Page 223 of We Shouldn't Be Together
Drew smacks Freddy over the top of the head. “Are you insane? He’s likely to burn himself.” Drew snaps his fingers at Corbin and then gestures toward the garage. “Corbin, get in the car. Tabby, make sure he’s buckled in.”
I grab onto Corbin’s arm, hurrying him through the house. Despite hating the idea of babying him, I know—besides Freddy’s worship of our dad—Corbin’s slowness is likely to derail our getaway.
After some more man-handling, Drew walks Freddy to his car. Freddy continues to grumble, but Drew drowns him out by psyching Corbin up for bowling.
Freddy starts the car, and as we roll out of the driveway, he murmurs, “I just don’t get why I couldn’t get Dad what he wanted before we left.”
“Oh, shut up, Fred,” Drew and I say at once. Drew turns in his seat, sharing a look with me that makes us both laugh.
When we get to the bowling alley, Drew walks ahead of us, paying for our lane and gameplay. It’s still weirding me out. If Drew ever had a sentimental bone in his body, it died years ago. Now, here he is. Beat-up leather jacket, khaki commando-style trousers, heavy boots, and his long bleached hair in a messy topknot. And he’s doing something cute for his siblings.
Bizarre.
As the attendant gets our rental shoes ready, I tap on the counter next to Drew’s hand. “You’re gonna have to shed the bling.”
Drew flexes his hand, which has three chunky rings on it. “Ha, ha.”
The four of us take our shoes to our designated bowling lane. I wince at the inside of the shoes, wishing I had bought some kind of disinfectant spray with me. Lord knows I’ve been spraying enough of the stuff on my hands recently. I slip off my tennis shoes, hoping my socks provide a thick enough layer to protect my skin.
Corbin has latched himself onto Freddy, making him select his bowling ball for him. When I find my pretty fuschia colored ball, Drew is still sitting on his plastic seat with his boots on.
“Umm, hello,” I say, putting my bowling ball on the return rack in front of our lane. “If you’re supposed to be distracting me, you’ve gotta participate.”
“I am,” he says, reclined. “I brought everyone here. That’s worthy of a participation medal.”
“Pfft. No way, mister. Get yourself a bowling ball.”
“You serious?”
“Yes, doofus.” I wave my hand toward the rental balls. “Go select one and we’ll start playing.”
Corbin and Freddy return with their bowling balls, and Freddy punches our names into the scoring screen. Drew comes back too soon to have put much thought into his selection. But, oh, what the heck? He has a ball, and he’s gonna play.
It’s family night.
Kai’s with Jamie.
Ugh. No. don’t think about that. You’re with your brothers. This is fun.
Dad wants me to stay away from Kai.
Ugh, no. I’m having fun.
Corbin is already whining about there not being bumpers over the gutters. But he’s attaching himself to Freddy. He’s Freddy’s problem. Okay, this can still be fun despite the building headache.
Drew slips off his rings and offers them to me with a cupped hand. “Put these in your bag?”
I lift my clutch purse and open it up. “Only because you asked so nicely.”
He dumps the rings inside. “Thanks, sis.”
Corbin gets his way with the bumpers, and I’m cheering on the inside. Like most things that take tactics and skills, I’m not a great bowler. Even with the bumpers, my ball zigzags from side to side, only knocking down two pins at the end.
When Corbin bowls, it’s like his small blue ball turned into a tortoise and it’s a race to see how slow it can get there. When it stops short of the pins, Freddy has to bowl in order to knock Corbin’s ball the rest of the way.
Great. Now it looks like my little brother is whooping my butt because Freddy knocked down five pins for him.
On his turn, of course, Freddy bowls a strike. Drew gets a spare, and it’s obvious the game is turning into a macho competition between the two of them. I don’t mind though. When they bicker about trivial things, it always makes me chuckle.
