Chapter 8
“Ithought you wanted to walk the perimeter and take notes?” Ezra raises a brow.
“I’ve changed my mind.” Something comes over me, and I twirl myself around and grab the back of the chair I was sitting at. “I do that a lot. I’ll try to reel it in.”
Ezra lets out a nervous laugh before I continue, “I think we need to get out of here and check out another bowling alley. I mean, have you ever been to another alley? Checked out your competition? Judged their place? It’s like Pinterest in real life, giving you tons of decor and aesthetic ideas.”
“I spend enough of my time in this bowling alley. Why on earth would I ever spend my free time at another one?” He shakes his head. “Also, I didn’t peg you as a Pinterest kind of guy. It’s where I get all my best art ideas.”
“Peg me?” I smile, knowing what I said may have been a little too forward.
Ezra rolls his eyes but returns a soft smile. “Alright, alright. We can go, but I’ll need to close down…” He pauses and pulls out his phone. “Shit! I lied again.”
“What now?”
“We do have a reservation today. We have a retirement party from six to nine tonight. I can’t close down the center. It’s a party of twenty, and I can’t lose out on that money.”
The feeling is bittersweet. Knowing the alley has a big reservation makes me happy, but part of me was looking forward to exploring a little—especially with Ezra. To get to know him better, of course.
“Do you think your mom could—” I close my mouth after seeing his eyes light up.
“I do know someone who wouldn’t mind helping me out if I asked. I’ll need to pay him back the favor, but I’m sure what he’ll want in return will be a win-win for the both of us.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah, Damien. He’s a good guy.” He smiles before it fades. “He actually used to work here a year ago. We had to let him go after Mom and I realized we couldn’t afford another staff member. It was hard, but he understood.”
“A good guy? That’s good. We like good guys.” The words come out sharper than I intend.
“We have a lot in common.” His smile returns. “Damien lost his dad when he was younger. When Dad died, I confided in him, knowing he understood some of what I was going through.”
“That was kind of him.”
Very kind of him, actually.
The pit of my stomach rumbles a little.
Is it—? No. It can’t be.
…Maybe.
I don’t know, but what I do know is it’s not from the pizza.
“He’s also the owner of the tattoo parlor in the plaza.
He took over the shop from his uncle six months ago after his uncle moved to Dallas to expand the franchise.
Damien’s more of a free spirit really, so I’m not sure he’s doing exactly what he wants to do with his life.
He’s a fantastic artist, but his heart isn’t really into being a business owner.
He sort of just… fell into it… like I did with the bowling alley.
” Ezra pulls out his phone, and when he speaks again, there’s a spark in him.
“He sometimes lets me help out around the parlor in the evenings.”
If I didn’t know any better, the idea of spending evenings at the tattoo parlor seems to energize him.
He finds the number, taps his screen, and within seconds, another voice answers on the other end. “Damien—hey, man. How you doing? You busy tonight?” He looks at me and throws his fist over his shoulder, thumb angled across the alley, and walks away.
On the table where I left my phone, the screen lights up not a moment later. The image that flashes across it tells me exactly who it is—Thanos, one of the greatest villains of all time. It’s also the picture I set for when my father calls.
I’ve missed several calls from him today. Although, I’m not sure missed is how I should define it. It’s more like avoided. He has no clue where I’ve been since I’ve been home. In fact, I’m surprised he hasn’t put a tracker on me yet to see if my time is being spent working out or practicing.
I reach across and grab it reluctantly. “Good afternoon, sir.”
“Truett,” he answers. “I’ve been trying to call you. Something must be wrong with your phone.”
“Yes, I don’t have good service here… at the gym. What’s going on, Dad?”
“There’s a tournament in Albuquerque. It’s not a qualifier for the USBC Championship, but it could be another notch on your winning belt. A way to intimidate the others and size up potential opponents for the championship.”
His proposition doesn’t sound as demanding as usual, so I take my chance to back out before I lose it. My voice wavers slightly. “I don’t know, Dad. I wasn’t planning on competing in any—”
“Not planning on competing?” he cuts in. “What are you going on about? Is this what your mother meant when she said you were thinking about settling down here? I didn’t realize that meant giving up your entire career. Is that what you’re telling me, son?”
“Uh—no.” I swallow. “I just wanted a little break. I’ve been on the road for two years, Dad.”
“And from what I can tell, you’ve been doing nothing since you got home.
If you’re not going to compete and win these easy titles—especially the local ones, since you, what, want to settle down—then why did your mother and I spend all that time and money making sure you had everything you needed to be the best? Was it all for nothing, Truett?”
My grip tightens around the phone. “I’ve been checking out bowling alleys. Like you wanted me to. I don’t see what the big deal is about skipping a few small tournaments.”
“These small tournaments,” his voice sharpens, “are how you improve. And I asked you to visit one damn alley. C’mon, Truett.
You don’t have nearly as many titles as I did at your stage.
That’s a problem. Why give up on the momentum now?
You’ve trained for this; you’ve worked so hard.
This is your life. You need to accept it. ”
“But I—”
“You’ll sign up for Albuquerque, and that’s final.”
I want to end the call so badly, but I know hanging up will only make things worse. So, I force out a defeated, “Okay.” As soon as I say it, I pull the phone away and tap the screen. No goodbye. Not anything. Just me, standing there, seething.
Trying to shake some of the tension, I drop into a quick set of jumping jacks—just three reps—hoping to burn off some of the stress caused by every single one of my father’s words.
If I can’t say no to my father for some non-qualifying tournament, how am I ever going to tell him I can’t compete in the biggest championship game of the year?
