Page 65 of Right Up His Alley

But not if we’re going to lose it.

“We’ll take out a loan. Ask the family for more donations if we have to. Something.” My mom sobs on the other end of the phone, burying the knife a little deeper because I know what I have to do. “I can’t lose Spare Time. I just can’t. I know I should have told you, but I thought I could handle it. I really did.”

To my mother, losing Spare Time would be too much like a final death. Like my dad, the man my mom spent over half her life with, would truly be gone. I think of the money sitting in my savings account. Enough to avoid foreclosure and pay the late fees. It would wipe me out, truly taking away my hopes for tattooing in the future. But what’s this sacrifice compared to everything my parents have sacrificed for me? I’ve always known this alley would be my future. To think anything else was foolish of me.

I’ve been distracted. Believing in a future I knew was unattainable. Because hopes and dreams are fickle and change like the season. Nothing is ever guaranteed. I knew this. Know this. And yet I still lost track of what’s important.

I either get the life I want, or the life my parents carved out for me. There’s no having my cake and eating it too. One or the other. That’s always been the choice, hasn’t it?

Even so, something inside me breaks fundamentally. It feels an awful lot like grief. The kind of grief people don’t come back from.

“I’ll take care of this,” I say at last, strengthening my resolve.

“Mijo, no. I will figure this out. I don’t want this burden to be on your shoulders.”

It’s too late for that. I’m already carrying it. I’m always carrying it.

“I have the money and will take care of this,” I say with more steel in my voice. “But for now, you’ll give over the finances to me. If you want me to run the alley, I need to run every aspect of it.”

“Ezra—”

“Promise me.”

My mom is silent. There’s a sniffle, then rustling around as if she’s trying to find something to wipe away the tears. Finally, she says, “Okay…okay. You’re a good son, mi amor. A good man.”

Except I don’t feel like one. Far from it, actually. I feel cracked and broken. I just nod, even though she can’t see me. “I’ve got to go. Don’t wait up for me tonight. I don’t know when I’ll be home.”

I know that will make her worry, but I can’t bring myself to care. I hang up before my mom can say anything else. My phone reminds me I still have a text from Truett left unanswered, but I ignore it. I'm not in the mood to talk. Not to my mom. Not to Truett. Not to anyone.

With a deep sigh, I know what I must do. I use the computer to log into our mortgage portal. I’m not surprised to see the red number flashing on the screen. All the money we still owe. It’s going to wipe me out, but I can’t lose this shop, regardless of my personal feelings about it. I promised my father I’d take care of my mom, and that’s exactly what I plan on doing.

It’s far too easy to transfer the money. No warning. No pause. No desperate question asking if I’m sure—if I’m about to make the biggest mistake of my life.

Just a click.

I stare at the balance, at the money I’ve been saving for years—ever since I first opened this account. Every deposit, every sacrifice, every moment I chose saving over living.

And then, in an instant, it’s gone.

Just like that.

As if it was never there to begin with.

Iroll onto my stomach with my cheek pressed into a satin pillowcase, a bed sheet twisted around my waist, and one leg hanging off the edge. My whole body feels rested, like I’ve just emerged from a long, wintry hibernation. But instead, it was just a scorching hot week in Dallas.

I stretch slowly because I’m sore in all the right places. Still aching from the pre-tournament workout two days ago, but more importantly from my electrifying night with Ezra.

With him, there are no expectations and definitely no regrets. Just the two of us, lost in each other like we were the only two people who ever existed. Our bodies moved in ways I didn’t know they were capable. Bending each other over. Picking each other up. It was like we were fucking gymnasts performing a routine for the Naked Olympics. If that were a thing.

And now? Now he’s my boyfriend. I’ve never been able to call someone that before. My boyfriend.

And, holy shit, my boyfriend is hot, not to mention he knows exactly how to please me.

The feelings bubble in my chest, full and thrilling. I would have never imagined falling for someone in a hometown I never claimed, let alone someone who has a little bit of knowledge about the world of bowling. My world.

It’s so wild.

My tattoo itches just a little. Dry skin circles around the bowling pin, still healing across my wrist. I’m so obsessed with it. Mainly because Ezra’s work—his art—is on me.