Page 12 of Fore Better or Worse (Return to Starlight Bay #16)

Chapter twelve

Hays | Eight Months Later

T he bright lights in the media tent are blinding, but I can’t keep the excitement off my face as I settle into the folding chair behind the microphone.

Third place finish. My best result in three months, and exactly the kind of momentum I need as I head into the final stretch of the season.

Plus, this press conference has been months in the making, and I can’t wait for what I’ve been working on to finally be made public.

The tent buzzes with the low hum of laptop keys clicking as reporters type notes, their press credentials swaying on lanyards around their necks.

Someone’s phone buzzes with what sounds like a breaking news alert.

I survey the row of TV cameras lined up against the back wall, their red recording lights glowing.

The Golf Channel logo is prominent on the center camera, flanked by ESPN and NBC Sports.

Perfect. The more coverage this gets, the better.

This circus gets broadcast to millions of golf fans worldwide, and somewhere in a small coastal town in Massachusetts, I’m hoping one particular brunette beauty is tuned in, though it is her birthday.

Today’s been months in the making—not just the golf but what comes next.

Jenna’s exclusive feature story about my new foundation drops next week, and today, she’ll ask me about it publicly for the first time.

To whet everyone’s appetite for more and garner the attention the launch deserves.

“Congratulations on your finish today, Hays,” Jenna Morely, from the Golf Channel, starts after getting the go-ahead thumbs up from the Tour’s media relations, up front on the right.

Jenna’s professional smile is eager, and I see the anticipation in her eyes.

We’ve been planning today’s questions for weeks.

I lean into the microphone, flashing her a warm smile. “Thanks, Jenna. Felt good to be back in contention.”

“Walk us through that birdie on eighteen.”

“I had 147 to the pin, with the wind helping just a touch. Hit a smooth 9-iron that released exactly how I wanted it to, left myself about twelve feet below the hole. The putt had maybe six inches of break, and I knew if I could start it on the right edge and trust the read, it was going in.”

“Let’s talk about your second shot on the par-5 fifteenth,” a voice calls out from the back. “You laid up instead of going for the green in two. That’s not typically your style.”

“Course management,” I offer, settling back in my chair. “The pin was tucked behind that front bunker, and with the wind picking up, the risk-reward wasn’t there. Sometimes, the smart play isn’t the most exciting, but I was hoping that patience would pay dividends, and it did.”

“What about that approach shot on twelve? You caught the fringe instead of the green.”

“Cut it a hair thin. The lie was sitting down in the rough more than I read initially.” I shrug. “That’s the difference between third place and first, honestly. Those marginal calls, the precision on approach shots when you’re between clubs. I need to trust my reads more and fully commit.”

“Before we continue,” a voice calls out from the third row, “can we talk about your wardrobe choice today? You’re known for wearing your signature bright pink polo on Sundays, but today, you went with mint green. Any particular reason?”

My heartrate ticks up, and I turn to face the cameras. “Sometimes, you need to send a message,” I say, a genuine smile filling my face as I think of Leah. “And today felt like the perfect day for mint green.”

“A message to who?” The follow-up comes immediately, but I don’t mind.

“To someone who’ll understand.”

A murmur runs through the crowd as reporters scribble away.

“Speaking of commitment…” Jenna says, her tone shifting as she moves toward what we planned. “You’ve been working on something significant off the course. Care to shed some light on that?”

Perfect. This is it. I sit up straighter, excitement creeping into my voice as I glance at her. “It’s true. I’ve been working to launch a foundation. The team is still putting the finishing touches on the details, but it’s a cause incredibly close to my heart.”

I pause, thinking about my parents—both of them.

“Golf gave me everything after I lost my dad when I was young. My mom did an incredible job raising me, but not every kid has that kind of support system. I want to level the playing field for young golfers from single-parent homes, foster families, those being raised by other relatives…you know, any kid who has the dream, but maybe not the traditional resources to follow it.”

