Chapter 29
“You have to start thinking about yourself. And I’m going to make sure you do.”
Truett’s words replay in my mind as I desperately try to have the same confidence he has in me.
The thing is—and Truett knows this—I don’t think about myself.
I rarely put myself first. It’s always been about my family and what is best for them.
My own passions and dreams? I’ve pushed them aside for years, carefully locking them away to suppress them, as if that will help ease the ache of not pursuing what I truly want to do.
And now, faced with my opportunity to tell my mom the truth… I find I don’t have the right words. My body freezes, words lodged in my throat. My heart beats rapidly, and I wonder if anyone else can hear it, because it’s drowning out the sounds of pins crashing and the laughter of family.
A gentle hand touches the small of my back, and I shiver. Like that is the most intimate touch I’ve gotten from Truett, as if I didn’t just have his dick in my mouth moments ago.
Fuck, I can’t do this.
Everyone’s eyes are on me, boring into my soul. I shuffle uncomfortably, wishing a hole would open and swallow me whole.
“I, uh, will be right back.” Like a fucking coward, I make a beeline to the bathroom, weaving in and out of people. I open the door so hard it crashes against the wall with an echoing thud, causing the older man washing his hands at the sink to jump.
Something in my expression must spook him, because he hurries out of the restroom without even drying his hands.
The space falls silent again—no footsteps or voices.
The other stalls are empty. I rush toward the large stall at the end, my shoes echoing softly on the tiled floor.
Once inside, I slam the door shut and twist the lock until it clicks into place.
A moment later, the restroom door creaks open. I freeze, heart thudding.
I force myself to act natural, even as footsteps echo in the otherwise quiet room. I hope they’ll go away, but they don’t. Instead, they stop right outside the stall door.
“Ezzie? Baby?” Truett’s soothing voice reaches me, but it does little to stop the sudden panic overtaking me. I should have known he’d follow me, but I can’t seem to pull myself together. He’s seen me at my lowest far too often. I can’t make this a fucking trend.
“Be right out!” My voice is too loud, bordering on hysterical. I attempt to hype myself up, even though all I want to do is curl up in a ball and stay here the rest of the day. That would be preferable to telling my mother I don’t want to run the family business.
“Ezra, open the door.” His voice is gentle but firm.
I want to ignore him. But the looming sense of doom hanging above me is like a storm cloud threatening to consume me.
With budding clarity, I realize I don’t want to be alone.
My body shakes as I make it to the door, fumbling with the lock.
When it finally unlatches, Truett does the rest for me and pushes the door open.
He doesn’t even step inside before I fling myself into my arms.
“Ezra—shit, you’re shaking.”
The walls are closing in on me. I can’t think. Can’t breathe. Can’t—
“Baby, you’re having a panic attack.”
Is that what this is? Fuck, they suck. How does anyone live through this?
“I need you to breathe. Can you do that for me? Listen to my breathing and copy me. It’s just me and you, love.”
Truett demonstrates deep breathing. Long breath in. Long breath out. Repeat. I can’t seem to catch mine.
Too fast. Too loud. Too much.
Chest tight. Head spinning.
The room tilts. My fingers tingle.
But Truett keeps going. Steady. Calm. Grounded. In. Out. In. Out.
I try. Fail. Try again.
In. Out. Again. Slower.
Less jagged.
Heart still racing but not running.
Not breaking free.
Not yet.
“That’s it. You’re doing good.” Truett runs his hand up and down my spine, a loving, gentle caress that helps the anxiety go away. Everything goes away until it’s just him and I.
“I’m… sorry—”
“Shh,” Truett cuts me off, shaking his head. “Never apologize for a panic attack. I didn’t mean to spring that on you in front of your mom. I should be the one who’s sorry. It’s just that…”
Truett sighs, his hand dropping from my back, and I immediately miss his warmth.
He runs his hand through his hair, shaking his head.
“Like I said earlier, it pains me you don’t think your dreams are important,” he finally says.
“Because they are. You’re a good man, and you always put your family first. But your mother doesn’t love you because you take care of the alley.
She loves you for simply being you. No strings attached.
