Page 21 of Fore Better or Worse (Return to Starlight Bay #16)
Chapter twenty-one
Hays
I twist open a Gatorade and stare out the floor-to-ceiling windows of my suite. The twinkling lights of Starlight Bay stretch out along the coast, the harbor dotted with boats that bob gently in the evening breeze. Anticipation thrums through my veins. Leah should be here any minute.
“You’re humming,” Rory observes from where he’s sprawled across the leather sectional, reviewing tomorrow’s pin positions.
“Am I?”
“Brother, you’ve been humming more than a princess waiting for her prince this week.”
I turn to face him. “Have you been watching animated movies again?”
“I need to keep up with the latest releases,” he grumbles.
“If it wasn’t for Sophie, I’d think you actually enjoy them.”
He ignores my comment about his niece, sets down the tablet, and fixes me with that look I’ve learned to dread. “Can we get back to focusing on golf, please?”
“Fine. How are we looking for tomorrow?”
“Depends. Are you asking me as your caddy or your best friend?”
“Never a good question,” I mutter.
He arches a brow. “As your caddy, I’m concerned that you’re sitting at four under going into the weekend when Wilcox is at eight under and looking dialed in.
Steward’s right behind him at seven, and that bastard always peaks in majors.
” He gestures at the tablet. “Plus, Rahmisk shot sixty-six today, and he’s never missed a cut at a major. ”
“My iron play has been dialed in,” I counter. “My putting stroke is smooth. And if you haven’t noticed, I’m looser than I’ve ever been.”
“You’re four back against the strongest field in years,” he points out. “McMurphy’s been waiting to get his hands on another major, and Kopp lives for this shit.”
“You think I don’t want this just as bad as every other guy out there?”
He ignores my outburst. “I think you’re distracted.” He grabs his tablet and swipes to a news app. “Half the golf media is already blaming your lackluster performance on her. Look at this shit.”
He turns the screen toward me. The headline reads Granger’s Game Slips as Details about New Girlfriend Emerge . Below it is a photo of Leah coming out of a coffee shop, her face half-obscured as she turns away from the waiting paparazzi.
“They’re wrong.” I deny the ridiculous claim immediately, but rage builds in my chest like a wildfire. My hands clench into fists as I stare at the picture.
“Are they?” Rory sets down the tablet and fixes me with a no-bullshit stare. “You’ve been ignoring your routine all week. Monday night, instead of getting a massage and reviewing course footage like you’ve done before every major since you earned your tour card, you went to her house for dinner.”
“I needed to eat—”
“Wednesday at the cocktail party, you were so busy playing boyfriend that you barely spoke to Martinez from First National, the one guy your agent wanted you to get some face time with. You know that deal could set you up for life, and he flew out here specifically to meet with you.”
Heat floods my face because he’s not wrong. “I introduced him to Leah—”
“And last night?” Rory stands and paces. “Instead of stretching, along with your protein shake and film study, you took her to the driving range to play golf instructor.”
“That was still golf-related,” I protest weakly.
Rory’s laugh is sharp. “Hitting some balls while teaching your girlfriend how to swing isn’t practice, it’s foreplay with golf clubs.”
I can’t argue with that assessment. Especially after what the foreplay led to.
“Today was the second round of the fucking U.S. Open,” he continues, his voice rising. “You might as well have shown up to the tee box in flip-flops.”
The truth of his words hits like a right hook. Every major I’ve ever played, my routine has been sacred. Methodical preparation, mental visualization, physical maintenance.
I take another swig of Gatorade. “You knew from the moment the Harbor course was named that I’d be spending time with her this week, if she’d have me.”
“She’s still not wearing your ring.”
As if I need the reminder. I twist the cap on the bottle and toss it onto the couch. “She’s going to be here any minute.”
“And are you going to send her away?”
“Hell no.”
He scoffs. “I didn’t think so.”
“Rory, I—”
“I’ve been watching you prep for tournaments since we were kids, Hays. You’re the most disciplined player I know, except when a certain brunette bookworm makes you lose your damn mind.”
He pauses, running a hand through his hair. “Plus, your mom’s flying in tomorrow, even though you’re a long shot at this point.”
My chest tightens. Mom’s coming to watch me play on Sunday, despite everything.
“Sunday’s Father’s Day,” I say quietly, the words carrying more weight than they should.
Rory’s expression softens. He knows what that means to me. But before he can say anything, my phone buzzes on the coffee table. Leah’s name flashes on the screen. Rory scoops up the tablet, already heading toward the door as I grab the phone, expecting to see the car I sent for her is downstairs.
Instead, my world tilts sideways.
I’m sorry. I can’t do tonight. I know you swear I’m not a distraction, but I’ve seen the headlines, and apparently, you’re the only one who believes that. I hope you understand. Good luck this weekend.
The words blur together as I read them once, twice, three times. My chest feels as if someone just drove a seven-iron straight through it.
“Hays?” Rory asks, eyeing me.
But I’m too busy shooting back a reply to answer. Are you okay?
It’s a minute before the little dots appear. Then, even longer until her reply comes through. Yeah, just need some space.
“She’s not coming.” I’m already reaching for my wallet on the counter. “I’m going over there.”
“Whoa, hold up.” Rory jumps between me and the door, hands raised. “Think about this for a second.”
“Think about what? The fact some assholes with cameras and microphones made her feel like she’s destroying my career?”
“Look, I get that you’re pissed, I do, but you’re four shots back with thirty-six holes to go in the U.S. Open.”
“This isn’t just about golf—”
“Everything’s about golf right now, man. That’s literally why we’re here.”
“They need to leave her out of it.”
“You know that’s not going to happen.”
“But—”
“She knew what she was getting into, Hays. That it was a possibility.” He unlocks the tablet to scroll through more articles. “Look, Leah Sullivan, bookstore employee, debut novelist. They’re following her around town, snapping pictures of her at the coffee shop.”
“She’s not the reason I’m not leading.”
He sets down the tablet, not meeting my eyes. I can tell he doesn’t agree.
“You’re sitting at four under,” he points out again, as if it’s proof.
“So this is my fault.”
“Yeah, it is. But not for the reasons you think.” He sits across from me, leaning forward. “You want to know what I think?”
“Even if I didn’t—”
“Leah’s smart enough to recognize you need to prove—to yourself and to everyone else—that you can win a major. And she doesn’t want to be the reason you don’t.”
Fuck. He’s right. I meet his eyes. “She’s not the reason.”
Rory leans back. “Doesn’t matter. But what I do know is you play your best golf when you have something to prove.”
I think about tomorrow’s round. About proving Leah’s not a distraction. Showing her, and everyone else, that loving her doesn’t make me weak. It makes me unstoppable.
“You’re right,” I say, blowing out a long breath. “This weekend, I’ll show everyone exactly what I’m made of.”
“Now, you’re talking.” Rory grabs the remote. “Pin positions are brutal tomorrow. Flag on seventeen’s tucked behind that front bunker. Eighteen’s playing long with the wind gusting up to twenty.”