Page 21 of The Guy in the Alley

“I got it.” Ben jumped into action.

I crossed the path to lower the volume down to zero, because we were in the last five-minute stretch.

“We have our answers!” Jamaal declared. “As always, the loudest cheer wins! Starting with—” He unfolded one note. “Detroit!”

Yeah, that one always got loud cheers. Whatever. We saw them twice a year. Big whoop.

“Next up!” Jamaal went on. “The Predators!”

“Fuck the Preds!” I boomed out.

Automatic reaction. I couldn’t help that. Try mention the Kings too…

Jamaal laughed as he read the third note. “Chelios!”

Oh, get over it. Only people over forty gave a shit. I looked over my shoulder and saw Ben smirking wryly.

He caught my curiosity. “Yeah, I was bitter when he was traded.”

I chuckled. Of course he was. My dad had been fucking furious.

“Fourth note!” Jamaal hollered. “The 2013 realignment!”

I whipped around again, and for one heart-stopping second, almost the entire establishment was silent. Then…came the laughter. And the cheers. And more cheers. There was no fucking doubt. Unless the fifth note contained magic, Ben and I had this in the bag.

As it turned out, the last note contained zero magic, because someone had jotted down fucking Minnesota? Seriously? If it hadn’t been for the fact that we were currently sucking ass, I would’ve gotten as high and mighty as we used to deserve to be. Minnesota saw us as rivals; we didn’t see them at all.

Two minutes before the game started, I was the lucky recipient of fifty bucks. I pocketed my original ten plus another, and then I handed Ben thirty.

“What’re you doing?” He frowned. “You won.”

“Because you gave me the answer!” I laughed. “Don’t be an idiot. This is more your win than mine, man.”

He couldn’t possibly see this as a handout.

He was reluctant about it, but he pocketed the money eventually.

Great. Now we could focus on winning the game.

* * *

I had to get out of here. I’d allow myself one last night, and then I was gone. Because none of this was real. It was a painful flashback to simpler times. More than that, it was a glimpse into a reality that didn’t belong to me. This was Trace’s life.

I didn’t work here. I didn’t live upstairs. I didn’t have the energy to scream at a TV.

But man, I fucking wished I did.

Trace and Jamaal shouted at our shitty play along with the rest of the patrons, while the knot in my stomach just grew. As did my envy. With Trace, I didn’t know what was worse. The fact that I wanted to start my life over and be him, or that I wanted to be with him. Because fucking hell, it was attraction this time around. He wasn’t a sweet woman with a kind smile who’d helped me in the ER. He was…crass, all male, hardworking, disgustingly generous, funny, and so goddamn beautiful that I constantly caught myself staring.

He had a hunger for life that balanced perfectly with a dose of working-class reality. I didn’t know what his dreams were in life, and I had no plans to stick around to find out, but I bet they were right up my alley. I just had a gut feeling that he was exactly the man I’d once wanted to be. Just…fuck, a place to call home, a job I enjoyed, money to catch a game every now and then, maybe a road trip with…

Alvin had wanted to see the ocean since he was little, and by the time I’d been able to afford it, Lindsey and I had started realizing we were reaching our expiration date. I’d been downright depressed, and she’d been understandably fed up with my inability to talk about my problems.

By the third period, I needed some air. We were down by four, and nobody was ordering anything, so I slipped out the kitchen door and into the hallway. After a quick bathroom break and drinking some water, I opened—or not. I frowned and gave the door a shove instead, and that worked.

The icy cold from the alley was a relief. A feeling that wouldn’t last long, but now I welcomed it.

I created a pile of snow with my boot to prevent the door from closing properly, and then I trailed down the stoop steps and filled my lungs with frigid air.

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