,” I reply against his mouth as he kisses me.

The kiss lingers far longer than planned, and I half expect him to lift me up and onto the table. Which is where I normally end up on nights like this.

I’m mildly disappointed when he breaks the kiss as I moan in frustration. With a determined stride, he walks backward, scanning the path behind him. “Hey, can you do me a favor and round up the balls for me from this table so that I can put them away?”

I give him the poutiest of pouty faces. “Sure.”

He chuckles and points toward the table. “Start at the far corner pocket.”

Weird, but okay.

It’s on the opposite end, but I do as he asks. Reaching my hand into the pocket, I expect the smooth, cool surface of the pool balls, but something soft grazes my fingertips. I peer into the pocket and gasp.

A small black velvet box rests on top of the four, twelve, and eight balls.

With a shaking hand, I reach in, my heart pounding, and pull it out, not wanting to look because I know what is about to happen.

And I’m not sure my heart can take it.

The box creaks on its hinges, and the floor beneath my feet bottoms out. A massive, and I mean massive, oval-shaped diamond shines back at me, practically blinding me with its brilliance.

Holy sh—Language, Rachel!

Honestly, I’m not a jewelry girl. But I will definitely wear this!

My hand shoots up, covering my mouth as I raise my head, and there, on one knee in the center of the dance floor, is the only man who has ever held my heart.

“Rachel, I have a question to ask you,” he says with his usual swagger and smirk, yet a hint of nerves peeks through.

Pretty sure I’m having a heart attack. Or maybe I’m in knee-crippling shock because I’m not sure my legs will carry me over to him, but somehow, they do, and before I know it, I’m standing right in front of him .

“Johnny.” My voice shrinks to nothing.

Oh, my God, this is really happening.

Ever since that night in my living room after washing my hair, when he kissed me until I forgot where I was, I have wanted this moment.

“Rachel, you know how much I love you.”

I nod as my eyes mist at the sight of him, down on one knee for me.

“So instead of repeating those eight letters to you, I want to make you some promises. Eight of them, one for each letter.”

“Okay,” I say with a smile, ready for his words to encompass me like a blanket.

He looks up at me, his eyes filling with tears as he begins.

“Rachel, I promise to wash your hair if you can’t do it yourself.

I’ll give you the Johnny special. A scalp and neck massage that ends with a kiss.

” I giggle through my tears. “I promise to somehow, someway, make you laugh every single day. How you just did.” He pauses.

“I promise to never let fear come in between us again.” A sob sits in my chest as my attention remains on him. Always him.

“I promise to always dance with you, even when we are old and gray. I promise to finish that pool lesson we started the night you ended up on the pool table. I promise to watch those dumb dating shows with you. And we will reenact some scenes.”

Tilting my head, I huff out a chuckle.

“I promise to be true to you and only you, to love you deeply, fulfill you, lifting you to heights you deserve. And last but not least, I promise to live every day of my life striving to be the best husband and man that you deserve. I’ll even give Scott a run for his money.”

Another peal of laughter bubbles forth.

“But that’s only if you will have me.” He takes the ring box from my hand and pulls out the sparkler. His trembling hand envelops mine as he slides it over my finger.

A perfect fit. Just like us.

“Rachel Garcia, will you make me the happiest man alive and become my partner and wife? ”

I can’t speak. I can’t move. I’m hypnotized and stunned as my head answers for me. I nod.

“Yes?” he asks through laughter.

“Yes, Johnny. I will marry you.”

He immediately stands and grabs me as I launch myself into his arms, laughing through my tears. He holds me close, wrapping his arms around me and peppering my face with kisses. Then our lips collide.

Sealing our lives together.

Seven years after the engagement

Johnny

The officiant asks everyone to rise, and nerves erupt in my stomach.

Is she going to go through with it?

I have no idea.

The wedding march begins, and I crane my neck so that the entryway of the aisle is in my full view. She rounds the corner, smiling just like we practiced a million times in our living room.