And even worse—I’ve already volunteered to help Ezra, and I’d be breaking the one rule that could force the USBC to disqualify Spare Time as its host.
It wouldn’t be the only thing I’d be breaking either. I’d break the one promise I made to Ezra. He’d be so upset—so let down. All for what? A title that doesn’t even matter to me?
Ezra’s voice breaks me from my spiral. “Damien doesn’t have any appointments this evening, so he’ll be here in about fifteen minutes. He’s going to close up the alley tonight too, so we’ll have all night.”
“That’s great.” My voice comes out flatter than I intend. I force a lighter feeling into place, making sure he knows this sudden shift in mood isn’t about him—or about this other good guy. “Well, great for us. It sucks for him that he doesn’t have any customers tonight.”
“He’s so chill about it. I traded for some volunteer time in the parlor next month.” His smile is even brighter than it was before. Is there more to this good guy than he’s letting on?
“You must love being at the tattoo parlor?”
“You can say that. Like I said before. It’s a win-win.”
Fifteen minutes later, a guy walks in—one I assume is Damien.
He’s average height, with a toned, athletic build.
His skin is warm bronze. His black hair is short on top, shaved clean on the sides, grown out just enough to look effortless but strategically styled.
There’s ink along his forearms and across the backs of both hands—all the way down to his knuckles.
More ink, a spiderweb sprawled across his kneecap, peeks out from the holes in his ripped jeans.
He carries himself like he hasn’t been in a rush in over a decade, strutting to the counter, earphones in, humming along to something screeching in his ears.
There’s a free-spirit vibe radiating from him—not reckless, but confident—like he knows what he wants and goes after it when the mood hits.
He sees Ezra behind the register, tilts his chin and grins. “Just like old times.”
“Don’t get used to it. I still can’t afford you,” Ezra says, his tone easy, familiar. His guard is down more than I’ve ever seen. A twinge of envy tightens in my throat as I step forward to introduce myself.
“But seriously, thanks for stepping in, man. I’ll make sure you get a few bucks for your time. You remember how to close down?” Ezra fishes the alley keys from his pocket.
“Count down the register, shut everything down, and lock up. Not too hard, tonto.” Damien winks—a gesture that confuses me even more. How am I supposed to feel about him, or even allowed to feel?
“Hello.” I step up from behind them.
“Damien,” Ezra waves toward me, “this is Truett Thorne. He’s helping me fix up a few things around here. Truett, this is Damien.”
Damien turns toward me and extends his hand. “Nice to meet you. Your name sounds familiar.”
“Are you a fan of professional bowling?”
He laughs. “Is anyone a fan of professional bowling?”
Ezra gently slaps his shoulder. “Hey now, Truett is a very, very well-known athlete. It’s not his fault no one around here subscribes to the ESPN Bowling channel.”
They cackle together, and I force a laugh along with them. As my expression fades, I see I’m watching something I didn’t realize I was looking for when I offered my help to Ezra.
A friendship?
Maybe something more?
For so long, I’ve felt something’s missing.
I thought I missed being home. Or having stability.
Or a connection. Whatever it was, I’ve never felt complete.
My whole life, I’ve been focused on winning and becoming one of the greatest players ever.
If a relationship has the power to make me feel whole, why not try to find one?
It’s just…I’ve been out of the dating game for so long, I wouldn’t even know where to start.
The chemistry between Ezra and Damien is easy. It's clear they aren’t involved—romantically, at least. Or maybe they are? I’m honestly not sure. But I am positive Damien gives Ezra something not a lot of people can.
A mutual understanding.
“I’m just punking you,” Damien says. “It’s nice to meet you, Truett. It’s cool we have a local hero around here. Might bring in some business to the plaza. Am I right, Ez?”
“We’ll see.” Ezra shifts toward Damien. “So, any small jobs for me over at the parlor?”
Once again, the thought of the parlor makes him light up.
“Don’t you worry.” Damien reaches over, unclips the nametag from Ezra’s shirt, and sticks the pin through his. “You’ll have plenty to do next month, working off your debt. Now, I hear you guys are…going out tonight?” He raises a brow at me.
My voice tightens. “I wouldn’t say—"
“Not on a date,” Ezra cuts in, face reddening. “It’s for research. Thought I told you…”
Damien chuckles and gently punches Ezra across the shoulder.
I watch, noticing again the comfort between them.
I can’t place why it stings, even if it’s a little.
I’m not supposed to feel anything for Ezra.
It wasn’t even a factor in my motivation to help with Spare Time.
But a part of me wants to see if his smile, the one that brightens when he feels safe, could ever be for me.
“I’m playing, Ez. You guys head on out. Do your thing. I’ll be fine here. You said this was a retirement party, right?”
Ezra throws his jacket across his shoulders before rubbing the one Damien used as target practice. “Yeah, but if you’re looking for new customers, I’m afraid the people coming in tonight won’t want ink. I don’t know if their wrinkled skin would hold up with your tattoo gun.”
“Not at all. But you know I’ve been looking for a silver daddy.” Damien laughs hard. “I’m tired of working, dude.”
“Please don’t fuck any of my customers, Damien. You may not be looking for new patrons, but I can’t lose any of mine.” Ezra laughs, then turns to me. “You ready, True?”
I nod, a little caught off guard by the sudden use of a nickname, and even more by how much I actually like it. I follow behind him as we make our exit. I’m not sure what to expect from our little outing—our not a date—but I hope we find something that will spark some new life into Spare Time.
Or even into whatever this new relationship is with Ezra.