The room goes quiet for a moment as reporters furiously scribble notes or type away. Which is exactly what I was hoping for. Now come the follow-up questions about funding, timeline, how people can get involved…

But instead of the foundation discussion, Davidson from ESPN leans forward. “Speaking of personal matters, there have been dating rumors circulating recently about you and a certain well-respected sports reporter. Care to address those?”

What. The. Fuck? Dating rumors about me and a certain sports reporter? Since when? Where in the hell is this coming from? Of all the days for things to go sideways… Today is supposed to be a celebration.

Fists curled, I glance at Jenna, whose brows have come together. She’s as caught off guard as I am. A flash of embarrassment, or maybe hurt, flutters across her face. Shit. This isn’t how this is supposed to go. Not today.

“I’m not sure what rumors you’re referring to,” I say carefully, my voice steady, despite the way my pulse has spiked.

I flash my practiced media smile and lean back slightly, as if I’m unconcerned.

“But what I can tell you is, this foundation launch will change lives. We’re talking about scholarships, mentorship programs, equipment grants—”

“The two of you have been photographed together multiple times at various tournaments,” another reporter jumps in. “Dinner, coffee, heading into your suite…” The insinuation is clear. And makes my blood boil. Jenna and I were never alone, no matter what anyone says.

The tone in the tent has shifted. Every camera is focused on me, waiting for a reaction.

“Look,” I say, folding my hands and trying one more tactical redirect, “I think we’re missing the real story here. In six months, we’ll have our first scholarship recipients selected. Kids, who might not have had a shot otherwise, will be on golf courses across the country—”

“But she—”

I can’t deflect. And Jenna’s sitting right there. I need to navigate this without throwing her under the bus, while also making it crystal clear to anyone watching—especially Leah—that absolutely nothing is going on.

“I’ve been fortunate to have a team working on a feature story about the new foundation.

The piece requires multiple interviews, background research, and fact-checking.

And frankly, the journalists have been nothing but professional.

No one on the team deserves to have their reputation dragged through the mud because some photographer got creative with his angles. ”

“But surely working so closely with an attractive, accomplished journalist who also loves golf—” someone starts.

“Has been a professional pleasure,” I cut them off, my voice sharper now. I can’t help it. The thought of Leah watching this shitshow, wondering if there’s truth to these rumors, makes my chest tight. Is she reaching for the remote to turn off the TV, convinced I’ve been playing her all this time?

“The staff are some of the best covering the tour. Their reputations speak for them.” I pause, making sure my next words leave no doubt. “But nothing is going on.”

“Speaking of reputations, you’ve been notably absent from the dating scene recently,” another voice calls out from the middle of the room, as if making a juicy observation.

“The Hays Granger who used to make headlines for activities off the course, as much as on it, seems to have disappeared. Are you saying these recent rumors aren’t the cause of your new low-profile lifestyle? ”

I run a hand through my hair, struggling to keep my composure as my patience wears thin.

Leaning in to the microphone, I turn my attention to the cameras.

“Let me be crystal clear since there seems to be more interest in speculation than actual news. I haven’t been and am not dating now because of a promise I made to someone.

” My voice rises slightly, easy charm replaced by raw honesty.

“A promise that hasn’t changed on my end. ”

“Are you saying you’re in a relationship?”

“I’m saying I know exactly what I want, and when the time is right, you’ll know, too.” I flash my trademark grin, but there’s steel behind it, now. “Trust me, when I’m ready to let the world know, there won’t be any guessing involved.”

“What about your prediction for the major next month?”

Thank God. I take a breath, forcing my shoulders to relax. “My game’s exactly where it needs to be. I’ve been working toward this moment for years. And I’m counting on my closing game being stronger than ever.”

I stand up, signaling the end of my availability, despite the questions that keep coming.

As I walk out, my mind races. I can only hope the foundation story still gets the attention it deserves.

And that Leah heard every word I said about exactly where my heart belongs.

Because if she doesn’t believe me, if she thinks for even a second I’ve been anything less than completely faithful to what I promised her on that boat, I might have just lost her before I even had the chance to win.