WhiskeyintheJar Romance

It was during the predawn hours on a Saturday morning when former navy SEAL Jack McConnell donned his dress whites and pressed the cold, hard barrel of his .357 Magnum to his temple. With only one bullet in the cylinder, he had a one-in-six chance fate would right the wrong it had so grievously dealt him eighteen months ago.
Jack was supposed to be dead.
He’d sacrificed all he had to give, and now he was nothing but a broken weapon of war. No use to anyone, or anything. If he’d had even a shred of honor left, he’d have made sure every slot in the cylinder was full when he played his little game with fate every Saturday.
But something wouldn’t let him, and for that, he cursed himself for a coward. Death was no stranger to him; it’d been a warm friend at his back for every mission. So why couldn’t he meet it with certainty?
Jack took a deep breath, hoping it would be his last, and pulled the trigger on the exhale. The hammer made an impotent little click that echoed like a gavel in his ears.
 

It occurred to Jack that maybe the first time he’d played this game, he’d won and this was actually hell.

Rarely do I read such powerful beginnings to stories. Just, wow. I'm focused and buckled in now....