Chapter 27 #2
After a moment, Mom pulls away from me, gently squeezing my shoulder. “Mrs. Helen and I will work in the kitchen. You man the front desk. You are better with computers. If anything comes up and we need your help, we’ll find you.”
As guilty as I feel for asking my mom to work when she should be enjoying her day doing her favorite hobbies, I’m also extremely grateful for her presence here. I lean down and press a kiss to her forehead. “Thank you, Mamá. And…” I pause. “I’m sorry I got upset with you. You were only trying to…”
She puts her hand up to silence me, then places it on my shoulder.
The squeeze she gives is enough to let me know that everything is all right between us, not to mention the way she’s looking at me as if she’s seeing me for the first time.
With one last smile, she and Mrs. Helen scurry off to the kitchen.
Having her here brings my anxiety down to a more manageable level, though it’s impossible to ignore.
I quickly fall back into my routine—constantly scanning the lanes, crossing names off the list, and making adjustments on the fly.
The first two hours are nonstop, a steady stream of traffic that keeps me on my feet and moving without pause.
By the third hour, the pace finally starts to ease a little.
There are still names on the waiting list and new customers trickling in, but I finally have a moment to catch my breath.
I still haven’t figured out why all these people woke up and suddenly became bowling enthusiasts, but I’m thankful for their patronage.
It’ll go a long way in being able to save up for bills.
My break doesn’t last as long as I would have liked because, a moment later, the bell above the doors rings again.
I try to hide my tired groan as I push myself off the wooden bench.
“Welcome to Spare Time; there’s a wait—” The words die on my tongue when I look up and see a familiar face.
And yet, I don’t think I’ve ever actually spoken with her.
She’s tall, maybe middle-aged, and pretty.
There’s an aura of entitlement around her, but it’s surprisingly not off-putting.
Her blue eyes—I swear I’ve seen them before—dart around the alley as if looking for something or someone.
Finally, they land on me, and her face brightens. “You must be Ezra.” She offers me her manicured hand, which I take. “You are exactly what I pictured. You have your mother’s eyes and your father’s jawline.”
My brow furrows in confusion. “You know my parents?”
“Oh, yes. You missed quite the party the other day. Your mother can throw back some pina coladas,” she laughs, “and your father, he was such a good man. I’m sorry about your loss. He was a great teacher. Got my son to love the game.”
I search her face for where I know her from—a Spare Time regular, a family friend, the USBC—but nothing comes up.
She squints slightly as she takes me in. “Ah, darlin’, you don’t know who I am, do you?” There’s a slight pout on her features, like she can’t possibly believe I’ve no idea who she is. There’s nothing arrogant in the way she asks, though.
“I’m sorry, ma’am. Should I?”
“You most certainly should. @ThorneyPins? I guess I’m also your new social media volunteer and guru for Spare Time.”
“Guru? We don’t have social—”
She waves her hand. “Now you do, sweetie. I’m—”
Before she can answer, the front door to the alley bursts open again.
A cluster of colorful balloons fills the doorway, completely hiding the face of whoever is carrying them.
One balloon breaks free, drifting lazily upward until it brushes the ceiling—where it hovers, slowly sinking as the helium inside fades over time.
“Ah, there he is now.” The woman beams, only heightening my confusion. “He was trying to tame the balloons when I got out of the car.”
The person holding the balloons jogs the small distance between the doors to the counter, nearly tripping over a wayward toddler who escaped from his mother’s lap. “Sorry!” a voice I recognize says.
My body tenses. Everything else around me fades to a dull ring, and time stops completely. I can’t think… can’t breathe, but my body moves on its own accord, pulled by an invisible rope connecting two people. I can’t focus on anything other than the hidden person behind the balloons.
It couldn’t be him.
I told him to go. Made him believe I didn’t love him or need him anymore. I watched the moment his heart broke—felt mine split right alongside it.
He should hate me. After everything I said, everything I did to push him away, he had every reason to disappear forever.
And yet…
I reach out. Or maybe the balloons part by themselves. It doesn’t matter. All that matters is the man behind the balloons. Eyes that have seen deep into my soul and never shied away. Lips that have kissed me like I’m the only man worth kissing.
Truett.
Truett’s here… with balloons?
I don’t care what he has with him, only that he’s fucking here.
There’s so much I want to say to him, so much I need to apologize for. Except when I open my mouth, nothing comes out. Not a sound. It’s pathetic.
But Truett doesn’t seem to be struggling the way I am. He stands before me, a small, hesitant smile tugging at his lips—shy and unsure, like he’s not convinced he belongs here. His gaze flickers around the room before settling on me.
“If you want me to leave, I will,” he says quietly, voice gentle.
“But I couldn’t stay away without saying this.
” He steps forward and holds out the large bouquet of balloons, their strings trembling slightly in his hand.
They have a weight tied to them, so when he lets them go, they stay in place.
“I’m so happy for you, Ezra. You worked so hard for this, despite it not being your dream.
You earned it. Congratulations.” His words are sincere, warm—but there’s something fragile beneath them, like he’s bracing for me to shut the door in his face.
I hate how he’s looking at me, but once again, that’s my doing.
Taking my silence as rejection, Truett loses his smile, stuffing his hands into his pocket. “Anyway, I’ll go. I just wanted to congratulate you for winning the bid for the tournament. I’m so happy—”
“What?” The word scrapes out of me, rough and disbelieving. My body goes still, every muscle wound tight like it’s bracing for a blow. “We… we won it?”
This wasn’t my dream—it was my last shot.
A desperate hope that hosting the tournament might bring in enough money to keep the alley alive.
To keep me from watching those I love fall apart.
For a second, I wonder if this is a joke.
Some twisted payback for the way I ended things.
It would make sense; I’ve been dodging my emails and everyone’s calls for the past couple of days, shutting myself away and hoping the rejection wouldn’t affect me as much.
But the moment I look at Truett—really look—I know better. His eyes are steady, sincere.
Truett would never dangle something like this in front of me unless it was real, even with the pain I’ve caused him.
Which means…
It worked.
I did it. We did it. And he came here to tell me.
“You didn’t know?” Truett’s eyes widen, but I don’t answer him. I can’t. I don’t think Truett would lie to me, but I need to see the proof for myself.