by Ginger Scott
It may be freezing here, but one thing my mom and I are suckers for is ice cream. We found this unique little place called Sweet Jesus on our first day in town. It’s housed in an old church, and the ice cream is the best calorie gain I’ve ever experienced. Our goal is to have one of everything on the menu before we quit filming in March, but at this rate, I’ll be through the list by the middle of January. I can always double up, I suppose.
The sidewalks are busy and the city is bright with holiday lights. The line for ice cream, even in the snow, is out the door. I take my spot and huddle against the building to stay warm in my fuzzy coat.
I palm my phone, hiding my face deep in the fur of my hood and scroll through pictures on my friends’ feeds. It’s hard to find photos of Tory, but it doesn’t stop me from constantly searching. He usually fights it like he is in this one I stopped on. It’s a selfie Hayden took, and Tory is hiding most of his face with his palm, his tongue sticking out far enough to touch his chin. It’s enough to see his lips.
Excited to share my news about coming home, I flip to my contacts and stop on Hayden’s name. We didn’t talk for a few days after I left, but he texted out of the blue one night saying he needed someone to listen. It made me smile, and it’s made me less lonely to have him only a text away. He gives me little updates about his brother, but I don’t ask about him much. It seems they’re in a good place, and I don’t want to stir up anything that’s better left put to rest. My feelings and hurt and scars over Tory aren’t for Hayden to hear. Besides, I like just listening.
I press the call button by his name and bring the phone to my ear. I hate when people walk around on video chat, talking to one another in crowds for everyone to hear. I refuse to be that, even though everyone I work with—including Jordan Shotwell—is one of those people. I caught my mom doing it the other day and duly chastised her.
After four rings, I’m close to giving up, but Hayden picks up, sounding winded.
“Hey! One sec,” he says, the phone muffling with his movement.
“Hey, I’ll be right back!” he shouts to someone there with him.
I hear a door shut and the background noise disappears.
“Sorry, we were ballin’. I needed a break. Good timing!” He’s panting a little, and I hear his water bottle filling up in the distance. I picture their fridge, the kitchen counter I sat at with Tory when I first practiced the part I’m playing now. I’m glad he rehearsed with me. If I hadn’t started early I never would have been prepared for the schedule change.
“Just you and Tory?” I ask, wondering if his brother came inside, too.
“Us, and”—he stops while he takes a drink—“Cannon, his cousin Zack, and Chaz.”
“I thought you hated Chaz?” I protest.
“I thought you hated Cannon,” he fires back.
“I do!” I realize I’m being loud so I duck my head back between my shoulders and pull the zipper up on my coat, holding my phone inside the insulated cubby I’ve made for one.
Hayden laughs and says something about needing a fourth or whatever. Their tournament is next week. It starts the day I leave, so I won’t be able to catch any games, which bums me out.
“How’s Mr. Shotwell?” He asks this every time. My friends are more star-struck than I am, but maybe that’s because I have to maintain a level of cool. I wouldn’t be able to produce tears in front of the man if I stopped to realize how mega-huge his fame really was.
“I didn’t get to see him when we wrapped. I think he’s back in New Zealand until we start back up again in two weeks.”
“Wow, New Zealand. He invite you to his posh palace to yacht and dine and all that stuff?” Hayden teases.
“Yes, we’re besties.” I roll my eyes.
“Two weeks off, huh? What are you going to do?”
“Well . . .” I lead. “Guess who gets on a plane tomorrow?”
“Jordan Shotwell,” he answers, purposely being wrong.
“You’re an ass,” I throw back at him.
“I’m kidding. You. You’re getting on a plane. When do you get in?”
“Not until like four. And we have to do some legal things before the weekend, but I hope maybe I’ll get to see you guys by Saturday?” I say we in a generic sense, but I’m pretty sure Hayden gets the implication.
“That can probably be arranged. You know June has a shift, but she gets off at two. Maybe . . . we bowl?” He throws that idea out there because after my first showing, I swore to him I was retiring, knowing I would never best my big honkin’ forty-one.
