Chapter 16
Ezra shuts the door, and the noise from the party dulls to a faint hush, as if a barrier has settled between us and the rest of the world.
My nerves jump at the sudden quiet, pulse tapping against my ribs, but I shake it off.
I’m loving every second of this family barbecue—getting to know Ezra’s family, eating the kind of food people actually fight over, and the easy way everyone folds me into conversations like I’ve always been here.
It’s strange, though. I keep waiting to get something wrong—be told to mind my own business, say the wrong thing, or forget I don’t belong here.
No one in my life has ever passed plates around like this, bumping shoulders, debating over who makes the better sauce like it’s a joke instead of a one-up or a less-than-humble brag.
It’s always been about perfection, business, and competition with the Thornes.
Ezra acts like this is all normal, like I’ve already been part of it.
And for the first time in a long time, I feel like I might be. Like I’ve stepped into something bigger than me. Family.
And now it’s just us, alone in his room.
“The fact we were able to sneak up here without my mom and tías catching us is remarkable,” he says, tone falling flat.
I brace myself and take a seat on his desk chair. I wonder if what I’m about to say is more for him or me, but the question comes out before I can think about how it might sound. “Do you ever plan on moving out on your own?”
“One day.” He pauses, reaching for the blanket laid across his desk chair behind me. I lean forward, letting him lift it easier. “But right now, my mom needs me.”
“Why do you say that?”
Even with his usual tough exterior, there’s a softness in the way Ezra folds the blanket at the foot of the bed, like he’s always thinking ahead, always making sure the space around him is favorable for everyone else.
He seems to hesitate at my question, and just as I think he won’t answer, he speaks.
“My mom’s never been on her own. Yes, we have a big family, but they have their own stuff going on. With my dad no longer here… it just doesn’t seem right to leave her.”
There’s reluctance in the way he speaks, as if he’s not quite sure he wants to tell me all the details or even every excuse he can think of as to why she needs him here.
I stare deeper into his eyes. “What would happen if you did?” I ask quietly. “Left, I mean.”
He huffs a soft laugh, but there’s no humor in it. “I don’t know. Nothing good.” A pause hangs between us. “It’s not just her. It’s all of it.”
“All of what?” I push a little.
Ezra leans back and looks out the window. His gaze drifts past the yard like he’s looking at something farther away than what’s on his family’s property. “This life. The expectations. Everybody’s always waiting for you to do exactly what they want you to do.”
“That’s how I feel about bowling.” Now it’s my turn to pause.
“I know it’s not the same, but it feels like everyone just wants me to compete, to win.
But I don’t even know what I’m trying to win anymore, especially since what I want in life isn’t what they want. So, am I really even winning? For me?”
“Exactly.” Ezra lets out a breath. “Our purpose can’t always be to make our families happy.” Knowing the script has flipped a little, Ezra continues, “What would make you happy, Truett?”
Another pause, longer this time. It’s quieter.
I’m careful to even say anything. “I just… I just want something normal, you know?” I shrug, trying to make it seem like it doesn’t really matter what I want, but the hesitation in my voice gives it away.
“A place, a home that’s mine. People who aren’t keeping score all the damn time.
Not having to prove something every second. ”
Ezra’s hand reaches over and gently caresses my cheek. He mumbles, “You had a little sauce on your face.”
Even without a direct response, his touch assures me he completely understands.
I change the subject before lifting my plate of food from my lap and poking at the elotes. “So, does your family get together like this often?”
He thinks for a moment but then nods. “Like four or five times a year. On top of giving each other shit, we just love being around each other. Growing up, I didn’t really have anyone to play with besides mi primos, and if I didn’t want to talk to my parents about something, I only felt comfortable talking to mi tíos. ”
“Ah, that’s nice you had some family members to talk to.
” I let out a soft chuckle, remembering how my parents responded every time I had big feelings to share growing up.
“I love my mom, but she has always had a hard time understanding where I’m coming from.
She had the chance to choose this life for herself when she married my dad.
