Chapter Twenty-Four
Tizzy
Determined to get the full experience, I start in the newly patched and weed-whacked parking lot. Taking a deep breath, I step inside. The door swings open smoothly, and its faint creak is now more welcoming than eerie. To the left, the eight bowling lanes shine with a fresh coat of polish, their wood grain glowing under the warm light of restored hanging lights. The cracked vinyl seats have been replaced with new ones in cheerful retro colors—mustard yellow and burnt orange—just a bit of sentiment. You know, keeping it to the alley’s roots.
Those old duct tape travesties they dared to call pins now stand tall and bright, their scuffs lovingly smoothed over. A hand-painted mural above the lanes, a vibrant mix of stars and bowling balls, adds an old-school touch that draws the eye. I wanted to keep it classy, so manual scoring sheets sit neatly in small bins by each lane, with freshly sharpened pencils ready for use. The scent of mildew is gone, replaced by the comforting aroma of popcorn and nice, shiny wood polish.
“Looks like it’s been brought back to life,” Devon says, grinning.
I smirk. “Feels like stepping back in time.”
I’ve changed more than just the lanes. Now to the right, the counter has been carefully restored. The bowling shoes, cleaned and polished up real nice, now sit organized in tidy rows on wooden shelves, each pair labeled with a hand-stenciled size marker. The smell of fresh leather still lingers in the air, too. Behind the counter, the makeshift bar remains but with a few upgrades. The wooden bar top has been sanded and varnished to a rich shine, and the three stools are now freshly upholstered with vinyl in matching retro hues. Oh, and one of my biggest and best finds? A vintage tap handle shaped like a bowling pin stands out, while a small chalkboard menu hangs on the wall, offering up some simple goodies.
The arcade is a love letter to the past. The foosball table has been repaired, its rods straightened, and its handles replaced, ready for action. The pinball machines flash and ding all their restored and moving parts, their vibrant artwork cleaned and preserved under a glossy finish. The skeeball machine in the corner has been carefully patched up, too, even going as far as replacing the netting, and its lanes smoothed out for a perfect roll. The dim lights of the arcade area are strung with colorful string bulbs, giving it a soft, playful glow.
The entire space just seems to vibrate with life, not from rich and fancy updates but from a reverence for what it always was—a place for friends, family, and good times. It feels like stepping into a memory, but one that’s been given a second chance to shine like the lights of Memphis.
The space is packed with all the brothers and the old-timers, and the town has shown up in force, which is both a blessing and a curse. I love seeing the new faces in the space, but if tonight goes the way the guys are expecting… well, I just hope no one gets sucked into our drama and hurt.
Puttin’ on my best hosting face, I weave through the crowd, making sure everyone is having a good time, and notice all the little details I’ve spent the last few months pouring my blood, sweat, and tears into. After I make at least two full rounds, the sound of clinking glass draws everyone's attention to Devon, standing behind the bar, looking like he’s gearing up to give a speech… one of his least favorite activities.
“Welcome, Welcome. I hope you all came here to enjoy this great new addition to the town. There is one person and one person alone who should take credit for this unbelievable place. Tizzy girl, come on up here. Your boys got you something,” Devon announces, surprising the devil right on out of me. I bounce my way up in front of the bar to him.
When I get there, I see a white box on the counter by the register, and all the guys spread throughout the crowd. Devon hands me the box, and as I grab it, I see all the guys lift a beer in cheers for me. Without further ado, I rip open that lip and go to town. What I pull out has me gasping and tearing up. It's a bright pink bowling shirt with my name on the pocket. It even has glitter pear snaps!
“Turn it around, Lil’ Mama,” Devon says, and when I do, this time, I can't hold in the tears or the laugh that burst out of me. On the back, in big, bold letters, are the words “Owner, Operator, OFF-LIMITS.”
“Well, cross my heart and hope to fly sky high,” I say, taking it all in.
“What does that even mean?” I hear whispered somewhere behind me. I ignore it and, instead, hastily pull on my new shirt.
“Perfect fit! Thank you, thank you, thank you!” I screech, jumping into Devon's arms and placing a big, smacking kiss on his cheek. I’ll find the other guys and give them some special baked goodies as a thank you.
Pulling back from his grip, I turn to the crowd and yell, “Who’s ready to get this party up and grooving?”
“YEAH!!!” cheers ring up around the place, and I turn back to look at Crypt, who's got his laptop connected to the systems running the place. I give him a chin lift and shoot finger guns his way, my sign to let it rip. The lights dim, the streamers go on, and the speaker thumps Great Balls of Fire .
Everyone scatters, and the sound of pins being stacked and balls released takes over. Eek! This is really happening. I didn't think it would all come together like this, but I’m happy to see it come to life. I only wish my other family were here to see it. Not that this hasn't been one of the best days of my life, but the only thing that could have made it absolutely perfect was my girl being here.
I didn't even bring it up to Devon, but my feelings might have been showing on my face. I’m not sure, but I was surprised when he brought it up three nights ago.
“We can invite them if you want,” he said as I lay my head on his chest.
“It’s too dangerous for everyone involved. They need to keep their family safe, and I need to keep you all safe,” I tell him.
“I could figure it out. You know that,” he said softly, and I know he could, but I won't be the reason someone gets hurt.
After I told him that he let it go, I could still tell it wrinkled his peacock feathers a bit that he couldn't do this for me. I love him even more for that. I’ll just have to use him as Kevlar when Lyra finds out she didn't get the invite. As tough as Devon is, she might just be madder than a hornet in a honey pot and sting right on through him.
The sound of laughter and the satisfying crack of bowling pins fill the air. The grand reopening of the alley is officially a hit. Kids are darting around with shoes a size too big, couples share greasy nachos, and the clatter of skeeballs dropping into chutes mixes with the occasional triumphant whoop from a high score. It’s perfect. Nostalgic. Comfortable.
I lean against the bar, sipping a soda and taking it all in. The vision—my vision—come to life.
But then I see him.
At first, he doesn’t stand out much. He’s in the corner by the arcade, dressed in dark clothes, hood up, hands shoved into his pockets. He’s not playing skeeball or chatting like everyone else; he’s just…watching. His gaze roves over the lanes, the kids laughing near the pinball machines, the bar where I’m standing.
I brush it off. Maybe he’s just awkward, new to the area, or trying to work up the courage to join the fun. The alley’s packed with people from all walks of life tonight, so I let it go.
But an hour later, I see him again.
This time, he’s along the front counter, lingering near the shoes. His head turns sharply, eyes darting back and forth like he’s scanning the crowd. My stomach tightens. There’s something off about how he moves—furtive, like he doesn’t want to be seen but doesn’t care if he is.
I set my drink down and look for Devon. He’s somewhere in this chaos, probably playing foosball with the guys or joking around by the lanes. Before I find him, I glance back.
The guy is gone. And in his place, a black nylon backpack sits on the bar.
It’s not just the bag that grabs my attention. It’s the watch sitting on top—one of those bulky digital ones with a bright green display. Even from a distance, I can see the seconds tick down, faster than I think they should.
My breath catches in my throat.
I spin around, scanning the room for Devon or any of the boys again. My heart pounds in my ears. Where the hell are they? My legs feel like lead as I take a shaky step forward.
When I turn back to the bar, the watch is still there, counting down.