Candace Messenger broke a few hundred celestial rules to get me where I am today. Maybe it’s high time I break a few rules of my own to make sure my destiny, that of my nephew and the great love of our lives don’t come to ruin just to please the powers that be. No. I think it’s time we went off the rails to ensure we come to a very amicable end of our ownchoosing.
But who would I pair Skyla with? Gage—orme?
That is thequestion.
That is always the damnquestion.
* * *
When the ideacame to me to throw a big party as a way to commemorate the end of a bowling era, it never occurred to me that I would have strict fashion guidelines dictated to me by Lexy. She’s neatly laid out a pair of ridiculously loud parachute pants on the bed for me, along with something that looks like a fish net to be worn as a shirt. And as if that wasn’t enough fashion-based humiliation, she’s set out a gold sequined glove—just the one, ofcourse.
“No,” I flatline as both she and Kate observe from the door expectantly. Lex was so eager for me to see my special gift she hauled me up here in haste. “Trust me, I’m fine the way I am.” I hold out my arms so they can both garner an appreciation for my Levi’s and flannel combo. “I’m pretty sure jeans were standard fare in the ’80s. In fact, I know they were. I’ve brushed up on my John Hughes’ movies this past week just to verify thefact.”
Kate titters because she knows it’s true. She sat right there next to me as we downed one after the other as if they were neon-coated chocolate confections. Ezrina has her head secured about as good as it’s going to get, and Kate’s resigned to the fact she’ll have to wear a scarf for her remainder of time here. Speaking of which, I need to talk to Skyla about our dear, once headless friend. Kate has no real right to be here. I didn’t realize Skyla’s guilt over the fact she inadvertently took Kate’s life ran so deep. Candace can’t be pleased with this—and God knows if Candace is pissed, we’re all doomed to a life offrustration.
Lexy grinds her teeth. Come to find out, it’s something she does quite often when she doesn’t get her way, and the more she hangs out with me, it’s quickly becoming a habit. “Wear the shirt. It’s the least you can do to fit in. It’s your party, Logan. You can’t be the hostanda killjoy.” Lexy’s hair is standing on end as if she stuck her finger in a light socket and then deep-fried every last follicle in a vat of oil just to complete the look. She’s wearing a hot pink dress that makes my eyes bleed for a pair of ’80s-inspired Wayfarer sunglasses, and her neon green shoes add the right amount of garishness that the decaderequires.
“I was born a killjoy.” I snap my keys off the dresser along with my wallet and phone. “You two ready to head out?” I lead us downstairs and note Ezrina and Nev’s sedan is already gone from thecarport.
Kate comes up next to me and gives a quick thumbs-up as she pulls a lipstick from her purse. Lexy has her dressed like a homeless woman who happened to fall into a pile of lace and black rubber bangles. Kate’s voice box isn’t quite up to snuff, so in her defense, her ability to protest the clown outfit was greatlydiminished.
“I’m ready,” Lexy says to her reflection as she dusts the tip of her nose with powder. “You know, this is officially our debut as acouple.”
Kate and I exchange a quick glance. Apparently, even someone who’s been clinically dead for the last few years realizes this thing with Lex just isn’t happening. In fact, the only person on the planet even capable of fostering that delusion is Lexyherself.
“Lex.” The tone in my voice says it all and manages to elicit an eye roll from her in theprocess.
“You’re just not up to speed on how things work.” She gives a quick wink to Kate as we step out and I lock up after us. “I practically live here, Logan. Even you have to admit that there’s something brewing betweenus.”
“I have a habit of taking on boarders in the event you haven’tnoticed.”
Lexy roars with a laugh as she takes a step toward thetruck.
“We’re taking the Mustang tonight.” There’s a touch of pride in my voice as we head over and climb onin.
“Are you kidding?” Lex scoffs. “We look like assholes. This car is adeathtrap.”
I choose to ignore Lex’s sentiment. I love the Mustang. The scent of the past lingers here, fresh, unable to dissipate, and I appreciate the hell out of it. My father loved this car as much as I do. Up until I met Skyla, my heart lived in this ode to vinyl and the past. The engine roars to life with the enthusiasm of a lioness about to devour her prey, and I back out slowly with one eye on the bowling alley and the other on the road. The bowling alley may be across the street for the most part, but the road is wide and long and it’s not fun to walk, let alone in heels for the girls. Hell, I much prefer the shuttle service to the front doormyself.
A few cars already litter the parking lot—Ellis’ monster truck and Brielle and Drake’s new econo clown car that’s small enough to fit in my back pocket. I’m glad they’re there. I want everyone I’ve ever known to set foot in that place one last time. Bree begged me to let her decorate. As much as I want this old place to go out with a big bang, the last thing I wanted was for Bree to crop-dust it with oddball decorations. Humiliating the poor place before I chop it off at the balls seems too cruel of a fate for the spot I’ve come to know as my second home, but I relented, and sure enough, judging by the old vinyl records hanging from every free space I spotted earlier in the day, the neon flashing lights, she’s crop-dusted the shit out ofit.
The rain starts in as we make our way inside, and as soon as we crest the arcade, my stomach sinks. This is it. The last normal hours ofoperation.
“I’ll line the doors with wrapping paper so we don’t get any looky-loos!” Lex volunteers as she stalks off toward the kitchen. “And I’ll make sure to put a note outside letting everyone know we’re closed for a privateevent!”
“Sure.” I glance at the meager crowd already wrapping up their final game, taking off their shoes. I’ve already decided to trash those old, worn-out leather scuffs. Hopefully, when I reopen in the fall—God willing—I’ll actually have enough cash left over to start off with a pristine supply of fresh shoes. I’m not proud of the fact that some of those leather monstrosities have been around as long as the bowling alley has. I used to romanticize it. I couldn’t take any of the shoes out of commission because my father, my mother might have worn them on their feet. The feet that the Counts saw fit to burn to ashes. My stomach churns at thethought.
Bree jumps in front of me with just the right amount of exuberance on her face to pull me out of my morbidfunk.
“Winner, winner, chicken dinner!” she shrills a little too loud. “My playlist is going to like totally rock the house.” She gives a hard wink, exposing strata-like layers of yellow and pink eye shadow. She’s decked out from head to toe in a Madonna-inspired bustier with cones for tits and a skirt so short it requires a double take to verify itspresence.
“That’s great. I’ll gladly let you be the DJ, and I’ll play bartender tonight.” I give a wink rightback.
“With those shit sodas you serve?” Bree has been after me for years to fix the syrup lines that lead to the drink machines. “You may have wasted our youth feeding us your bullshit, but the sober buck stops right here, buddy. Don’t worry. My man has you covered.” She nods toward the shoe rental, and I’m horrified to find an array of tall amber bottles, one svelte white bottle with the wordvodkaetched into the glass. “We’re playing with big kids tonight, Oliver. Consider it a parting gift. I’ll even give you half thetake.”
“The take? This place is headed for the wrecking ball, my friend. Keep every last dollar for yourselves. I’ve never made more than a dime here. Why startnow?”
Bree zips off toward the newly minted bar, and I spot Coop coming in so I head onover.
