Chapter 4
Ileft Spare Time almost an hour ago, and I still can’t stop thinking about what a disaster my favorite bowling alley has become.
I know I’ve been away from Pflugerville for a long time, but it’s crazy to think someone would run their family’s establishment that far into the ground.
I hate to blame Ezra for its downfall, but it’s pretty obvious he doesn’t care about the alley as much as his old man did.
I still can’t believe Mr. Jiménez is gone.
He was the definition of a fixer. You’d never know when something was broken or off, because he always had an answer for everything—the jammed pin elevator, the worn-out gear on the pinsetter turret.
I wasn’t just an everyday customer. He took me under his wing, showed me what was behind the pin deck, and what to watch for in competition.
It wasn’t about getting ahead, like my father makes it.
It was about truly understanding how to care for something you take pride in.
As soon as I step up onto the front porch, I see a package by the doorstep. When I bend down to pick it up, a bowling shoe tumbles out of my duffel bag wrapped around my shoulder. I must have put the rentals in my bag by mistake, thinking they were mine.
Fuck.
The front door swings open. My mom stands there, an excited smile across her face. “Honey! You’re home!” She lets out a squeal that could alert the neighbors two blocks away. “Come in, give your ma a squeeze. Oh, I’ve missed you, baby.”
Still holding the small package in one hand, I wrap my arms around her, taking in the rich amber and floral scent of her signature Baccarat Rouge 540. “I missed you too, Mom. How are you managing to look younger every time I see you?”
“Oh, stop! Just like your father, always trying to suck up to me. I don’t hate it though. Keep it coming.” Our embrace unravels before she takes the package from my hand. “Oh my god! Is that my new immersion blender?”
“It’s addressed to Rachel Thorne, aka @ThorneyPins. How many packages have been sent to you this week?”
“Just one. I’ve been trying to stay up on my morning meal replacement shakes.
I’ve put on a couple extra pounds since your father’s retirement, so he recommended a recipe he thought I could try.
This home appliance company reached out and asked to partner with me on my social media, so I said what the hell.
I agreed to pin this blender across all my accounts. ”
In seconds, she tears open the box with the effortless ease of a high-profile influencer who makes her coin in promotional gifts. “And, unlike your father, you can help your dear young mother stage photos while using this. Oh, I’m so glad you’re home.”
When she turns and walks farther into the foyer, the diamonds in her earlobes sparkle in the light bouncing off the crystal chandelier. “Come on in, darling. Don’t forget to take off your shoes!”
Retirement?
“Excuse me,” I do exactly what she has always told me to do when I enter her home, “but did you say dad’s retirement?
I know he hasn’t competed in a tournament in about five years, but I didn’t know he has decided to officially call it quits.
When was this?” My brows pull in as I follow her into the kitchen.
She stays silent for a bit before she speaks up. “I thought he would have told you by now. He’s been retired for a couple years, but he’s planning to make his official announcement at this year’s USBC Championship. You know your father. Always wants to make a spectacle.”
A spectacle? That’s about right. Maybe that’s why he’s pushing me to dig into the USBC’s hosting decision. Staying close to home when he announces his retirement lets him control the narrative, and with the right inside information, he can shape how people here in central Texas remember his career.
“I don’t know how you do it.” I take in a deep breath.
She softens, her head tips to the side, and she gives me a familiar look for when she doesn’t quite follow.
“I just don’t understand how you’ve made it so far with Dad. He just…” My jaw tightens as my teeth press together.
“Frustrates you,” Mom finishes my sentence.
“I know, sweetie. I don’t understand why he’s not always honest with you, or why he expects so much from you.
That’s always been the case, no matter how much I intervened.
But he does love you. I just don’t know if he sees how stressful his love feels sometimes. ”
I give her a small nod.
She doesn’t usually make excuses for him, but strangely enough, she always makes me feel like her apologies come from both of them.
It’s why I can always count on her to help me through the disruption he causes.
