Page 22 of Right Up His Alley

“Uh—no.” I swallow. “I just wanted a little break. I’ve been on the road for two years, Dad.”

“And from what I can tell, you’ve been doing nothing since you got home. If you’re not going to compete and win these easy titles—especially the local ones, since you, what, want to settle down—then why did your mother and I spend all that time and money making sure you had everything you needed to be the best? Was it all for nothing, Truett?”

My grip tightens around the phone. “I’ve been checking out bowling alleys. Like you wanted me to. I don’t see what the big deal is about skipping a few small tournaments.”

“These small tournaments,” his voice sharpens, “are how you improve. And I asked you to visit one damn alley. C’mon, Truett. You don’t have nearly as many titles as I did at your stage. That’s a problem. Why give up on the momentum now? You’ve trained for this; you’ve worked so hard. This is your life. You need to accept it.”

“But I⁠—”

“You’ll sign up for Albuquerque, and that’s final.”

I want to end the call so badly, but I know hanging up will only make things worse. So, I force out a defeated, “Okay.” As soon as I say it, I pull the phone away and tap the screen. No goodbye. Not anything. Just me, standing there, seething.

Trying to shake some of the tension, I drop into a quick set of jumping jacks—just three reps—hoping to burn off some of the stress caused by every single one of my father’s words.

If I can’t say no to my father for some non-qualifying tournament, how am I ever going to tell him I can’t compete in the biggest championship game of the year? And even worse—I’ve already volunteered to help Ezra, and I’d be breaking the one rule that could force the USBC to disqualify Spare Time as its host.

It wouldn’t be the only thing I’d be breaking either. I’d break the one promise I made to Ezra. He’d be so upset—so let down. All for what? A title that doesn’t even matter to me?

Ezra’s voice breaks me from my spiral. “Damien doesn’t have any appointments this evening, so he’ll be here in about fifteen minutes. He’s going to close up the alley tonight too, so we’ll have all night.”

“That’s great.” My voice comes out flatter than I intend. I force a lighter feeling into place, making sure he knows this sudden shift in mood isn’t about him—or about this other good guy. “Well, great for us. It sucks for him that he doesn’t have any customers tonight.”

“He’s so chill about it. I traded for some volunteer time in the parlor next month.” His smile is even brighter than it was before. Is there more to this good guy than he’s letting on?

“You must love being at the tattoo parlor?”

“You can say that. Like I said before. It’s a win-win.”

Fifteen minutes later, a guy walks in—one I assume is Damien. He’s average height, with a toned, athletic build. His skin is warm bronze. His black hair is short on top, shaved clean on the sides, grown out just enough to look effortless but strategically styled. There’s ink along his forearms and across the backs of both hands—all the way down to his knuckles. More ink, a spiderweb sprawled across his kneecap, peeks out from the holes in his ripped jeans.

He carries himself like he hasn’t been in a rush in over a decade, strutting to the counter, earphones in, humming along to something screeching in his ears. There’s a free-spirit vibe radiating from him—not reckless, but confident—like he knows what he wants and goes after it when the mood hits. He sees Ezra behind the register, tilts his chin and grins. “Just like old times.”

“Don’t get used to it. I still can’t afford you,” Ezra says, his tone easy, familiar. His guard is down more than I’ve ever seen. A twinge of envy tightens in my throat as I step forward to introduce myself.

“But seriously, thanks for stepping in, man. I’ll make sure you get a few bucks for your time. You remember how to close down?” Ezra fishes the alley keys from his pocket.

“Count down the register, shut everything down, and lock up. Not too hard, tonto.” Damien winks—a gesture that confuses me even more. How am I supposed to feel about him, or even allowed to feel?

“Hello.” I step up from behind them.

“Damien,” Ezra waves toward me, “this is Truett Thorne. He’s helping me fix up a few things around here. Truett, this is Damien.”

Damien turns toward me and extends his hand. “Nice to meet you. Your name sounds familiar.”

“Are you a fan of professional bowling?”

He laughs. “Is anyone a fan of professional bowling?”

Ezra gently slaps his shoulder. “Hey now, Truett is a very, very well-known athlete. It’s not his fault no one around here subscribes to the ESPN Bowling channel.”

They cackle together, and I force a laugh along with them. As my expression fades, I see I’m watching something I didn’t realize I was looking for when I offered my help to Ezra.

A friendship?

Maybe something more?

For so long, I’ve felt something’s missing. I thought I missed being home. Or having stability. Or a connection. Whatever it was, I’ve never felt complete. My whole life, I’ve been focused on winning and becoming one of the greatest players ever. If a relationship has the power to make me feel whole, why not try to find one? It’s just…I’ve been out of the dating game for so long, I wouldn’t even know where to start.