Chapter 18 #3
I locate my rhythm once again. Frame by frame, I fight my way back into the game.
Blake, realizing his taunting efforts have dried up, isn’t parading his confidence around anymore.
He makes careless mistakes, even throwing two gutter balls back-to-back.
The lead he built is shrinking, and he knows it. The entire crowd knows it.
By the time we reach the final frame, it’s down to one last shot. I line up, exhale slowly, and let it fly.
The moment the ball hits, the crash fills the air. The pins explode, scattering in violent chaos. I flinch as the roar of the audience rattles up my legs and through my entire body.
I look at the scoreboard and see it laid out clearer than crystal. I rolled a strike.
I won. I beat Fisher. I’m the Southern Regional Champion.
The urge to run, to release all this energy, nearly takes over. Not because of winning, but because all I want is Ezra. It's like an invisible rope dragging me through the crowd, pulling me straight to him.
People clap me on the back, and hands reach out for high-fives. I even see a cameraman and someone with a microphone charging at me, but I barely register them as I push forward. And then I see him. I see those beautifully designed arms hanging loose by his side.
Without thinking, I grab him around the waist. He reads me instantly, jumping just as I lift, making it effortless to bring him up before gently taking him back down. I place my hand to his cheek, my thumb brushing over his skin to make sure he isn’t a dream.
“I can’t believe you’re here.” I’m breathless as I drop my hands to my side, realizing just how risky it is to be so affectionate with him at this moment. Representatives from the USBC could literally be watching us right now. “What made you drive all this way?”
Ezra shrugs, a faint blush coloring his cheeks. He wants to appear indifferent, but he’s nervous. It’s written all over his face. As if I’d be upset he’s here.
“You’ve done so much for me, True. I wanted to be there when you needed me too.
I know we’ve discussed you not competing for the good of Spare Time, but this is your life.
You should be able to compete when you want.
On your terms. When you told me yesterday about competing, I saw something in you.
You wanted to be here. I don’t want to be the person who holds you back from doing something you want to do.
” His neck bends just a little, and his eyes shine. “And I must say, that was…”
“Boring?” I cut in.
“No! Well, some of it,” he amends. “I was going to say riveting. The way you caught up and kicked that guy’s ass? Color me impressed.”
I arch a brow. “Just impressed?”
Ezra leans in, his lips pressed against my ear, and his voice drops an octave just for me. “Maybe a little turned on.” He winks, and suddenly, I can’t think of anything else I want to do right now besides ushering Ezra back to my suite. Alone.
“Take my key. The name of the hotel is on it. It’s about one block from here. Room 237.” I slide the key card into his hand, my fingers lingering for half a second longer than necessary. Ezra’s thumb brushes my knuckles, warm and grounding, before he curls his fingers around it.
His gaze drifts past me, his expression adjusting just enough for me to feel it. He’s spotted something—or someone—in the crowd, and whatever he sees sets him on edge.
I follow his line of sight, and my stomach tightens. My father is weaving through the crowd with a purpose.
“Why don’t you head out? I’ll catch up with you soon. I gotta handle something first.” I nod, reassuring him that I’ll be okay. With that, Ezra grips the key card a little harder, gives me a soft wink, and then slips away.
Not a second passes before my father’s half-assed congratulations reaches me from behind. “Not sure what you were doing mid-game, but I’m glad you got your head out of your ass. Good work, son.”
“Give me the key you have to my room, please.”
“Excuse me?”
“I said, give me the key you have to my room, please. I’m having a guest tonight, and I don’t want any intrusive, unwanted interruptions. So, again, give me—”
“Alright, alright, alright. Damn,” he grumbles, taking the key to my room—the one he requested from the concierge—out of his wallet and placing it in my hands.
“Thank you.”
“Son, before you go. You know you being gay has never been an issue with me or your mother, right?”
“Yes…” The word hangs as I wait for the point.
“That guy… the one you were flinging around like a rag doll a little bit ago…” He pauses as if carefully considering his next words. “Is he going to be a distraction come time for the USBC Championship?”
I hesitate at first, but then a flicker of mischief warms my face. “Maybe.”
His jaw drops. Good, he deserves to stew in his own anxiety.
“I have a ride home, so don’t wait for me. Give Mom a kiss goodbye for me.”
And with that, I grab my trophy off the announcer’s table, thank the crowd with a final wave, and make my way to Room 237 to celebrate the way I want to celebrate my win.
And this time, there will be no one to interrupt us.