Chapter 19
Jace
The group chat had been active all week. Mostly logistics about schedules and who was seeing Talia when, but also random observations and jokes that suggested we were actually becoming friends instead of just coordinating around a shared omega.
Hollis responded first: Bowling?
Yes. Bowling. Team building exercise.
Cassian: I haven’t been bowling since I was twelve.
Perfect. Neither has Hollis probably. We’ll all be terrible together.
Hollis: I’m not terrible at bowling. I’m adequately mediocre.
Cassian: This feels like a trap.
It’s not a trap. It’s three alphas learning to function as a unit by throwing heavy balls at pins. Very primal. Good for pack dynamics.
Hollis: That’s the worst justification I’ve ever heard.
Cassian: Agreed. But I’ll come anyway.
Hollis: Same. Though I reserve the right to complain about it.
Noted. 7 PM. Don’t be late.
I grinned at my phone, already looking forward to it. The coffee shop meeting had gone well, and we’d all been individually dating Talia without drama. But we needed time together without her there, building relationships that weren’t just about coordinating schedules.
Plus, I really wanted to see Cassian Black try to bowl. Something about his buttoned-up precision suggested he’d either be unexpectedly excellent or hilariously terrible, and either outcome would be entertaining.
Friday evening, I arrived at Hollow Creek Bowling at six forty-five to secure a lane and rental shoes.
The place was exactly as I remembered from high school.
Slightly run-down, smelling like floor wax and french fries, with cosmic bowling lights that would kick on after eight PM. Perfect low-stakes environment.
Hollis showed up at six fifty-five, looking bemused in jeans and a soft green sweater. “I can’t believe you talked me into this.”
“You volunteered. That’s different than being talked into it.”
“I volunteered under duress. Your text had very demanding energy.”
“That’s fair.” I handed him rental shoes. “Size eleven?”
“How did you know my shoe size?”
“I pay attention. Also, you mentioned it once when we were talking about hiking boots.”
Cassian arrived exactly at seven, because of course he did. He surveyed the bowling alley with the kind of analytical assessment usually reserved for property evaluations.
“This place is a fire hazard,” he said by way of greeting.
“This place is a Hollow Haven institution,” I corrected. “Show some respect.”
“I can respect it and acknowledge the fire code violations simultaneously.”
“Size twelve?” I held up rental shoes.
“Thirteen, actually.” He took them with obvious reluctance. “These are incredibly unsanitary.”
“That’s part of the charm. Builds character.” I led them to lane seven, which I’d specifically chosen for being away from the handful of other Friday night bowlers. “Okay, house rules. We’re doing individual scores, winner takes all. Most points after ten frames wins.”
“What are we playing for?” Hollis asked.
“Loser buys drinks at The Tap after.”
“Lowest score or highest?” Cassian was already analyzing the lane angles.
“Lowest score buys. So aim high, gentlemen.”
“Do we have to play for something?” Cassian was studying the ball return like it might contain important secrets.
“All competition requires stakes. That’s how you ensure commitment to excellence.”
“Fine.” Hollis settled into the plastic chair. “Loser buys drinks at The Tap after.”
“Deal. Cassian, you agree to these terms?”
“I agree to nothing until I understand the rules fully.” He’d found a fourteen-pound ball and was testing its weight. “How does scoring work?”
“You knock down pins, you get points. Knock down all the pins in two tries, that’s a spare. Knock them all down on the first try, that’s a strike.” I demonstrated the basic approach. “Like this.”
My ball curved slightly left and took out seven pins. Respectable but not impressive.
“See? Easy.” I retrieved my ball for the spare attempt and knocked down the remaining three pins. “Your turn, Hollis.”
Hollis approached the lane with careful consideration, his ball rolling straight and true down the center. Nine pins fell. His spare attempt took out the tenth cleanly.
“Adequately mediocre, huh?” I said. “That was suspiciously competent.”
“I may have downplayed my abilities slightly.”
“Sandbagger. I love it.” I turned to Cassian. “Your turn. Show us what Princeton prep school bowling club taught you.”
“We didn’t have a bowling club. We had crew and lacrosse and activities that looked good on college applications.” But he stood, selected his ball, and approached the lane with intense focus.
His form was technically perfect. Textbook approach, smooth release, good follow-through. The ball rolled straight down the center of the lane in a mathematically precise line.
And went directly into the gutter six inches before the pins.
Hollis and I both stared.
