Chapter 17 #2
“That is—” The anger that quickly washes over me vanishes. “Actually, that’s pretty accurate.” The thought hadn’t crossed my mind, but now that he says it…
“Yeah, so she wanted me to make sure you didn’t use the check for that. I added a few extra dollars and put the order in my name.”
“So, she wants you to babysit my money and tell me how to spend it?” I ask, deadpan, not sure how I feel about that.
Truett’s eyes widen, his cheeks growing a deeper shade of red.
“No! No, that’s not it at all. She wanted me to…
” He struggles to find the right words. Soon, defeated, his shoulders slump.
“Actually, yeah. That’s exactly what she wanted me to do.
I’m sorry, I know I should have asked you.
I thought it would help take some of the stress off you. Are you mad?”
Am I upset? Anger is typically my default emotion, seeing as how much pent-up frustration I keep locked away. But I wouldn’t even have taken the chance on the alley if it wasn’t for Truett and his need to fix up a place he loved as a child. He wants to see it shine brightly again.
“No, I’m not upset,” I say honestly, watching the visible tension leave his body. He offers me a shy smile, which I return. “But that doesn’t explain who these people are.” I gesture to the woman ordering around the movers.
“Oh! This was your mom’s idea. She wanted me to help her find people to take away junk and deliver the new furniture. We were on the phone last night—”
“You were on the phone with my mom?”
“Yes, but—”
“How did she get your number?”
“Actually, she gave me hers, and I called. Stop interrupting so I can finish, okay?” He tries to be stern, but it doesn’t have the desired effect.
Still, I nod and allow him to continue. “Anyway, yes, we were talking last night about new tables and chairs to spruce up the arcade. She found a great deal at this place called Harvey’s, and we couldn’t pass them up. ”
I’m not sure if I want to call my mom up and scold her for going behind my back or kiss Truett because this man truly has the alley’s best interest at heart.
I do the latter. It doesn’t matter that we are in the arcade and that we could be caught.
It should, but it doesn’t. None of that matters as I take his head between my hands, pulling him to me until my lips meet his.
He gasps before melting against me, arms snaking around my hips. My tongue flicks out, tracing his bottom lip. Truett opens for me, and I claim his mouth. I kiss him with wild abandon, as if no one’s in the room but us.
But I’m the one who told him we couldn’t kiss in the alley, and here I am going back on my own rule. Reluctantly, I force myself away from him, savoring the taste of his lips. I force myself to step back, putting some much-needed distance between us.
Then someone clears their throat from behind us, shattering the illusion.
The woman from Harvey’s stands behind us, giving me an awkward wave.
“Not to interrupt, but are we good to take the barstools too? They look like they are about to collapse with a gust of wind. I’m pretty sure Mrs. Jiménez bought three new ones. ”
“Yes, that’s fine.” My voice comes out gruffer than I mean it to.
“Great. Because one already broke. We’ll get this stuff hauled, mop and vacuum the area, and then set up the new furniture. Can we use the dumpster out back to discard the boxes?” she asks.
“Yeah, that’s fine. Use the door in the back to get to it,” I say, and she offers me a thumbs-up before finally leaving.
Truett lets out a soft chuckle before effortlessly hopping onto the counter, settling himself on the edge.
His gaze drifts toward the Glasgows. Mr. Glasgow has just rolled a straight gutter ball, yet his wife cheers him on with unwavering enthusiasm.
Truett’s smile fades as he watches them, his expression turning contemplative, lost in thought.
I didn’t think it was possible, but some of his shine dims.
“Is everything okay?” It’s a dumb question to ask because clearly something isn’t okay. “I mean…do you want to talk about it?”
Truett tears his gaze away from the Glasgows and sighs. “Nothing bad. I just got a text this morning from my dad. He registered me for another tournament for tomorrow.”
“Another one? I thought you—”
“It’s in Dallas.”
“But I thought that’s where the qualifier for the championship is being held? You said you weren’t going to compete—”
“I’m not,” Truett speaks up. “Well, I have to compete in Dallas, but—”
“You don’t have to compete at all.” The words come out fierier than I intended.
“You getting closer and closer to the championship puts us closer and closer to being found out. They might disqualify Spare Time if they realize you helped me fix it up. Especially with your name attached to this big furniture delivery.”
“Look, I’m sorry. He apparently registered me a while ago, and I had no clue.
Even if I win, I don’t have to register for the National Championship.
The good news is, registration for that doesn’t start until there is a clear winner of the qualifier, so my dad can’t go behind my back and register me for the Nationals without me knowing.
” He looks at me, placing his hand on my shoulder.
“I promise. I won’t let this happen again.
I won’t compete in the Nationals. I’m not going to let Spare Time get disqualified. ”
“I appreciate that.” I give myself a moment to take it all in.
I don’t know Mr. Thorne personally, but I don’t like what I’ve heard about him and the expectations he places on his son.
That kind of pressure would crack anyone, and yet he has been under his father’s magnifying glass his entire life.
“Are you at least excited about the match?”
He shrugs. “I guess? I mean it’s definitely going to be a tough match. The matches before the final championship are always extra challenging because of what's at stake. But my father makes it feel like life or death. Like if I don’t win, I may as well dig my own grave.”
“That sounds intense.”
“Yeah, I guess it wouldn’t be too bad if he actually encouraged me once in a while.
But he just watches me to pick apart everything I do because it’s not how he’d do it.
Winning isn’t enough for him. I have to be perfect in every aspect.
But again, even if I win, I will turn down Nationals and let the runner-up take the spot. ”
It’s strange so quickly after meeting him, but I believe every word he says.
Although I can’t fully grasp the immense pressure Truett is under, I do understand what it feels like to live according to someone else’s dream.
It’s just as daunting as carrying a weight that was never meant for you.
There’s a deep sense of obligation, an unspoken duty to uphold our fathers’ legacies, even when they conflict with our own desires.
No matter how much we might long to break free, that responsibility lingers, refusing to be ignored.
Guilt is the price we pay for trying to walk our own path.
Sometimes it’s so heavy it feels easier to just do what others expect of us.
A contemplative silence falls between us as we watch Harvey’s crew carry in new round tables and sturdy chairs. Admittedly, these are way better than what we had before and will give the arcade a fresh, sleek look it desperately needs.
Harvey’s crew doesn’t stop there. Once the arcade furniture is in place, they move on to the kitchen, swapping out the worn-out appliances for top-of-the-line upgrades. I’m most excited for the new deep fryer that doesn’t look like a fire hazard and isn’t at risk of blowing up each time I use it.
“Sorry to burden you with it all. I just wish my dad would be there to cheer me on, you know? I feel like I’d do better with a little bit of encouragement. Who wouldn’t, right?”
Before I can respond, Truett pushes himself off the counter and plasters a forced smile on his face. I’ve noticed he does this when he wants to avoid hard feelings.
“Enough woe is me, though. Let’s take a walk and see what projects we can realistically get done before the USBC guys come back.”
I let Truett pull me off to a part of the alley he thinks we should spruce up, but I barely register what he’s saying.
Because a new thought has taken form in my mind.
Something that will either make me look like the world’s best boyfriend—not that Truett and I are dating—or a complete loser. But it’s a chance I’m willing to take.
I just hope it doesn’t blow up in my face.