Page 21 of Right Up His Alley

Ezra lets out a nervous laugh before I continue, “I think we need to get out of here and check out another bowling alley. I mean, have you ever been to another alley? Checked out your competition? Judged their place? It’s like Pinterest in real life, giving you tons of decor and aesthetic ideas.”

“I spend enough of my time in this bowling alley. Why on earth would I ever spend my free time at another one?” He shakes his head. “Also, I didn’t peg you as a Pinterest kind of guy. It’s where I get all my best art ideas.”

“Peg me?” I smile, knowing what I said may have been a little too forward.

Ezra rolls his eyes but returns a soft smile. “Alright, alright. We can go, but I’ll need to close down…” He pauses and pulls out his phone. “Shit! I lied again.”

“What now?”

“We do have a reservation today. We have a retirement party from six to nine tonight. I can’t close down the center. It’s a party of twenty, and I can’t lose out on that money.”

The feeling is bittersweet. Knowing the alley has a big reservation makes me happy, but part of me was looking forward to exploring a little—especially with Ezra. To get to know him better, of course.

“Do you think your mom could—” I close my mouth after seeing his eyes light up.

“I do know someone who wouldn’t mind helping me out if I asked. I’ll need to pay him back the favor, but I’m sure what he’ll want in return will be a win-win for the both of us.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, Damien. He’s a good guy.” He smiles before it fades. “He actually used to work here a year ago. We had to let him go after Mom and I realized we couldn’t afford another staff member. It was hard, but he understood.”

“A good guy? That’s good. We like good guys.” The words come out sharper than I intend.

“We have a lot in common.” His smile returns. “Damien lost his dad when he was younger. When Dad died, I confided in him, knowing he understood some of what I was going through.”

“That was kind of him.”

Very kind of him, actually.

The pit of my stomach rumbles a little.

Is it—? No. It can’t be.

…Maybe.

I don’t know, but what I do know is it’s not from the pizza.

“He’s also the owner of the tattoo parlor in the plaza. He took over the shop from his uncle six months ago after his uncle moved to Dallas to expand the franchise. Damien’s more of a free spirit really, so I’m not sure he’s doing exactly what he wants to do with his life. He’s a fantastic artist, but his heart isn’t really into being a business owner. He sort of just… fell into it… like I did with the bowling alley.” Ezra pulls out his phone, and when he speaks again, there’s a spark in him. “He sometimes lets me help out around the parlor in the evenings.”

If I didn’t know any better, the idea of spending evenings at the tattoo parlor seems to energize him.

He finds the number, taps his screen, and within seconds, another voice answers on the other end. “Damien—hey, man. How you doing? You busy tonight?” He looks at me and throws his fist over his shoulder, thumb angled across the alley, and walks away.

On the table where I left my phone, the screen lights up not a moment later. The image that flashes across it tells me exactly who it is—Thanos, one of the greatest villains of all time. It’s also the picture I set for when my father calls.

I’ve missed several calls from him today. Although, I’m not sure missed is how I should define it. It’s more like avoided. He has no clue where I’ve been since I’ve been home. In fact, I’m surprised he hasn’t put a tracker on me yet to see if my time is being spent working out or practicing.

I reach across and grab it reluctantly. “Good afternoon, sir.”

“Truett,” he answers. “I’ve been trying to call you. Something must be wrong with your phone.”

“Yes, I don’t have good service here… at the gym. What’s going on, Dad?”

“There’s a tournament in Albuquerque. It’s not a qualifier for the USBC Championship, but it could be another notch on your winning belt. A way to intimidate the others and size up potential opponents for the championship.”

His proposition doesn’t sound as demanding as usual, so I take my chance to back out before I lose it. My voice wavers slightly. “I don’t know, Dad. I wasn’t planning on competing in any⁠—”

“Not planning on competing?” he cuts in. “What are you going on about? Is this what your mother meant when she said you were thinking about settling down here? I didn’t realize that meant giving up your entire career. Is that what you’re telling me, son?”