The Tattooed Devil Wears Chucks

The Game

"Eat at the bar tonight, okay?" I watch my mother smack Sydney's obscene hand gesture down and push her hand back into the car. "There is money on the table. We are eating at the game. No Cole. No Morgan. Dad's orders."

"Got it." I nod, returning to my book. I try and hide my growing smile, knowing that the bar they are referring to is Kane's Bar & Grill, and that means I get to see Kane tonight.

"Try not to burn the place to the ground." Mom smiles sweetly, "...again."

"That only happened once. And it was your poor parenting skills for not informing me that tin-foil is not supposed to go in the microwave!"

With a shake of her head, she pulls the car from the driveway and enters the road.

It's not like I burned the entire place down. It was just one small portion of the kitchen—a few cupboards, the microwave, the stove beneath it, and the pantry. She later thanked me, because dad finally had to succumb to her constant pleas for a kitchen renovation. The stainless appliances really are a nice update. They added value to our house. They're welcome.

Once the car is out of sight, I slam my book shut and head inside. Waiting for me on the counter is a fifty-dollar bill. That means I could eat my weight in cheese fries tonight. Or...I eat lightly and pocket the rest for a trip to the bookstore when I'm not grounded. I like the latter.

After grabbing a sweatshirt from my room, I decide to leave my car parked and walk to the bar. It takes an exact total of eleven minutes to reach Main Street by foot. The announcer of the softball game's voice can still be heard on this side of town. While most businesses are closed for the night, only the two bars remain open. Mickey's Landing, which sits right beside Kane's, has always felt more like a slightly upscale restaurant than a bar. With owners not from this area, it definitely isn't the most loved of the two from those that live in Luxberg. In fact, Mickey is known for hiking up the prices of the food and drinks during peak seasons—when all the rich people would show up to stay at their summer cabins on the lake. His daughter, Lilly, is in my grade and the head of the cheerleading team. She makes sure to get her parents to sponsor as many school activities as possible, making them a little more likable for the people who live here year-round.

Kane's bar is definitely a different crowd than what you'd find at Mickey's. Just opening the door hits your senses with an overpowering blast of stale beer and grease. The floor is almost always sticky as you walk on it. Old black iron chairs with brown leather are paired with wobbly, square tables covered with red and white checkered tablecloths. The whole place is darkly-lit, with the exception of a few pool tables on the other half of the establishment that have Budweiser lights hanging above them. Felix and I spent many nights perfecting our billiard skills at those tables. Even though I'm too young to sit there, per Kane's rule of having to be 21, the best part of the whole place is the bar. Not the actual wooden slab itself, but the wall behind it. That's where there are pictures of Kane's and my own family growing up. Our parents have been best friends since their own high school days, and their whole tale is told in photographs above the bottles of alcohol. Kane Senior, the original owner of the bar and star quarterback of Luxberg High, dated my mom, cheer captain, until their senior year. That's when my dad swooped in as the rival quarterback from a few towns over and captured her heart. Everything in town revolves around team spirit, and mom chose an outsider. I always loved that about her—a town rebel in her own way. Kane Senior found his own wife shortly after, and the two couples stayed close until their own kids were born. Now, here we all are. Kane and Tyler are two siblings that we aren't actually blood related to. And thank God for that, because Kane Alexander Porter is seriously drool-worthy in a total non-sibling way.

Passing my drunken uncle, who is currently passed out with his head lying on the table, I manage to squeeze my way to the bar, where I'm able to stand between two claimed barstools. Everyone in the place is dressed in their green and gold, and the radio blaring behind the bar is just barely loud enough to make out the Luxberg softball game over the jukebox. I just make out that Sydney's team is leading four to three in the third when a basket of the most wonderful smelling, freshly buttered popcorn appears in front of me.