Page 13 of A Game as Old as Time

Ty meant well, and Gunner knew he had been out of line.

“Tell the fam I said the same.” He flashed his patent Tyquan Carter smile and stepped through the door.

Man, what was all that---

“Gunner!” called a gruff voice from behind the counter. “Your food is done.” Gunner inched forward, grabbing the bags and extending the cash he had in his hand. “No, no kid,” the man insisted, waving his hand dismissively. “This one is on me.”

“Tony, please.”

The burly man behind the counter just shook his head as he pointed to the door.

“Please, Gunner. Take this back to your mom and sister and give them my best.”

Gunner lowered the bills and thanked him.

“How are they doing, by the way?” Tony asked as Gunner made his way around the corner.

That was precisely one of the questions Gunner had hoped to avoid, and he stuffed the bills into his pocket before taking another long inhale to gather himself. A familiar picture by the cash register grabbed his attention as he tried to steady his vision. His father and Tony stood together, holding a grand reopening sign, in front of this very pizza parlor---the original building had burned down.

“Doing OK.” Gunner jerked his head up, trying to keep his voice from breaking. “Just taking it day by day, I guess.”

I’m a terrible liar.

Tony’s green eyes looked exhausted, and his protruding stomach, which you could see through his apron, rocked as they went silent. It was clear that he wanted to say more; perhaps he wanted to press the conversation further. However, just like Gunner, Tony appeared to be at a loss for words. A large sigh finally brought them together into his well-known, tight, Italian bear hug.

“You look so much like him,” he exhaled as he patted Gunner’s back. “Life is not fair sometimes. I just hope that the new scoreboard that we are putting up can help us all remember what your father has done for this town and community.”

I can’t do this.

Gunner’s chest had begun to tighten, and his eyes were starting to swell.

“I gotta go, Tony, but,” he snatched up the bags, “I really appreciate this.”

Tony stood, a subtle wetness filling his own eyes, for a few moments before he finally turned back to the counter.

“Good luck tomorrow, kid. I know as long as we have a Weston on the field, we have a chance.”

Great.

Gunner nodded and took one more look at the picture of his father and Tony. Their radiant smiles were the last push he needed to spin and half-run for the door.

Woah!

A woman shrieked as Gunner barreled past her, narrowly avoiding a collision in the small waiting area.

“Ms. Summers!” He jerked away, trying not to show how upset he was. “My fault. I was in a hurry, and I’m so sorry.”

She didn’t seem upset at all. Her warm, calm expression helped ease his breathing as he rocked back onto his heels.

“Are you OK?” she asked, her face shifting to concern.

I’m fine.

He gave a slight nod and tried to slip by.

“I just need to get home. My mom and sister are probably really hungry.”

She put her hand on his arm and forced him to come to a stop. The genuine concern she was showing was not all that surprising, given thatMs. Summers was one of his favorite teachers and a strong supporter of the football team. Her music classes were a much-needed break from his hectic AP schedule, and Gunner admired the way she engaged with her students.

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