And I think it would hurt her to know her son isn’t pursuing his true passions. ”
“And what if this crushes her? Knowing I’m soiling my father’s name and what he worked so hard for? What if what I want brings her harm? What if it’s not good enough?” And there it is, my fears laid out for him to see. Of not being enough. Of disappointing those I love.
Truett’s soft hands cup my face, gently caressing my cheek.
“I think you’re making a lot of assumptions about a person who wants nothing but your happiness.
Your mother loves you. I understand this is hard for you, but you’ve done a lot of hard things over the last few weeks.
You can do this. Do it for yourself. You deserve it. ”
This man.
Fuck, I love him. No, love isn’t a strong enough word for how I feel about Truett. My feelings can’t be put into words. It’s scary feeling this way about someone, but scarier still is the thought of losing him.
I nearly lost Truett once because of my own fear. I won’t let that happen again. And if that means I need to speak with my mom, then so be it. Doesn’t make the feeling of wanting to throw up go away.
“I’ll talk to her,” I say at last. Truett grins, but before he can get too excited, I hold up a hand.
“I’ll talk to her once we close. And I want you with me when I speak with her.
Please.” It’s within his right to tell me no, but I hope he doesn’t.
This isn’t something I want to do without him. I could use his strength.
Truett seems to mull it over and, after a beat of silence, nods.
“If you want me there, I’ll be there. Let’s go make sure everything is running smoothly before our mothers do something else that will make us go viral.
God forbid they’re left to their own devices.
” He shudders like the thought terrifies him.
Despite myself, I laugh. “Yeah, that could be bad. We better go out and babysit them.” I wipe away the last of my tears, only slightly embarrassed about my little panic attack. Once I’m ready, Truett takes my hand and leads me back to the alley.
It still catches me off guard—how packed the alley is. Every lane is taken, the clatter of pins echoing. The air smells like fryer oil and cheap nacho cheese, and our rack of bowling balls, usually stocked with every size and color, is nearly picked clean.
Out of the corner of my eye, I catch sight of my mother behind the kitchen window with Mrs. Helen, talking to customers and cutting pizzas like she’s running a popular authentic Italian pizzeria.
Her hair’s pulled back in a tight bun, her apron stained from the sudden rush.
She doesn’t look up because she’s far too busy dealing with customers.
Which is fine by me. I’m not ready for that conversation.
Not right now. I will talk to her—just... not yet.
I throw myself into work, for once happy for the distraction.
Truett—apparently my new employee—grabs a shirt from behind the front desk with our logo on it and pulls it over his head.
He goes out to interact with the patrons, gravitating toward the families with children as he asks to cut in and teach them some bowling techniques.
He looks happy. Genuinely happy. My heart warms at the sight, loving that my boyfriend has found his calling.
I’m in constant motion—bouncing between the front desk, unclogging the ball return gutters, hauling overflowing trash bags to the dumpster out back, and chatting with customers who seem in no rush to leave.
The alley hums with energy, the buzz of conversation and crashing pins never letting up. Time slips by without me noticing.
When I finally flip the sign to “Closed,” the place is still half full, bowlers determined to finish their last games.
For the first time in years—maybe ever—we stay open a full hour past closing.
By the time the final group packs up and heads out the door, the weight of the day hits me all at once.
Exhaustion drapes over me like a heavy coat, and I finally let myself breathe.
“Well, today was a rush, wasn’t it?” Mrs. Thorne—Rachel—says, popping out of seemingly nowhere.
Despite the hectic nature of the day, she still looks poised and put together, minus the small stain on the collar of her shirt.
“I haven’t worked that hard since I was a teenager.
” She laughs. “If I were you, Ezra, I would think about hiring some more employees. I think you’ll start drawing in more crowds in the next couple of months.
Call it mother’s intuition.” She pats my shoulder a little awkwardly.
“Tell my son my feet are killing me, and I’ll be waiting for him in the car.
” With that, Rachel takes her leave, disappearing from the alley.
Finally, a moment alone, my gaze sweeps over the lanes.
There are a few items that need to be sanitized or put away, but for the most part, we kept the space relatively clean during the day.
Mrs. Helen walks past me with her purse and keys, offering me a smile.
“Congratulations on the success of the alley. Such a fun day. I’m assuming you’ll take your mother home? ”
I smile at our neighbor. “Yes, I will. Thank you for all your help today.”