Page 139 of Wild Card
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.
“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 planesubtle?”
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.