“How did you do that?” I asked. “You had perfect form. That should have been a strike.”
“I don’t know. The ball didn’t go where I intended.” Cassian looked genuinely baffled, like the laws of physics had personally betrayed him.
His second attempt produced the same result. Perfect form, gutter ball.
“Okay,” I said, trying not to laugh. “So we’ve identified an area for improvement.”
“I’m analytically aware that the ball needs to go toward the pins,” Cassian said, frustrated. “The execution appears to be the issue.”
“Here.” Hollis stood and moved beside him. “You’re releasing too early. Watch Jace’s approach again.”
I demonstrated again, and Hollis pointed out the specific moment of release. Cassian studied this with the same intense focus he probably applied to contractor negotiations.
His third attempt knocked down five pins.
“Progress!” I celebrated perhaps too enthusiastically. “You’re doing it!”
“I only knocked down half the pins. That’s definitionally not doing it.”
“It’s fifty percent more than you knocked down before. That’s statistically significant improvement.”
We fell into a rhythm. Hollis and I traded consistent scores, neither of us excellent but both competent. Cassian gradually improved from “disastrously terrible” to “endearingly bad,” with occasional frames where he’d surprise us all by getting a spare.
“This is humbling,” he said after his fourth gutter ball. “I’m accustomed to being good at things I attempt.”
“Everyone needs a humility hobby,” Hollis said. “Mine is gardening. I kill approximately thirty percent of everything I plant.”
“That’s actually a pretty good survival rate for plants,” I offered.
“It’s terrible. My grandmother would be horrified.”
By the fourth frame, we’d started talking about things beyond bowling.
Cassian asked about my ranger work, specifically about wildlife management protocols.
Hollis told us about a rare book collection that had come into the store.
I shared the story about the tourist who’d tried to take a selfie with a black bear cub and nearly got mauled by the mother.
“People are idiots about wildlife,” I said, retrieving my ball. “They see a cute animal and forget it’s a wild predator with no interest in being Instagram famous.”
“Same principle applies to business,” Cassian said. “People see a beautiful location and forget the ecosystem required to keep it that way. Then they’re surprised when their development destroys exactly what made the place valuable.”
“Is that what happened with your family’s project?” Hollis asked carefully.
Cassian was quiet for a moment, lining up his next throw. He knocked down eight pins this time, his best result yet.
“My family saw profit margins and property values. They didn’t see the watershed or the wildlife corridors or the community that had existed here for generations.
” He retrieved his ball for the spare attempt.
“I tried to explain it to my father. Multiple times. He said I was being sentimental and naive.”
“But you weren’t,” I said.
“No. I was being accurate about long-term environmental costs. But accuracy doesn’t matter when people are committed to a specific outcome.” He threw his spare attempt and actually got it, knocking down the remaining two pins. “Oh. That worked.”
“Yes!” Hollis and I both cheered, and Cassian looked surprised by the genuine enthusiasm.
“It’s just a spare.”
“Two in a row now. You’re on fire.” I ordered a round of sodas from the snack bar. “We’re celebrating your hot streak.”
We kept playing. Hollis maintained his steady competence. I had a few good frames and several mediocre ones. Cassian slowly, painfully improved through what I could only assume was sheer analytical determination.
“Question,” Hollis said during the seventh frame. “How are we actually doing with the pack formation? Beyond bowling, I mean.”
“Good, I think?” I knocked down seven pins. “My time with Talia has been great. And you two seem like people I’d genuinely want to be friends with.”
“Same,” Hollis agreed. “Though I was nervous about it initially. Three alphas coordinating around one omega seemed complicated.”
“It is complicated,” Cassian said. “But manageable if we communicate clearly and don’t let ego override common sense.” He paused. “Which is easier said than done, but I’m trying.”
“We’re all trying,” I said. “That’s what matters.”
“Can I ask something potentially awkward?” Hollis looked between us.
“How are we handling the physical relationship aspects? I know we discussed boundaries at the coffee shop, but that was theoretical. Now that we’re all actively dating Talia, how do we make sure nobody feels territorial or threatened? ”
Good question. I’d been wondering about that myself.
“Honestly, I haven’t felt territorial,” I admitted.
“I mean, I know you’re both seeing her romantically.
But it doesn’t make me want her less or feel like I’m competing.
If anything, knowing she has you both when I’m not always available because of my shifts makes me feel better about the whole thing. ”