Page 9 of Right Up His Alley

I thought I was dealing with a professional bowler. Clearly, he still has a thing or two to learn about bowling etiquette. First rule? Always return the shoes.

Ileft Spare Time almost an hour ago, and I still can’t stop thinking about what a disaster my favorite bowling alley has become. I know I’ve been away from Pflugerville for a long time, but it’s crazy to think someone would run their family’s establishment that far into the ground. I hate to blame Ezra for its downfall, but it’s pretty obvious he doesn’t care about the alley as much as his old man did.

I still can’t believe Mr. Jiménez is gone. He was the definition of a fixer. You’d never know when something was broken or off, because he always had an answer for everything—the jammed pin elevator, the worn-out gear on the pinsetter turret. I wasn’t just an everyday customer. He took me under his wing, showed me what was behind the pin deck, and what to watch for in competition. It wasn’t about getting ahead, like my father makes it. It was about truly understanding how to care for something you take pride in.

As soon as I step up onto the front porch, I see a package by the doorstep. When I bend down to pick it up, a bowling shoe tumbles out of my duffel bag wrapped around my shoulder. I must have put the rentals in my bag by mistake, thinking they were mine.

Fuck.

The front door swings open. My mom stands there, an excited smile across her face. “Honey! You’re home!” She lets out a squeal that could alert the neighbors two blocks away. “Come in, give your ma a squeeze. Oh, I’ve missed you, baby.”

Still holding the small package in one hand, I wrap my arms around her, taking in the rich amber and floral scent of her signature Baccarat Rouge 540. “I missed you too, Mom. How are you managing to look younger every time I see you?”

“Oh, stop! Just like your father, always trying to suck up to me. I don’t hate it though. Keep it coming.” Our embrace unravels before she takes the package from my hand. “Oh my god! Is that my new immersion blender?”

“It’s addressed to Rachel Thorne, aka @ThorneyPins. How many packages have been sent to you this week?”

“Just one. I’ve been trying to stay up on my morning meal replacement shakes. I’ve put on a couple extra pounds since your father’s retirement, so he recommended a recipe he thought I could try. This home appliance company reached out and asked to partner with me on my social media, so I said what the hell. I agreed to pin this blender across all my accounts.”

In seconds, she tears open the box with the effortless ease of a high-profile influencer who makes her coin in promotional gifts. “And, unlike your father, you can help your dear young mother stage photos while using this. Oh, I’m so glad you’re home.”

When she turns and walks farther into the foyer, the diamonds in her earlobes sparkle in the light bouncing off the crystal chandelier. “Come on in, darling. Don’t forget to take off your shoes!”

Retirement?

“Excuse me,” I do exactly what she has always told me to do when I enter her home, “but did you say dad’s retirement? I know he hasn’t competed in a tournament in about five years, but I didn’t know he has decided to officially call it quits. When was this?” My brows pull in as I follow her into the kitchen.

She stays silent for a bit before she speaks up. “I thought he would have told you by now. He’s been retired for a couple years, but he’s planning to make his official announcement at this year’s USBC Championship. You know your father. Always wants to make a spectacle.”

A spectacle? That’s about right. Maybe that’s why he’s pushing me to dig into the USBC’s hosting decision. Staying close to home when he announces his retirement lets him control the narrative, and with the right inside information, he can shape how people here in central Texas remember his career.

“I don’t know how you do it.” I take in a deep breath.

She softens, her head tips to the side, and she gives me a familiar look for when she doesn’t quite follow.

“I just don’t understand how you’ve made it so far with Dad. He just…” My jaw tightens as my teeth press together.

“Frustrates you,” Mom finishes my sentence. “I know, sweetie. I don’t understand why he’s not always honest with you, or why he expects so much from you. That’s always been the case, no matter how much I intervened. But he does love you. I just don’t know if he sees how stressful his love feels sometimes.”

I give her a small nod.

She doesn’t usually make excuses for him, but strangely enough, she always makes me feel like her apologies come from both of them. It’s why I can always count on her to help me through the disruption he causes. She’s presented with the same Brett Thorne as me and the rest of the world, but she doesn’t give in to him. She meets him head-on and leaves him playing by her rules.

My hero.

“Also, before I forget, I saw those bowling shoes in your bag. They look kind of ratty. Do you have any new endorsement deals I should know about? Should I reach out to Dexter Bowling to see if they want to partner with ThorneyPins? We can get you some new shoes. I would just need to make a couple posts with you wearing them.”

I breathe out a heavy sigh. “No, Dexter already sent me some six months ago. The shoes in my bag aren’t mine. I forgot to return them to the counter at Spare Time. I need to go back, but now I run the risk of embarrassing myself in front of the new owner. What professional bowler takes a neighborhood alley’s shoes?”

I press my lips together. Moron.

She looks up, her curiosity pulling into focus. “What happened to Mr. Jiménez?”

“You didn’t know?” I shoot her a look, half surprised, the other half easing with the thought that she would’ve told me if she had. She knows how much I looked up to him. “Mr. Jiménez died last year.”

“Oh no!” She rushes over to me from the other side of the kitchen counter and pulls me into a tight hug. “I’m so sorry, Truett. I can’t imagine how you felt when you found out. Mr. Jiménez was such a good man.”

I squeeze her back in thanks. “Since he’s been gone, his son, Ezra, has been managing Spare Time—and let’s just say—it’s evident he doesn’t want to be.”