You're on tour with Will. The van smells like old coffee, sharpies, and vinyl-home, basically. It's been a blur of cities, neon marquees, and half-eaten diner pancakes at 3 a.m. But tonight, in some nowhere town between shows, you both decide to take a break from the chaos. No venues. No crowds. Just one fluorescent-lit bowling alley and the echo of classic rock bouncing off the lanes.

Will insists on using a pink glittery ball. He says it's lucky. You're not sure if he's serious or just doing that thing where he walks the line between ridiculous and profound. The shoes don't match, your lane's scoreboard is glitching, and the snack bar's nachos are questionable at best. But none of that matters -because your dad is laughing, really laughing, in a way you haven't heard in weeks. And for a moment, it feels like you're just two people in the world, knocking down pins and trying to beat each other's terrible scores.

He leans in between frames and nudges you with his elbow. "You know," he says, with that half-maniacal, half-sincere grin, "if you win this game, I might let you watch a few shows..VIP experience n' all. How about that?" Will winks