She’s presented with the same Brett Thorne as me and the rest of the world, but she doesn’t give in to him.
She meets him head-on and leaves him playing by her rules.
My hero.
“Also, before I forget, I saw those bowling shoes in your bag. They look kind of ratty. Do you have any new endorsement deals I should know about? Should I reach out to Dexter Bowling to see if they want to partner with ThorneyPins? We can get you some new shoes. I would just need to make a couple posts with you wearing them.”
I breathe out a heavy sigh. “No, Dexter already sent me some six months ago. The shoes in my bag aren’t mine.
I forgot to return them to the counter at Spare Time.
I need to go back, but now I run the risk of embarrassing myself in front of the new owner.
What professional bowler takes a neighborhood alley’s shoes? ”
I press my lips together. Moron.
She looks up, her curiosity pulling into focus. “What happened to Mr. Jiménez?”
“You didn’t know?” I shoot her a look, half surprised, the other half easing with the thought that she would’ve told me if she had. She knows how much I looked up to him. “Mr. Jiménez died last year.”
“Oh no!” She rushes over to me from the other side of the kitchen counter and pulls me into a tight hug. “I’m so sorry, Truett. I can’t imagine how you felt when you found out. Mr. Jiménez was such a good man.”
I squeeze her back in thanks. “Since he’s been gone, his son, Ezra, has been managing Spare Time—and let’s just say—it’s evident he doesn’t want to be.”
“I haven’t been to that alley since…what? Since you’ve gone pro? It’s been so long. That’s sad.”
“Sad is the perfect word to describe it. I think he has good intentions, but I’m not sure Ezra knows exactly how to run the place.” My mom’s brow rises as I continue, “He’s kind of mean, definitely moody, and he doesn’t really seem invested in keeping the lights on.
“And speaking of lights—the lights on the sign out front were blown. The lanes were rough-looking, and I’m pretty sure I saw a couple of the pinsetters jacked up. You’d think someone with muscles and time on their hands would want to fix up the place his father left him.”
“Muscles?” She laughs. “That’s something to make note of.”
I press my lips together, wishing I could slurp the slip back where it came from.
“So, how big are we talking?” she eggs me on. “Enough to be attractive, I assume.”
I freeze. My mom’s unexpected comment repeats in my head about three times until I speak up, “Absolutely not. He seems like quite the little ass, if I’m being honest.”
“Speaking of, how is his ass?”
“Mom!” I recoil. “I don’t like him like that. I haven’t decided if I even like him at all! I just hope he’ll get his shit together. He said he wants to move forward with the application, so we’ll see.”
“Application?”
“Yeah. Spare Time, crazy enough, is in the running to host the USBC Championship this year. Mr. Jiménez put in an application for it to be considered before he passed away. It could give Spare Time, and this city, some much-needed attention, bringing people from our community back to the lanes. It could revitalize things around here like it was when Mr. Jiménez ran things.”
“Baby, I know your world has revolved around bowling for as long as you can remember, but I hate to break it to you. Bowling isn’t something that could revitalize a city.”
“Well… uh,” I stumble over my words, trying to find a more poignant rebuttal, “...it could.”
She gives me a small nod.
“Pflugerville needs the USBC to pick Spare Time.” I throw my hands on the counter. “Mr. Jiménez taught me so much when I was a kid. He gave back to this community in ways Ezra doesn’t understand. Safe, fun, and family-oriented activities are how communities thrive.”
“And you learned all that on the road? You sound like a politician.” Mom’s chin dips as she beams at me with an amusing grin.
“I’m serious, Ma!” I take a deep breath and slowly let out all the pent-up frustration bubbling inside.
Before long, I feel my nerves calming down.
“Also, while I’m at it, I think I’m done traveling.
I need to find my footing. I need to find…
someone to share a life with. I’ve made a career playing a solo game, and I’m tired of playing by myself. ”
“Oh, sweetie. Everyone masturbates.”
“Ma!”