“I don’t know. I’m officially on the Champion’s Tour, and my sponsors don’t like me falling back to amateur status.”
“You know the Champion’s Tour is for seniors, right? Like fifty-five-plus?”
“You’re kidding!” I protest.
I’ve moved through the door of the parlor, so I tuck myself into a corner to finish our conversation before it’s my turn to order the Unicorn Dust Sundae, my flavor choice of the day.
“All right, bowling it is,” I relent, actually a little excited about my sophomore attempt at the game.
“It’s on. I better get back before they try and take on Cannon without me. Dude’s six-foot-three and absolute trash at basketball,” Hayden says.
“Okay. Tell everyone I say hi.”
He ends the call with a quick, “I will,” and I wonder if he means it.
I get to Eight Lanes early. I texted Hayden after our call a few days ago and told him to keep my arrival a surprise for everyone else. To make it work, I have to slip in while June’s on break. It’s been easy to hide from her in lane one because every other lane is full of league bowlers. I’ve spent the last thirty minutes watching them from afar to pick up tips.
The secret is in the swag. I need one of those wrist-guard thingies, and this lotion that goes on your thumb. And some of them have balls that actually glow. I want a ball that glows.
I’m mesmerized by a man next to me. Bud Fox. I know that because it says so on his ball. And on the front pocket of his bowling shirt. And on his ball bag. I bet his name is tattooed on his wife. I’d say she could do better but really, in terms of bowlers, I don’t think she can. Bud Fox is epic. I wonder if he’s on the tour.
“Hey, sorry I’m late,” Hayden says, slipping into the seat next to me. I startle, then shift instantly into a breathy squeal. It’s good to see him.
I wrap my arms around his midsection and hug him tight, my head falling against his chest. Nothing about our embrace is weird, and I don’t give it a second thought until minutes later when I realize it happened and we both acted natural.
“Okay, so June will probably wander over first. I don’t know how you want to play this, but if you’d like to surprise them all at once, you can always hide behind the ball rack, I guess?” He points over his shoulder to the curved wall filled with colored spheres.
“Yeah, that works,” I say, getting to my feet and stretching. I feel as though I’ve been on the go since I first left home. Two weeks of flights and filming and freezing temps has left me a little achy. I might be ready for that Champion’s Tour after all.
“She’s coming,” Hayden whispers.
I crouch down and waddle my way behind the rack, sitting on my knees when I’m well out of sight. I hear June’s voice a few seconds later and my legs twitch with the desire to spring up and see my friend. I hold tight instead and listen.
“Lucas is almost here. He said Tory was dragging ass. I think the whole driving back and forth thing is getting to him,” she says.
I lower my head. He’s still keeping up with the splitting time thing between his parents. Hayden hasn’t mentioned it. He decided to stay at his mom’s; I don’t know why I figured Tory did, too.
“I know. I think he’s just trying to make sure my dad isn’t alone. He’s got a few work trips coming up in January, so Tory should be home for a solid block then.”
“You want me to get the names up?” June asks.
“I see them,” June says. My pulse explodes into a splatter of beats. My mouth waters as if I’m about to be sick, and I feel faint. I’m not sure I can really see this through. I move from my knees to my ass so I can bend my head down and breathe. I completely fill my lungs once . . . twice . . . and the ringing in my ears stops.
“Hey, man. How was the drive?” I recognize Hayden, so I hold my breath, waiting for the voice I’ve been craving.
“Brutal. I think it’s the soundtrack,” Tory says. I smile automatically. It’s good to hear him and his brother joke. It’s good to hear him.
“You’re just being stubborn,” Hayden says.
There’s a bit of chatter while everyone shuttles around getting balls and swapping out shoes. I can’t quite tell if it’s a good time to just pop out, so I lean forward again, hoping to catch Hayden in his seat. I lurch out from around the corner just as Tory leans down to pick out his ball, and our eyes stall on one another for almost a full second before I scream and fall back.
