Page 25 of Right Up His Alley

He’s taken me to the arcade. Small children and teenagers run around with the same enthusiasm. It should be overstimulating, but it’s not. I can drown out my own thoughts with their chatter.

“It’s fine. Who hasn’t had a freak out at an alley before?” Truett chuckles and pulls up a chair next to me. “I had the biggest panic attack at an alley in Omaha once. To this day, I still can’t show my face there. It was so stupid too. My father was being his usual self, stressing me out and getting angry because I ate too big a meal before a competition. Learned my lesson fast.”

I frown. “Lesson? What lesson?” There’s no goddamn lesson in that.

But Truett shrugs. “Be careful around my father and don’t eat before a big tournament.”

My frown only deepens. “True, that’s not a lesson. That’s incredibly bad advice. Do you still do that?”

The tips of his ears redden, and he just shrugs. He doesn’t answer, but he doesn’t need to. I already know the answer. I’ve never met this man’s dad, but already he leaves a bitter taste in my mouth. No wonder he flocked to my father like a chick to a mother hen.

“Can I ask you something?” Truett skillfully changes the subject.

“Go for it.”

“No offense, but you don’t seem to like running the alley.”

“I don’t.” No point in lying. Truett picked up on that when so many others haven’t. “Is there a question in there?”

“I’m gettin’ to it.” He pauses. “I understand why you’re doing it. You know, for your dad, but if you had a choice, what do you really want to do with your life?”

The question is loaded and catches me off guard. No one has ever asked me that before. No one has ever cared enough to look through my façade and realize I’m miserable. I don’t blame them. I could advocate for myself and tell my mom how much I hate the alley, but I don’t want to hurt her. She’s had enough pain in the last year to last a lifetime.

“Does it matter?” I’m stalling, and Truett knows it. He gives me a pointed look, one a parent would give an unruly child, so I relent. “If it were up to me, I would be interning as a tattoo artist in hopes of having my own shop one day.” The words feel strange on my tongue. I’ve never actually told anyone this, besides Damien. And even to him, I never said these exact words.

“Really?” Truett seems genuinely surprised. “I mean, that’s really cool. I do remember you always drawing behind the counter. You also have this amazing tattoo sleeve.” He lets his hand trace lightly along my arm, across the eternal flame with the embedded date—11/22/63—at the center of the artwork I designed. The gesture relaxes me.

He continues, not realizing how his touch eases the tightness in my chest. “Now I understand why you’d offer to help Damien in his shop. Have you done any tattoos? Did you design any of yours? What’s with this 1963 date here in the flame piece? Do you still have a sketchbook or something? Can I see it?”

Once again, I find my lips quirking up into a smile. “That’s a lot more than one question.”

“Oh, fine, don’t tell me.” He waves me off, glancing away again. I want to tell him I do have a sketchbook… but I’m not sure I’m ready to share that with anyone yet.

Silence greets us until I can’t take it anymore, and I finally ask the question I dread most.

“You think I’m selfish, don’t you?”

“Absolutely not!” Truett almost looks offended that I would even ask the question. “I think you’re stuck between honoring your family and allowing yourself to be happy on your own path. That’s not selfish. That’s human.”

“I just want to make sure I’m doing the right thing by my family and elevating Spare Time in a way that will make them proud. Even if I don’t honestly care what Spare Time ends up turning into.” The words tumble out of my mouth before I can stop them. I need Truett to truly understand. Someone needs to. Maybe it was meant to be him.

“Fuck. I take that back,” I sigh. “I do care. I need to care. I just… I want you to know I care what happens to the alley.”

I can’t lose this place. The one last thing left in this world that was fully and completely my father’s. His love is wrapped into the alley, even if it’s hard to see right now. But it could be restored, and maybe that will absolve some of this guilt I carry for not loving it as much as he did.

“Ezra, no one who doesn’t care about their family—or the alley—would go to the lengths you do. I know you care, even if you show it differently. Even if it’s tearing you apart inside and preventing you from following your true passions.”

The words settle between us. My hand rests on my knee, and his is there too somehow, close enough that our fingers brush. Neither of us pulls away. There’s something quiet and certain about it—something that feels… right.

“Enough of this!” Truett jumps out of his chair. “I don’t think we should waste a perfectly good trip to a bowling alley. Let’s play a round on me. If you’re sweet, I might even buy you some nachos.”

“Are you flirting with me?” I smirk and love the way he flushes for me.

“Nope. That would be inappropriate. You told Damien this isn’t a date. Even if I’m paying. Plus, I want to see how you handle your balls,” he finishes with a wicked gleam in his eyes.

Flirting. He’s definitely flirting.

And I’m kind of into it.