Jamie forced a smile. “That sounds amazing,” he said, voice a little too light. “Montana must be beautiful this time of year.”
Alfie nodded. “It is. Peaceful. You’d love it.”
Jamie looked down at his hands, twisting the label on his bottle. I want to go. I want to be where he is. I just don’t know if he wants me there.The thought settled in his chest, a quiet ache beneath the surface of his smile.
“You should come too. If you don’t like it there, you can leave when we do.”
Jamie nodded slowly. “He hasn’t asked me yet.”
Alfie rested his hand on Jamie’s. “Maybe he’s waiting for you to say you want to go.”
“Maybe.”
They finished their drinks and fries, and then they hit the lanes. Jamie laced up his rental shoes, still grinning from their earlier conversation. He hadn’t bowled in forever, but something about tonight felt light. Easy. He could breathe as he expected them laughing and trash-talking each other’s form. For the first time in a long time, he felt like he was part of something. Like maybe he had a future worth showing up for.
The bowling alley lights dimmed just enough for the neon to take over—glowing blues and greens bouncing off the polished lanes, casting a soft glow on everyone’s faces. Jamie and Alfie had the place mostly to themselves, save for a few families and acouple of teens trying to impress each other with trick shots and loud laughter.
Alfie rolled first, knocking down a solid seven pins. “Not bad for someone who hasn’t bowled since high school,” he said, spinning around with a smug little bow.
Jamie laughed. “Alright, hotshot. Watch and learn.”
He stepped up to the lane, took a breath, and let the ball fly. It curved just right, clipping the edge of the head pin and sending all ten crashing down in a clean strike.
“Boom!” Jamie turned around with his arms in the air, grinning like a kid on Christmas morning.
Alfie groaned. “Okay, okay, I see how it is.”
They kept going, trading playful jabs and cheering each other on. Jamie surprised himself—he was actually good. Maybe it was the adrenaline, or maybe it was just that he finally felt like he could have fun again. Either way, he was on fire.
By the end of the game, Jamie had edged out Alfie by a solid twenty points. He did a little victory dance, arms flailing, while Alfie mock-bowed in defeat.
“Alright, alright, you win,” Alfie said, laughing. “But I demand a rematch another time.”
Jamie plopped down beside him, cheeks flushed from the excitement. “Deal. But I’m not going easy on you.”
They ordered another round of root beers and leaned back in the booth, watching the pins reset for the next group. Jamie felt a buzz of happiness in his chest, but underneath it, there was still that ache. That little voice reminded him of Tom. Of the silence. Of the way he’d been left behind.
But tonight, that voice was quieter.
He looked over at Alfie, who was scrolling through his phone. “Thanks for this,” Jamie said. “I needed it.”
Alfie smiled. “You’re welcome. You crushed me, but I’ll survive.”
Jamie laughed, then glanced toward the door, wondering if Daddy Spencer and Nathan were on their way back. He missed Daddy Spencer already, which was wild considering they hadn’t been apart for more than an hour.
But that’s what it felt like—like he belonged somewhere. Like maybe he was allowed to win at more than just bowling.
Chapter Seventeen
Spencer
Spencer leaned against the counter at the western store, holding up a soft denim shirt next to a pair of dark jeans. He could already picture Jamie in it—collar popped just a little, sleeves rolled up, that shy smile he gave when he felt seen. He grabbed a matching set for himself, boots and all. Nathan was doing the same across the aisle, picking out a flannel and vest combo for Alfie.
They’d agreed earlier this was the best way to show who was partnered at the mixer. All the single guys would wear name tags, but couples? They’d match. No confusion. No games. Just a silent way of sayinghe’s mine.
After they checked out, they headed to a bar down the road—one of those places with creaky floors, antlers on the walls, and a jukebox that hadn’t been updated since the early 2000s. The lighting was low; the booths were worn in, and the bartender knew their names. Spencer liked it. It was the kind of place where you could think without being interrupted.
They slid into a booth with two cold beers and a bowl of peanuts between them. Nathan took a sip and then leaned back. “So… what are we doing about Tom showing up?”
