Then left.
Nyla expected never to see him again.
She was wrong.
But first, she had a shop to bring home.
Selling Trey’s car gave Nyla more money than she expected.
She paid off what remained of the old Ashby debt.
Then bought back a portion of the building from Langford Holdings.
Not the entire luxury lounge.
Only the original rear workshop and four billiard tables.
Theo joined her.
When she showed him the lease, his name appeared beside hers.
“Partner?”
“Partner.”
“I thought I was bartending.”
“You’re terrible at taking instructions.”
He smiled.
“I accept.”
They reopened the old workshop as:
ASHBY CUE & BILLIARDS
First customer arrived before the sign was finished.
Nyla opened the door.
The old lathe sat in the exact place Walter once used it.
She touched the wooden handle.
“He used to hum right here while it ran.”
Theo smiled.
“What?”
“Old church songs.”
Nyla started humming one.
Then stopped.
“I do that too.”
“When did you start?”
“I don’t know.”
She looked toward the machine.
“I never even noticed.”
The room smelled like varnish again.
Not quite the same.
But close.
Commissioner Kovac visited two weeks later.
She carried an envelope.
“The national final.”
Nyla laughed.
“That was nine years ago.”
“Your seat has been empty for nine years.”
Nyla stared.
“What are you saying?”
The association had reviewed her old withdrawal.
Because she never competed in the final, she had technically retained eligibility under a special hardship rule.
A new qualifier was approaching.
Kovac offered her a sanctioned route back.
Nyla stared at the paper.
“I’m thirty-two.”
“So?”
“I haven’t played professionally in nine years.”
“You just beat a licensed player on livestream using a heavy bar ball.”
Theo laughed.
“She has a point.”
Kovac smiled.
“Your seat has been empty.”
Nyla looked toward Walter’s cue.
Then said:
“Let’s go fill it.”
Training changed everything.
Nyla worked mornings at the shop.
Practiced afternoons.
Ran the billiard room evenings.
Theo handled the books.
Mr. Reign handled criticism.
“You’re dropping your elbow.”
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
“I’ve played longer than some of these kids have been alive.”
“And you’re still dropping it.”
Nyla laughed.
One afternoon, Mr. Reign arrived with his grandniece.
“Nyla, this is Nala.”
The little girl looked around eight.
She hid behind Reign’s coat.
“She’s been begging for a lesson.”
Nyla handed her a short cue.
“Well, Nala.”
She pointed toward an open table.
“In this shop, everybody gets to break.”
Nala looked nervous.
“Is it hard?”
“Only the first time.”
“And after?”
Nyla smiled.
“After that, it’s just love and patience.”
Nala broke.
The cue ball barely touched the rack.
