Page 79 of Right Up His Alley

“I don’t need you to say anything. In fact, I would rather not hear anything come out of your mouth because eventually you’re just going to turn this all around, and I can’t deal with the narcissism right now.”

“Is that how you see me?”

“Yes,” I say curtly.

We stand there. The only sounds are my heavy breathing, each breath weighted with conflicted emotion, and the faint creak of a cabinet as Carlada moves around, doing her best to ignore the aftermath of our argument.

I speak up one final time, knowing it might not even be relevant in the future with how far Ezra has pushed me away; yet, I say it because, if I don’t, I’m not sure I will find closure in this conversation. “And never, ever speak about Ezra like that again.”

Then, suddenly, my mother comes downstairs humming a tune I don’t recognize. She’s happy, at peace, a complete contrast to the tension hanging between my father and me. She enters the dining room and looks back and forth between us. With her eyes wide and eyebrows raised, she cuts the tension with a question. “Did I hear someone say Ezra’s name? Are we excited about the news?”

I lean in, afraid to ask. “What news?”

“It’s all over social media.” She grins before she calls out, “Carlada? Can you add some vodka in these cranberry juices and pour me a double? We’re celebrating!”

My father and I look at each other, our faces mirroring one another in confusion. For the first time in a long time, we agree on something. Rachel Thorne knows exactly how to pull us together, no matter how far apart we feel.

“What are we celebrating, Mom?”

“That USBC chose a venue,” she says.

My stomach flips. I catch a gulp of air at the back of my throat, bracing for the news. Even after making it perfectly clear to my dad that I have no interest in winning or even playing in the tournament, I still can’t stop myself from hoping. Waiting. Anticipating.

I’ve learned so much about myself. About how much I wish I could go back and do things differently. The love I have for Spare Time is the same love I had as a little boy who first fell in love with bowling. It’s an exciting, nurturing kind of love. One I might never feel again if I don’t start making choices based on what I truly want.

The past few months of getting close to Ezra, working on the Jiménez alley, and realizing competitive bowling is not everything I want have all led to this moment.

Mom pulls out her phone and holds it up, her social media feed open on the screen. “The USBC would have been idiots if they didn’t choose Spare Time,” she says, “especially with its popularity booming and the fresh updates you and Ezra have made to the alley.”

I glance over and catch my dad’s face. He is still resigned in a way that feels like he is taking all of it in at once.

Mom continues, “And it does not hurt that Spare Time is the home alley of the iconic Truett Thorne.”

I take her phone to look closer. It is the photo she took of me practicing at Spare Time, now posted on the alley’s brand-new social media account. Nearly 1.3 million likes. Hundreds of comments from people all over the world, fans of bowling, cheering on Spare Time to be chosen for the tournament.

What surprises me is not just the numbers. It is how fast it spread. It feels like people were already looking for something like this, something real and rooted in a place with history, and the post just helped them find it. With all the changes Ezra has pushed for and built into the alley, Spare Time has been slowly turning into something new again. This photo and its reach did not create that change. It just revealed it.

Some commenters say they are ready to buy plane tickets the moment the announcement is made. Others are asking if the alley has an online store so they can buy merchandise to prepare for the tournament. Some of the locals are even pointing to Ezra, saying he is the reason Spare Time feels like something worth rooting for again.

The support is overwhelming. My eyes sting, and I cannot tell if it is from pride, pressure, or the weight of knowing I will have to announce my decision soon about not competing. I need to be a part of this. I need to be with Ezra.

The people online are not seeing the whole story. Ezra did not just save the alley. He rebuilt it, quietly and stubbornly, long before any of this attention showed up. And even if he doesn’t want to run it, I know how much it matters to him to keep his father’s legacy strong.

Every bit of emotion flooding through my veins is for him.

“So now that Spare Time won the bid, what are you going to do, baby?” my mom asks, looking between me and my father. “We will support you no matter what.”

I smile, feeling like the jumbled, rattling pressure in my chest is finally gone, along with what anyone else expects of me. “I am not competing. I am going to forfeit my spot. I’ve accomplished what I set out to do as a professional bowler, and I’m only now realizing how solid that decision has been for me for a while. I just didn’t think I was brave enough to tell you both.”

I glance back at my father. “I need you to understand I am grateful for everything you have given me, but I need to live life on my own terms, and I’m finally fighting for what, and who, I want.”

My father nods, still speechless. I can tell he is disappointed, but I can’t tell if it’s in me or in himself.

Carlada enters the room with a tray of cosmopolitans. “Ah, finalmente!”

For the first time in… well, ever, the parking lot is packed when I pull up for work this morning. Normally, I can park wherever I want, but today I’m forced to take a spot near the back of the alley.

The crowds have definitely been growing these last few days—which is still bizarre enough on its own—but nothing close to this. People linger outside the shop, voices carrying through the morning air as more cars squeeze into every available space. The only explanation I can come up with is that Damien is running some kind of tattoo special. Last year, he did a Halloween event with thirty-one-dollar tattoos that drew a decent crowd, but even that wasn’t this busy.