Page 40 of Saints & Sailors

Vanity shrugged. “It’s just hot watching a guy do pull-ups.”

Sweatpants and pull-ups, interesting.

Ebram was fed up with her chatter, so he wrapped his arm around her neck and covered her mouth with his hand.

Something about this rubbed me the wrong way.

That and the way he kept checking out every girl within a two-inch radius.

Cameron was right. This douche was a total skeeze.

“Church!” some kid called out to Bonham.

A boy approached Bonham and they pounded fists before the kid slipped him a large fountain cup.

I seriously doubted that soda was inside.

“Best damn beer in town,” the boy told Bonham.

Bonham gave a thumbs up as he tilted his head back and chugged some of the brew.

When he held it out for me, I boldly dug into his jacket and grabbed his flask.

I took a shot and down the rabbit hole I went.

Whoever was manning the music was okay in my book. Instead of that pop shit they played on the radio, the bowling alley was playing classic rock. My type of vibe.

Eagles blared through the speakers as Bonham hung back in our booth as we sat at our own lane. Bug was actually attempting to bowl.

“This is retirement.” Bonham turned to me. “Meadow Grove is the place you come to die, not start a family and live. When I graduate, I’m hittin’ that road and heading straight to LA, baby.”

At first I loved his words, and then I didn’t because they reminded me of Scott.

“Hopefully you don’t crash and burn,” I said.

“I don’t know what I’m going to do, Saylor, but I’m going to do something. I’m going out there and finding my purpose. I’ll sleep when I’m dead. People around here don’t think much of me anyhow, but I’ll show ’em, especially him.”

“Your father?”

Bonham shook his head and said no more.

I didn’t exactly get it, but I sensed it was serious.

We all had our own hell.

Bug bowled a perfect strike, eliciting a chime from the computer and cheer from our neighbors.

Not many were actually bowling. Most kids were just hanging out, drinking, and eating.

I was satisfied with my stolen flask.

For a while the sounds of balls hitting the pins and classic rock mixed with many conversations filled the silence wedged between us.

It was nice in a way. I didn’t know Bonham, but he was easy and comfortable. Simple. He almost reminded me of my boys, but then that would ruin the purpose of the evening.

The flask was empty.

I didn’t want to get too fucked up on alcohol. It was always best to be some type of coherent around strangers.