ONE YEAR LATER…
I HOLD THE BALL UP IN FRONT OF MY FACE, GAZE LASER focused toward the end of the lane, and take a deep, centering breath.
I can do this.
I can do this.
I can do this.
I feel Rhys sidle up next to me, lighter on his feet than he has any right to be. "Listen," he whispers gruffly. "I don't want to put any extra pressure on you, but if you fuck this up, I might never forgive you."
My eyes slice in his direction. "Fuck off, Dupris" is all I give him, which only makes him laugh and back away with hands up in surrender. I can hear a chorus of chuckles from our table. Ford, West, Rhys, and Clyde (who is here as our self-proclaimed "coach") sit and watch. Hell, even Tripp came into town to watch this all go down.
Dads' Night Out.
Beers, bowling, and buddies was how West originally sold it to me, and that's exactly what it has become—plus a little bit more.
It's become community, friendship, and a deep sense of shared hatred for Stretch and his stupid fucking bowling team, the High Rollers.
So tonight, I need to bring it home for my team—the Ball Busters. Because if Stretch and his team get a three-peat, I will break something.
It's all down to me in the final, and the odds aren't exactly in my favor. I need a spare to take the win. And though I might be the best on the team, getting a spare under this kind of pressure feels impossible.
I return to focusing on the pins before me. Still, I can feel the weight of my teammates' gazes on my back. We've been at this for a few years now and have finally clawed our way to the championship match.
What do we win? A shitty trophy, a hundred-dollar gift card to the bar, and bragging rights. Which is really what I'm after if I'm being honest.
I square my shoulders and begin my approach. One step. Two steps. Swing back.
Release.
I point my hand straight after the ball and hold my breath, along with everyone else in Rose Valley Alley. I swear the ball rolls down the lane in slow motion, turn after turn, as I will it to hit in the middle of the V.
"Come on," I mutter under my breath. "Fucking do it."
And like I'm some sort of bona fide bowling-ball whisperer, it does.
The ball hits hard—but not too hard—and the sweet sound of pins toppling fills the silent bar. There's a communal intake of breath as we all watch them fall and then chaos.
Everyone in the place—save for Stretch and his shitty teammates—erupts into cheers as every last pin falls.
I turn back to the guys with my arms stretched up above my head victoriously and a shocked grin on my face.
"That's my daddy!" West shouts as he practically launches himself at me, knocking me backward with the force of his hug.
Ford approaches next, giving me a reserved clap on the shoulder, a satisfied smirk touching his mouth. Clyde and Tripp come next, both outlandishly excited for me.
Nothing quite like being congratulated by an actual professional athlete for winning a small-town men's bowling league.
It's Rhys who hangs back, arms crossed, watching Stretch while chuckling to himself.
Stretch, who, in a fit of frustration, has swept all of his teammates' drinks off the table and onto the floor like a child throwing a tantrum.
When Rhys finally does stroll over and join the team huddle, he says, "Goddamn, that was satisfying."
And I can't help but agree. But it's not just the victory—it's that this tradition and these friends have turned out to be one of the most rewarding things in my life.
TWO YEARS LATER…
"Happy birthday, Gwen!" Greg calls, hopping up from his desk at the airstrip to give my wife a big hug.
We've become regulars here, taking the plane up frequently just for fun. Gwen has come to love it as much as me, it would seem. Except lately, she hasn't quite been able to stomach it.
She hugs him back, giving him a genuine squeeze in the way that only Gwen can. When he pulls back, he looks her over, grinning at us both as she lays a splayed hand over her growing bump.noveldrama
"Baby Rousseau's first plane ride!"
"Honestly, the morning sickness killed my vibe, and now I'm a little concerned the harness isn't going to fit properly. But Bash was adamant that we couldn't miss the annual birthday flight. Followed by the annual birthday party. Tripp and all our friends are waiting for us, so we won't take long."
"Ah, well, makes no difference to me. I'll be on the radio if you need me. But something tells me if that harness doesn't work, you two will figure out a way to celebrate, even without leaving the ground."
I groan and scrub a hand over my face while Gwen tosses her head back and roars with laughter.
Greg shoots me a sheepish look as he turns to leave. But I still return his departing wave before tossing an arm over Gwen's shoulders and leading her into the hangar with red cheeks.
"I think he's onto us," she whispers, leaning close.
"You think?" I reply dryly. Because yeah, Greg might as well have just said, Have fun fucking in your plane.
But Gwen is only amused. Unflappable. Deeply comfortable in herself—so much so that comments like these roll right off her.
I gaze down at her as we walk. Diamond ring on her left hand. Left hand on our daughter, who will be here in three months' time.
Everything feels surreal.
She nudges me with her elbow. "I guess we're not as subtle as we think."
"I am. It's just you."
She turns to me in mock outrage. "I can be subtle."
I quirk a brow. "Sneak out of the house and repaint the plane subtle?"
Her mouth opens to say something, but then it slams shut and she turns quickly, searching for our plane. The small one at the back.
The one that used to be white with red stripes.
Now it's the prettiest light purple with darker-indigo-tone stripes.
Her hand moves up from her stomach to lay over her mouth as she walks toward it slowly, shock painting her every feature.
When she turns to glance back at me over her shoulder, her eyes are watery—her smile is too. "Purple?"
I shrug, feeling immensely satisfied with my birthday surprise. "Reminds me of your eyes," I say softly, walking toward her and pulling her into a hug from behind as we both look it over. "Do you like it?"
"Do I like it? I love it. I'm… I'm so lucky to have you. I—" Her head tilts, and she steps away to get a closer look at the tail. "Does that say Wild Card?" Her voice cracks and I step up beside her.
"Named it after you too." The script matches the outlandish and perfectly Gwen vibe of the entire makeover.
She blinks hard and fast, turning her gaze up to mine. "This is too much."
I cup her jaw and smile down at her. My wild card. My tequila. My everything.
"Nah, with you, it's never enough," I murmur before dropping my lips to hers. Kissing my wife soundly like I plan to for the rest of our lives.
Then I drag her into our plane.
And we celebrate.