Chapter Eleven
After reaching All American Lanes and Games and parking, when Owen reached the passenger door intent on opening it for Carly, she stood waiting. He shook his head. The little firebrand was bound and determined every chance she got to remind him they were only friends.
Alerted to her tactics, when they reached the front door, he slid around her and opened it before she could. He waited while she glared at him, hands on her hips. “Friends don’t open doors for each other.”
“I do when the friend is female. It’s called being polite, and if my mama heard I forgot my manners with a woman, date or not, she’d box my ears.” He nodded toward the door he still held. “You goin’ in or are you gonna stand here calling attention to us?”
His comment sent her scurrying inside the bowling alley. “You’re being silly. Your mother won’t know anything about whether you held the door for me or not.”
He laughed. “Right. This from the woman who knows when someone in Service sneezes half the town shows up with chicken soup within an hour.”
“All right. I’ll concede your point on manners.”
The door closed with a gentle woosh behind them, and his eyes adjusted to the dimness inside.
Families and friends, from teens to seniors, sat at tables socializing.
The crack of the pins, mixed with voices and laughter, filled the air as others bowled.
Same old All American Lanes with the patriotic theme.
Except for the new coat of paint, the décor hadn’t changed from his childhood.
“With the place packed tonight, I’d bet someone’s already calling my mom to tell her we’re here together.”
“As long as we treat each other like friends, there won’t be too much talk.”
Treat Carly like any other buddy? Impossible. Not if he lived to a hundred. None of his buddies filled out a shirt the way she did that pretty little orange number. He broke out in a sweat.
As they weaved through the restaurant and bar section, folks they passed called out a greeting. A few people, such as Emma Blancher from his mom’s bunko group, mentioned how thrilled his mother would be that he and Carly were “out together.”
After dutifully spouting she and Owen were simply friends, she used them meeting people to make a quick getaway. “Bet you five bucks she’s either texting or calling your mom right now.”
“You’re paranoid.”
Carly glanced over her shoulder at Mrs. Blancher, then slapped him on the arm. “Good thing you didn’t take that bet.”
“Thankfully you made it clear we’re not on a date.”
“I bet your mom gets a different impression from Mrs. Blancher which means you’ll have to straighten her out,” Carly said, as they made their way to the shoe rental counter.
He swallowed the “yes, ma’am” perched on his tongue. When did Carly become tough enough to rival a drill sergeant?
After handing them their shoes, Jerry pointed to his left. “Make sure you check the case to see what we did for Landon.”
When Owen’s gaze followed, he spotted the pictures of veterans lining the walls below the large star-spangled letters Our Heroes. A cold swept through him, paralyzing him.
His brain shut down. He focused on remaining upright as he tried to shut off the pain carving him up.
How could he have forgotten the pictures and the case with tributes to Service residents and adopted ones who’d died serving their country?
His insides splintered, tearing him up. How could he live with the white-hot hurt?
His sweaty hands clutching his bowling shoes, he put one foot in front of the other beside Carly.
He had no right having fun when the best friend he’d ever have was dead.
He should be spending every waking minute working to get back to active duty.
He had a job to do—seeing the bastards that orchestrated attacks like the one that killed Landon—were stopped. “I shouldn’t be here.”
“Isolating yourself, not living, won’t change what happened.”
He stumbled, righted himself, and froze. Her comment sliced to the bone. It might not change the past, but he had to atone.
Carly placed her hand on his arm, but he shook her off.
“I’m sorry, Owen. I remember how it threw me when reminders of my mom hit me out of the blue.
People mean well, but they don’t always think about what they’re saying or how tributes like the one here will affect others.
I learned how to go on. You have to as well. ”
Go on? He had no right. “I don’t know how.”
“Part of it is going out like you are tonight, but if you want to leave, I’ll make our excuses and meet you outside.”
The coward’s way out. Some choice.
“Owen, Carly, there you are,” Cal called from the alley. “I was wondering if you were gonna stand us up.”
*
Once Cal spotted them, Owen felt leaving would create too many questions he didn’t want to answer. After joining Cal and Melissa, he and Carly were introduced to Kelli and Braydon, a couple who’d moved to Service five years ago.
“Please tell me you can bowl,” Melissa said to Carly. “We play guys versus gals. Losers cook for a week.”
“The guys have beaten us the last two months because Melissa’s pregnancy has thrown off her balance, and sent her average into a free fall,” Kelli, the petite blonde, said.