She laughs at her joke harder than I would have. “In all seriousness, I totally understand what you’re saying.” Her laugh comes to a soft smile. “Life on the road is very lonely. I get it. More than you’ll ever know.”
“But you have Dad.”
“Yes, but who do you think stayed back when Dad was traveling between his competitions? It still gets lonely when you’re waiting for someone to come home, True.” She pauses. “A home isn't a place. It isn’t even a person. It’s a mixture of both.”
She reaches over and gives me a quick kiss on my cheek.
“Your life has been all about bowling. I’ve seen your passion for it.
I don’t know if that’s ever going to change.
But you’re also allowed to make room for something else.
I think it might benefit you to make a little more spare time for Spare Time, if you catch my drift? ”
“I’m catching it.” I nod. “I just want other people to experience what I did when I was younger. That place was my second home. If I had to learn how to be a bowler, I’m so glad it was there.”
“Well, if you want the USBC to choose Pflugerville so you can finally lay some roots, have you thought about offering to help Ezra fix up the alley? It can’t be in that bad of shape.”
“I did. I let him know I was interested in helping him. It’s not horrible, mostly cosmetic. Let’s just hope Ezra agrees to accept my help.”
“See, you’ll figure it out, sweetie.” She searches the junk drawer, and, after a moment, she finds a set of batteries and loads the blender she’s taken out of the box. Before she turns it on to test, she looks up at me. “You never answered my question, by the way.”
I stare at her, one of my eyebrows raised. Her eyes widen slightly as a smirk tugs at the corner of her mouth, betraying her amusement. A sudden hint of mischief in her expression tells me exactly what question I left unanswered.
“I’m not going to tell you what I think about Ezra’s ass, Ma.”
She nods and lets her smile unravel. “Can you blame a girl for trying?”
I shake my head, roll my eyes, and give in to her banter, letting out a small laugh. Mom and I are close, but we’ll never be that close.
Suddenly, the creak of the front door draws my attention, and my dad walks in, confident and self-assured.
He calls out, “Rachel! I’m home! I saw the Mustang in the garage.
Is Truett here?” His heavy footsteps echo through the hallway toward the kitchen.
With each step, he leaves behind a dirty footprint on the hardwood floor.
“Honey, I’ve asked you numerous times to take your shoes off before you come into my house.” My mom reaches for the paper towels.
“Good thing I paid for these floors.”
Mom rolls her eyes and gives it back to him. “And I picked out the most expensive kind, didn’t I? Watch your tone with me, or I’ll use your credit card to get them redone.”
“You’re right, hon. Hand me the paper towels. I’ll clean it up.”
It’s not the first time, but it always confuses me to see how soft he gets with her. I begin to greet him, but he’s quicker. “It’s good to see you, son. Missed you around here. Excited to talk about all the upcoming tournaments. Did you meet the USBC boys today?”
I clench my jaw. “Hey, Dad. It’s good to be home. Yeah, they came to Spare Time today. They definitely caught the owner off guard.”
He furrows his brows.
“It was nice, though, being back in the lane where I got my start.”
“Your start? You practiced there, but I wouldn’t say you got your start at Spare Time,” he grunts. “You developed the skills when I took you on the road with me.”
“That helped too.”
He scoffs, a corner of his mouth twitching.
“Anyway, my buddy said the USBC is also checking out Dallas. How about me and you take a drive tomorrow to see what that alley has to offer? One key to winning is knowing the atmosphere and location like the back of your hand. If other competitors aren’t familiar with the landscape, their accuracy reduces, and more mistakes can happen. ”
“Sorry, Dad. I have plans tomorrow.” With a curt response, I let his words linger in the air like a narcissistic cloud threatening to suffocate the room.
“Plans?”
“Yes. At Spare Time.” I reach over and give my mom a kiss on her cheek. Before leaving the kitchen, I turn and give my dad a nod. “Good night. I’m going to hit the hay.”
For the first time in two years, I’m going to sleep in my own comfortable bed and dream of what will hopefully welcome me back home.