I always felt like I was born into bowling.
If you ask her, she’ll admit it took her a while to realize that I never had a choice, in the grand scheme of things.
“Growing up, when I tried to talk to my parents about something, they would stop me, offer to buy me something to make me feel better, and then end up suggesting I talk to my therapist, who was on call. We’d drive to an office for me to unleash whatever was bothering me that day.
My mom has changed over the years, thank god, but my parents weren’t… the most nurturing.”
“I could never. For much of the older generation in my family, therapy is so taboo. My parents would rather call the whole family to a we need to talk about Ezra intervention and then roast me enough until I felt better. I could never go to a complete stranger to talk about what was wrong. God forbid someone outside the family knew what the family tea was.”
“Oh, I bet that tea was piping too!”
“You have no idea.” He laughs. “But, no, I had a really great childhood. Great parents. Lots of support. I think that’s why I feel the need to stick around here. Keep running Spare Time.”
I watch Ezra as he talks, his voice more innocent than usual.
He doesn’t meet my eyes right away, just keeps picking at the frayed edge of a pillow laid across his lap, like if he lets himself stop, he’ll lose the nerve.
And I get it. I do. Because the more I learn about him, about his parents, about what Spare Time means to him, about the way he’s been carrying things alone for so long since his father died, the harder it is to pretend that what I feel is just the usual pull of attraction.
It’s not.
It’s heavier.
It’s greater.
It makes me want to fight even harder for the alley.
To make sure it gets chosen without question or complication.
I can’t be the reason it gets denied. Not after everything Ezra has done to drag it back to life, to make people care about it again.
The paint, the permits, the lights. Everything.
There’s already enough working against him without me and my stupid desire to kiss him being what ruins it all.
But that conflict can all go away if I just find the courage to not compete. I keep telling myself I don’t want to anymore, but why is it so hard to give it up? Am I lying to myself?
With that ambivalence, I keep my hands at my sides and make sure there is a space between us, even though every instinct I have is screaming to get closer to him.
I’ve never wanted to protect someone so badly.
Even from myself.
But he’s still right there. He’s staring at me now, like he wants me too. He’s close enough I can feel the pull of him like we’re magnets.
My arms ache; they’re restless, like the only thing that would make them feel alive is to reach for him, caress his entire body, and kiss every inch—
No.
I clench my hands into fists, stopping every urge to rip off my clothes. I have to.
“Truett,” he whispers before pushing the pillow to the floor, standing with his plate of food and edging the empty space between us. He looks at my plate lying freely across my lap. “Your food is getting cold.”
I spin the chair around and place my plate down on his desk.
Not a second after I do, I hear a similar clink behind me.
I spin back around to face Ezra, his plate on the table beside him.
His eyes are hungry but slightly resigned, like he knows what we both want can’t happen.
The only thing he’s biting on is his bottom lip.
And that’s it. Everything in me breaks. I’ll deal with the fallout later. I’ll fix it, or I’ll at least try as hard as I can.
I stand from the chair but don’t move forward just yet.
My fingers stretch against my jeans, restless.
I swallow eagerly, while my heartbeat drums throughout my chest. The space between us feels explosive, like it could ignite at any second.
I could pretend our hesitation means nothing, but at this point, I refuse to think he invited me to his bedroom for any reason but to ravage me.
I exhale, slow and measured. “Are we going to be those people who won’t be able to keep our hands off each other?”
His voice is pulsing and deliberate, like a gentle tease to pull me closer. “As long as it’s not in the alley, I guess we’ll have to see what happens.”
And that’s all the permission I need before I lunge for Ezra, my hands gripping the sides of his face as our mouths collide.
It’s like he was holding back, but suddenly a string was cut, letting us off our leashes.
His lips part automatically, and the kiss is full of heat.
The taste of him is rich and intoxicating, like cinnamon and something sweeter beneath it.
I feel myself press against the seam of my pants. Quickly. Forcibly.
I want more.
I need more.