With my hand over my thundering chest, I blow up at my hair, looking at the only great kiss I’ve ever had. The dent on his forehead tells me he’s not quite sure what to make of this situation, but the longer it’s there, the more I realize he isn’t happy to see me. I don’t think he’s sad.
I don’t think he’s anything.
“Abby?” June leans over the wall, her hair flopping down in braids on either side of her face.
“Surprise!” I whimper, waving my hands in the air.
Tory puts his ball down and steps toward me, reaching out a hand. I stare at his palm for a beat before taking it. The moment we touch will be a sign of where things stand. His hand completely wraps around mine as he yanks me to my feet. He steadies me with his other hand, resting it on my shoulder, but while that hand drifts away once I’m upright, the one pressed against my palm still holds on tight. His eyes haven’t left mine, either.
“I’m home . . . Yay!” I celebrate in a quiet, playful voice, my cheeks burning from all the attention I’ve gotten myself. I really blundered this.
“Abby!” June rushes me, ripping my hand from Tory’s so she can somehow lift me and twirl me around. I’ve got twenty pounds on her, so I’m not sure where her strength comes from, but it’s nice to feel so loved.
“Hey, Cortez,” Lucas says, waiting his turn. June holds my hand while I hug Lucas, and she keeps a hold on me while Hayden adds my name to the scoring screen.
“You knew about this?” Tory asks his brother.
A wave of nausea knocks me into a seat. June comes with me, glancing at me with concern. I play it off by kicking off my shoes and swapping them out for bowling ones.
“Yeah, she wanted to surprise you guys,” Hayden answers, not even looking at his brother as he readies the screen.
I look up as Tory’s eyes shift to me, and the hurt in them is undeniable.
“You talk a lot?” He’s asking me, but Hayden doesn’t realize this. He answers without giving it much thought.
“Sometimes. Just when we have time. Hey, you’re up first.” He shifts in his seat so his legs are out to the side and nods to his brother.
Tory walks back to the rack where he left the ball after I ruined my surprise entrance. He picks it up as though it’s made of Styrofoam, then takes long strides toward our lane. Without taking aim, he hoists the ball at the pins but sends it flying through the air a good ten feet before it thumps down on the alley.
“Ooops,” he says, laughing in that menacing style of his, the one he uses when he means to push buttons. He claps his hands together, like a gymnast dusting off chalk, and then pivots when he’s under the screen to look up at his score. The ball took out one pin, so he plays this up just to be an ass.
“This was a bad idea,” I mutter. June is the only one close enough to hear, but she doesn’t react other than sliding her foot over to rest against mine.
Tory finishes his turn and moves to the stools behind our seating area, propping himself on his elbows. I stare at him until it’s my turn, willing him to look back at me, but he doesn’t. Not once.
I manage to knock six pins down my first time, and seven my second. Lucas turns into my biggest champion, rooting for me like an obnoxious wrestling fan every time I take the ball in hand. When the game is halfway through, Tory finally leaves the shelter he’s hiding in and joins the rest of us.
Things finally find a natural ease, and I’m sure to everyone else, everything feels normal. But if any of them stopped to pay attention, they’d realize that amid our banter and celebration, Tory and I haven’t exchanged a glance, a word, or a touch, not once since the game began.
It’s my final turn of the first game, and after a series of single pin frames, I’m four pins away from beating my whopping forty-one record. I take a deep breath, the rumbling echo of Lucas pounding the floor like football fans do on the bleachers as my backdrop. My pal Bud Fox hushes him more than once, but Lucas doesn’t listen, continuing his homemade thunder.
I glance over my shoulder on a whim, just to see if Tory is watching, but he’s looking down at his phone. Dejected, I line up the ball, using his advice and aligning myself with the middle arrows. I shuffle forward and release, my thumb getting stuck and sending the ball in a sidespin down the right side of the lane.
