Page 13 of Fore Better or Worse (Return to Starlight Bay #16)

Chapter thirteen

Hays | Three Weeks Later

T he three-hundred-pound barbell crashes back onto the mat at my home gym with a satisfying thud audible over the music blaring from the speakers. Sweat burns my eyes as I drag a towel across my forehead, but anything’s better than the constant ache that’s been eating at me for almost a month.

Three fucking weeks since that press conference went sideways. And radio silence from Starlight Bay. Not even a scolding for breaking our no-contact rule with the custom initialed leather journal and fountain pen set I sent for her birthday. Not a single word to tell me she believes me.

I chalk my hands and reset my grip, lifting the bar with controlled precision. The burn in my hamstrings and lower back feels good, real, unlike the constant ache in my chest that nothing seems to touch.

The dating rumors are still circulating online, no matter how clearly I shut them down.

Some gossip blogger even published a post titled, Golf’s Golden Boy’s Secret Romance Revealed!

complete with photos of me and Jenna having what was clearly a professional lunch.

The comments section was a dumpster fire of speculation about whether I was finally settling down or just having fun with the hot reporter .

I need to stay the hell offline.

I lower the weight and reset, focused on maintaining my form even as frustration courses through my veins.

Maybe, Leah’s dating some small town guy.

An intellectual type who can take her to dinner like a normal boyfriend.

A man who doesn’t live life in the spotlight, creating complications she never asked for.

A guy who prioritizes time with her over some career goal he’s been chasing for years.

I’m staring blankly out the floor-to-ceiling windows at the desert view when my playlist cuts off in the middle of a song.

“I wondered where the hell you were.”

I don’t bother turning around, just reset my stance and grip the bar again, lifting into position as Rory breezes in as if he owns the place. “Since when do you deadlift three hundred?”

I finish another set, dropping the weight to the mat with more force than necessary. “If you’re here to bust my balls, you—”

“You missed your tee time at Desert Mountain.” He meets my eyes in the mirror, arms crossed. “When’s the last time you skipped a practice round?”

Never. The answer is never, but I’m not giving him the satisfaction. I reach for my towel, swiping my face again.

“Alright, talk to me.” Rory leans against the squat rack. “What’s going on?”

I move to the bench press, lying back and gripping the barbell. “Nothing to talk about.”

“Bullshit. You’ve been a walking storm cloud since the press conference. And don’t tell me it’s about your tie for nineteenth last week, because we both know you’ve bounced back from worse.”

He’s right, damn it. My game’s been solid lately, not spectacular but consistent. It’s everything else eating me alive. I press the weight up, muscles burning. “Don’t.”

“Look, anyone who watched that press conference could tell you were shooting straight.” His voice softens as he moves behind the bench to spot me. “The rumors will die down. And the foundation will get the attention it deserves. Give it time.”

He sounds like my mom when I told her I was learning to be patient. What a joke. I’ve been about as patient as a kid on Christmas morning. If this is me learning patience, I’m failing spectacularly.

“You know what the worst part is?” I grumble, lowering the bar to my chest before pressing it back up. “The foundation is actually making a difference. We’ve got twelve kids lined up for the first round of scholarships. Twelve kids who wouldn’t have had a shot otherwise.”

I finish my reps, rack the bar, and remember the applications the staff sent me last week to review.

“There’s this kid in Detroit whose mom works three jobs just to keep him in junior tournaments.

Another one in rural Georgia whose grandfather drives him four hours each way to get decent instruction.

Real kids with real talent who just need someone to believe in them. ”

Rory opens his mouth, but I’m on a roll.

“And instead of talking about that, instead of getting people excited about changing lives, those assholes want to gossip about who I’m supposedly sleeping with.”

“Jenna’s feature came out. Obviously, the people who need to hear about it are listening if applications are coming in.”

I grip the bar again.

“Seems like what you’re actually sore about is the fact Leah might think the rumors are true.”

I grit my teeth through another set, my chest burning. “If you were her, wouldn’t you think there might be a grain of truth to them?”

“You don’t know what she’s thinking because she’s sticking to the rules you agreed to.”

“Rules went out the window when I started sending birthday presents.”

“Did they? Because from where I’m standing, it looks like she’s keeping her end of the bargain.”

The possibility she’s still holding to our agreement, still waiting for me to win that major, sends a different kind of ache through my chest. Hope mixed with something that feels dangerously close to desperation.

I rack the weights and jump up, pacing by the windows. “I can’t stop thinking about her, Rory. It’s been forever, and I still wake up dreaming about kissing her. Craving the way she felt in my arms. How she looked at me like she could see right through me.”

“Which is exactly why you need to get your head back in the game.” Rory moves closer, his tone shifting. “Speaking of which, I came by because next year’s schedule just came out.”

“And?”

“The U.S. Open’s going to be interesting.”

I barely glance at him. “When isn’t it? It’s a major.”

“Except, next June, it’s being held at Starlight Bay Country Club.”

The words punch the air from my lungs. I spin to face him so fast I nearly lose my balance. “What?”

“Harbor course.” Rory’s grin is slow and knowing. “Father’s Day weekend.”

My heart hammers against my ribs as if it wants to escape. Father’s Day Weekend. Starlight Bay. The place where this all started, when I met the love of my life on a dinner cruise in the harbor that’s visible from the eighteenth fairway.

“That’s…” I run a hand through my sweat-soaked hair, my mind racing. “That can’t be a coincidence.”

He lifts a shoulder. “The universe works in mysterious ways.”

“The U.S. Open. In her backyard.” I can picture it now. The media, the crowds, the biggest spotlight golf has to offer. And Leah will be right there.

“I need to buy a ring.” The words spill out before I’ve fully processed the thought, but as soon as I say them, I know they’re right. “A fucking gorgeous rock that’ll make her forget every logical reason she has to say no.”

“Whoa there, Prince Charming.” Rory holds up a hand. “Last I checked, you still haven’t won that major.”

“I’m going to win that one.” It’s as simple as that.

“And if, let’s say, you don’t?”

“Then I’ll have a few weeks to convince her I’m husband material. Even without the trophy.” I crush the water bottle in my hand as a plan forms in my head. “But I’m not walking away, not when I’m this close.”

Rory shakes his head, but he’s smiling. “You realize what she’ll say when you show up early, right? Before you win and before your birthday?”

“That I’m premature again?” I can’t help but grin at the thought. “Yeah, probably. But she also said enthusiasm has its merits.”