Cal draped his arm around his wife’s shoulder. “I spotted you pregnancy pins. After all, it’s not fair your average suffers because of our baby. Not every husband would do that.”
“You’re all heart,” Melissa said, her voice filled with sarcasm. “You gave me a lousy five pins.”
“We thought that was fair. What do you say, Owen?” Braydon asked.
“Five pins, Owen. That’s all it was, but my average is down over ten.” Melissa scoffed.
“Leave me outta this,” Owen said.
Thankfully the discussion turned to talk of preparing a nursery. “You wouldn’t believe all the stuff babies need.”
As he headed toward the lane for his turn, Braydon said, “He keeps complaining he’ll need a second job to pay for it all.”
“I keep telling him not to panic. We’ll get a lot of things at a baby shower,” Melissa said.
With them alone, Cal leaned toward Owen. “While they’re talking baby stuff and it’s just us, tell me what it was like going in after the SEALs rescued those hostages.”
Owen’s throat tightened. Memories clawed at him, reaching out from the midnight darkness threatening to drag him down. Why did people think he’d want to talk about the worst experience of his life?
His brain short circuited the harder he pressed to find the words to respond without saying anything. Resisting the urge to press his fingers against his throbbing temples, he instead lifted his beer bottle and took a long drink. Sweat broke out on his forehead, and he felt himself splintering.
“Oh, no you don’t,” Carly said in a high-pitched, overly feminine, displeased tone that cut through the shadows spreading in his head.
When she appeared beside him, Owen stared at her in relief.
“If Owen starts telling deployment stories, who knows what that’ll lead to.
” She playfully swatted Caleb’s arm and pouted.
Carly pout? What was she up to? Then it hit him. She was running interference for him.
“I know what’ll come next.” Kelli crossed her arms over her chest. “They’ll be clustered together swapping stories, ignoring us.”
“She’s right,” Melissa agreed.
“We’re here to have fun and sharing war stories, talking strategies, and about old generals doesn’t come under that heading in my book,” Carly said.
“Next thing you’ll be telling us we can’t talk sports,” Cal grumbled.
“That’s fine,” Carly said.
The band around Owen’s head loosened as he stared at Carly, amazed at how easily she’d changed the subject and gotten him off the hook.
Thanks to Carly, the topic stayed away from his service, and a while later, the women held a slight edge.
“Carly, your turn,” Melissa said. “Now go up there and add to our lead.”
Kelli turned to her husband and grinned. “I’m so looking forward to not cooking this week.”
“Watch out. We’re fixin’ to mount a comeback,” Brayden countered.
“You need to do something,” Caleb whispered to Owen.
“Why me?”
“You brought the ringer.” Caleb hooked a thumb toward Carly.
Not about to be the cause of his friends losing and his competitive spirit kicking in, he waited for Carly to begin her approach. “Nice form, Maddux!”
She stumbled and slid over the foul line. When the buzzer sounded, she spun around, hands on her hips, her cheeks flaming his favorite shade of pink color as she tapped her foot in irritation. “Is that where we’re going? Stooping to distraction to win?”
“That wasn’t fair,” Kelli added.
“All’s fair in love, war, and bowling,” Caleb said.
“No one says that,” Melissa said.
“Ladies, they can try all the distractions they want.” Confidence in her stride, determination in her gaze, Carly stalked toward Owen, appearing tough enough to meet any challenge head-on, and sexy as hell.
Stopping a few inches from him, as his grandma Goldie used to say, she was about to fix his wagon.
“That ball had more hook than a crocheting club,” Owen teased.
Placing her hands on his chair arms, she leaned forward. Her warm breath fanned his skin. His breathing sped up. The crack of pins and the babble of voices faded. If he moved at all, he could cover her angry, pouty lips with his.
“Try whatever you want. It won’t work,” she said.
Her herbal scent teased his senses. He inhaled deeply, trying to get his fill. “I had to try. The guys blame me for bringing a ringer. If we lose they might jump me in the parking lot. You available to be my bodyguard?”
She tossed him a saucy grin and nodded toward his teammates. “They don’t look the beat-you-up type. Their style is to stick you with the bar bill.”
“Great idea, Carly,” Caleb said.
“And the nachos I’m fixin’ to order,” Brayden added.
Owen groaned. “There goes my savings.”
“Sounds fair,” Carly said.