“Come on, baby. Come on, baby,” Lucas hums behind me. I think he’s genuinely invested in my outcome. I’m only sad that Tory isn’t watching.
I take slow steps backward, stopping right in front of Lucas, who is down on one knee as if he somehow has the power to steer my ball down the lane in spite of my poor toss. My ball hits two pins in the front, and a third behind them, but not with enough force to fully knock it down. My hips roll along with the movement as the pin rolls on its base, finally falling to the side at the perfect angle and taking its neighbor down with it.
“Yeah!” Lucas rushes up behind me and lifts me from under my arms. My feet kick wildly as I laugh.
“I have never seen anyone so excited over a forty-two,” June jokes, waiting to high five me the minute Lucas puts me down.
I get another high five from Hayden, and I move to the back seats where Tory is sitting, hoping he’ll have some sort of reaction. He’s on his phone, the device pressed to his ear. His eyes flit up, never fully meeting mine, and he holds up a finger as he stands and walks around the counter to the stools he was hiding on for half the game.
“You guys wanna go again?” Hayden stands with one knee on the seat at the computer. I glance to June who nods.
“I’m in,” Lucas says.
We all turn our focus to Tory, waiting while he finishes his call. He holds his phone in his palm for a second, staring at the blank screen before acknowledging us.
“Hey, sorry guys. I’m out. Cannon is coming by to get me, but we’ll catch up more. Yeah?” His gaze swings to me, his eyes finally reaching mine.
“Sure,” I rasp.
A polite smile barely makes a dent in his face and he holds up a hand, moving on to our other friends, who all seem as dismissed and offended as I am.
Tory swaps out his footwear and carries the bowling shoes to the counter before heading out the exit. My friends hold their tongues until he leaves, doling out theories over why he might be upset as soon as he’s gone.
None of them are right, and I know they’re not, but I listen with feigned concern and continue to indulge their theories throughout our next game. Lucas and June leave after we enjoy a round of wings, on the house because Morty, the alley’s manager, says I’m the biggest star to ever come out of Allensville. Not quite ready to go home, I wander over to the pool tab
les and lift a cue in challenge to Hayden. Truth be told, for once I might need him to listen.
“I’m pretty bad at pool,” he says, taking the stick and helping me rack the balls.
“I’m not that great, either. It should be a real duel,” I say.
He simpers at me and takes the cue ball in his palm, setting it on the felt and offering for me to break. I bend, looking the part, and run the stick through my fingers like a violinist uses a bow. My results aren’t nearly as impressive as I don’t hit the ball squarely, sending it immediately off to the side and into a corner pocket.
“Mulligan?” I arch a brow.
Hayden laughs, pulling the ball out and rolling it to me.
“Sure.”
My second attempt is a little better, scattering the balls around the table but not sinking a single one. Hayden walks around, eyeing different angles, but before he lines up what I think is his best shot, he stands up tall and sets his stick down flat, his palms on the table’s edge.
“Tory’s in love with you.”
I blink, frozen by his words. I’m not even sure I heard them right. And I can’t tell by his expression whether he’s guessing or saying something backed by fact.
“I’m sorry, what?” I shake my head and squint my eyes.
“He told me. Right after you left, after the awesome therapy session I told you about that first time we talked when you were in Toronto.”
“Tory . . . said he’s in love with me.” I repeat the words, still not believing them. Not that I think it’s impossible, I just know what Tory said before I left. How deeply he cares about his relationship with Hayden. And also, how little credit he gives the idea of love. About as much as I do.
Hayden takes one of the balls in his hand and rolls it against the felt, ricocheting it off the bumper and back into his hand. Our game is done. That’s fine; it was only an excuse anyhow.
“Look, Abby . . .” He rolls the ball again, but I cut it off before it makes it to his hand this time, catching it in my own. His gaze lifts to meet mine and he exhales. “Tory is in love with you. He told me, and I know he’s not going to do anything about it. I can’t let that happen. Me and him . . . we’re in a good place.”
