Page 19 of Unspoken Rules

“I’ve told you a million times, Bryson, you can stay here whenever you need. Now get your ass inside.”

Bryson

Present day…

The bowling alley parking lot is packed when Chris pulls his BMW 3 series into it. He drives around three times before someone leaves and he snags the spot.

“Pins on a Saturday night is always crazy,” he comments as we get out.

“Wasn’t this way back when it was Alley Kat’s.”

Chris laughs, clicking the button to lock his car before shoving the key into his pocket.

“That old lady did not know what she was doing with a bowling alley. Ever since this guy took over and introduced all kinds of shit like the Rave Saturdays and Disco Fridays, it’s been wild.”

“Can’t remember the last time I went bowling,” I say as I pull the door open. “There was this beat up place not too far from my apartment in Providence, but it was those candlestick pins. I wasn’t into it.”

As soon as we’re through the door, a short girl with dark hair runs toward me so fast she’s nothing but a blur. She jumps into my arms, wrapping her arms around my neck and practically choking me.

“Bryson! Oh my god, I can’t believe you’re here!” Mila squeals.

I hug her back, twirling her around. When I place her on her feet, she’s smiling as she moves her long dark brown hair away from her face and adjusts her tortoise cat eye glasses.

“You look good, Mila. More… tan.” I pat her on the head, causing her to growl and swat my hand away.

“Nothing’s changed,” Chris mutters. “She’s still spicy as hell.”

“I take offense to that,” she says, glaring at him with those dark brown eyes of hers.

“No, you don’t,” Chris says, giving her a playful shove. She shakes her head and moves after him.

Mila and Chris are… confusing. They’ve liked each other forever but won’t do anything about it. I don’t understand it. Not a single clue what’s stopping them. When I ask him about it, he says he doesn’t want to ruin their friendship, but I think it’s a cheap excuse. There’s more to it that he won’t admit. I’ve asked Mila about it over the years too. In not so many words, she says she’s waiting for him to get his shit together.

“Fucking Bryson Montgomery!” Mark greets when I reach him and Onyx. He pulls me in for a hug. When I let go of him, Onyx does the same. He fixes his beanie when he steps back, pulling it tighter over his dirty blond hair. The guy doesn’t go anywhere without that mustard yellow beanie. Surprised it still fits his big head after all these years. One day he showed up with it and it never left. No one knows the story behind it because he won’t tell us. Just brushes it off, saying it was a gift.

“The whole group is back together,” Mila says, smiling up at the four of us guys. She’s at least a foot shorter than all of us, so I bet we look like her bodyguards, which isn’t far from the truth.

Mark, being Mila’s older twin brother—who looks nothing like her—has always been protective of her. When Chris and I came into the picture in middle school, it was like she had three big brothers. And it turned into four when we met Onyx, who moved here from Texas in the middle of freshman year of high school. He got the nickname Onyx because the dork was wearing an Onyx t-shirt when we met him, saying it was his favorite Pokémon. It’s a penis-rock. Who the actual hell picks that thing to be their favorite? Onyx, that’s who.

“We ready to bowl, or what?” Mark asks, throwing his shoulder-length light brown hair into a messy man bun.

“Can’t believe you haven’t cut that shit yet,” I comment as we move to the counter to get our shoes and pay for our games. He looks at me over his shoulder.

“The ladies love it.”

“Ew!” Mila says, shoving him. “I don’t want to hear about your groupies, Mark.”

He rolls his eyes. “I wasn’t gonna say anything else,” he adds sheepishly.

“So the band is doing well, then?” I ask.

He nods. “We’ve played a few shows, each one getting bigger. We’re trying to get into a festival at the end of the summer in Seattle. Not sure if we’ll make it, but we’re not giving up.”

“Which is why you should spend more time practicing, and less time with your groupies,” Mila scolds.

I smile and sneak a look at Chris. He shakes his head and mouths, nothing’s changed.

He’s right. And it feels damn good.

---