I release the biggest sigh of relief as her eyes meet mine.

I melt.

Our daughter Piper is the flower girl in Mallory’s wedding. But nerves got the best of her right before the ceremony, even crying, saying that she didn’t want to do it.

So, Rachel came and got me because, of course, she wanted her daddy.

The three-year-old currently walking towards us has me wrapped around her finger so tight, I lost circulation the day she was born.

At first, Rachel and I had a hard time conceiving. We knew we wanted kids right away. Neither of us was getting any younger, so right after our wedding, one year after I proposed, we started trying. Obviously, we were discouraged, of course, but let’s face it, the trying part was fun.

After lots of tests and tears, we got no answers as to why we couldn’t get pregnant. There was nothing wrong with Rachel or me. The doctors suspected that since Rachel was thirty-six, coupled with her RA, perhaps her body wasn’t cooperating.

Needless to say, it was a hard, dark, and sad time.

Over time, when we finally surrendered to a life that would only be us, the double line appeared. Nine months later, another woman entered my orbit. And my heart.

Rachel needed a C-section because of some complications.

The entire experience was next-level scary, but when it was over, the first cry of my daughter filled my ears, and it was the sweetest sound I had ever heard.

I had the privilege of holding her first, and when the nurse placed her in my arms, I was a goner.

Sorry, fellas, but no man will ever be good enough.

You hear people talk about the love and connection they have with their kids. And you believe them, of course. You see it. But it isn’t until you experience it yourself that you truly feel it. My heart became bigger that day. And it’s because of the two women in my life. They make me whole.

Piper and Rachel are everything to me.

Never in a million years did I think I would become a father at fifty-four years old. Hell, some of my buddies are grandfathers. But not me—Rachel and my daughter keep me young. A tile installer at a job site just last week thought I was in my forties. I told his boss to promote him.

Redirecting my attention to my daughter, I smile as I watch her tiny, delicate hand dip into the basket, tossing flower petals on the white runner.

Her white taffeta dress, with a dusty pink bow around her waist, sways as she walks.

Her “wedding girl crown,” as she called it, rests on top of her head, shimmering with every step.

Hands down, the cutest flower girl that has ever lived .

Piper is tall for her age, which is to be expected. Her hair is dark blonde like mine, and she has her mom’s big brown eyes. And her personality? Sass for days.

Lord help me.

I’m full of pride as I watch Scott behind Piper with Mallory on his arm. Her arm is encircling his as he holds tight to her hand.

Mallory has grown into a strong, independent young woman, and I couldn’t be prouder of the person she has become despite her autism. Plus, she is marrying a wonderful young man named Caleb, who treasures her and accepts her for who she is.

Something I hope for my daughter someday.

I internally roll my eyes at the thought.

I look at Scott; if I’m not mistaken, a single tear glistens and slowly rolls along his weathered cheek.

Oh, I’m going to relentlessly tease him about that; he’ll never live it down!

Rachel squeezes my arm as we both watch our little angel take the last few steps. In order to persuade her to walk down the aisle and prevent a last-minute freakout, I promised Piper that she could sit with us if she made it all the way to the altar.

Making promises. I still make them with Rachel, and now I do with my daughter. All the time.

And I intend to keep every one of them.

Once she reaches us, she leaps into my arms. “Daddy! I did it!” she squeals out, earning a chuckle from everyone in the audience.

I kiss her cheek and whisper. “You did so good!”

Rachel leans in and rests her chin on my shoulder, her heels making her almost as tall as me. “Great job, baby girl,” Rachel reassures her as she traces the soft, springy curls of Piper’s hair.

After Scott hands Mallory over to Caleb, the officiant asks us all to take our seats. Piper sits on my lap as she arches her head to whisper in my ear. “Daddy, can I have cake at the weception?”

I look over at Rachel, and my gorgeous wife grins, nodding in agreement.

With a smile, I do what I do best.

“Of course. I promise.”