Page 22 of Fore Better or Worse (Return to Starlight Bay #16)

Chapter twenty-two

Leah

I love the satisfying clickety-clack sound the keys on the vintage typewriter make when I’m in the flow and the words are coming easily, a story gliding from my fingertips.

But right now, with nothing staring back at me except a pathetic single line I managed to peck out an hour ago, the silence feels deafening.

I lean back in my chair, rubbing my temples.

It’s dark in here, even with the lights on.

But, thanks to the media camped outside, I can’t open the window shades to let in what little sun peeks through the thick gray clouds.

Photographers, patient as all get out, have been lurking since dawn, waiting for their chance to snap a photo of the woman destroying Hays Granger’s chance at a major .

I roll my neck and try again, positioning my fingers over the keys.

Nothing.

With a frustrated sigh, I abandon the typewriter and pad to the kitchen. It’s nearly two o’clock, and I haven’t eaten lunch, so even though I’m not hungry, I open the fridge and scan the options. Looks like it’s a turkey and cheese on wheat. Then maybe, I’ll try to read a book.

I put the ingredients on the counter, but they sit untouched as my gaze drifts to the TV in the family room. I swore I wouldn’t watch the round today. That I needed space to breathe.

But I cave.

The Golf Channel springs to life, a wide shot of the Harbor course filling the screen.

The commentator’s voice, in that hushed, reverent tone they always use during tournaments, is saying, “…and Granger’s really struggling to find his rhythm today.

After starting the day four shots back, he’s now fallen to six behind the leader. ”

My stomach drops as the camera cuts to Hays lining up a putt. Even from this distance, I can see the tension in his shoulders. He takes his usual three practice strokes, but something’s off about his timing, and his grip seems too tight.

The ball slides past the hole.

“Another missed opportunity for Granger,” the commentator continues. “He just can’t seem to find the bottom of the cup today.”

Another analyst chimes in. “You have to wonder if the media attention surrounding his personal life is affecting his concentration.”

The camera zooms in on Hays’s face, and my heart clenches. Frustration etches in every line of his features. This is my fault. I know it, and from the looks of things, so does everyone else.

I reach for the remote to turn it off, but freeze when they cut to a slow-motion replay of his swing on the previous hole.

“Notice the rhythm there. It’s just not clicking for Granger today. He’s built his reputation on unshakeable self-confidence, that impenetrable mental game, but it’s almost like hesitation is creeping into his swing today.”

I snap off the TV and make my way to my bedroom, cracking open the jewelry box on my dresser, and staring at the engagement ring nestled inside. The happily ever after it teases is an unlikely scenario now, not that I ever really believed it was a real possibility.

I snap the box closed and set it back down.

Next to it, in my ring dish, sits the pressed penny.

The token I learned, months after he gave it to me, Hays used as his ball marker for years.

I slide it out, rubbing the surface between my fingers and close my eyes, remembering the night on the boat when he pressed it into my palm.

“So you know without a doubt I’m serious about this. About you. About us.”

Even then, his faith in me, in us, was unwavering. While I’d been cataloging all the reasons it wouldn’t work, he’d been carrying around proof some things are worth holding onto forever.

The sound of car doors slamming makes me freeze. Then, a few seconds later, when my doorbell rings, I startle.

“Leah? It’s us!” Sarah calls through the door. “We brought reinforcements!”

I breathe a sigh of relief and slide the penny into my pocket, heading to the front door. Sure enough, through the peephole, I see Sarah, Cora, and Emma standing on my porch, loaded with a tray of coffees and what looks like enough takeout to fuel an army.

Grateful for the distraction, I unlock the door and open it wide enough for them to slip inside. “What are you guys doing here?”

“Rescue mission,” Cora announces, squeezing past. “We figured you might need some company.”

“And coffee,” Emma adds, carrying the to-go cups that smell like heaven.

Sarah gives me a long look as she enters then she pulls me in for a hug. “Tabitha said you look like hell, and she was right, babe.”

“Thanks,” I mutter, grateful Tab’s holding down the fort at High Tide Tales while I’m in hiding, and for my friends’ presence. I close the door and lock it. “How did you guys get past the media circus?”

“We may have created a diversion,” Cora says with a mischievous grin.

Despite everything, I find myself smiling. “Do I want to know?”

“Probably not,” Emma replies. “But they deserve it.”

We settle in my living room, the coffee table quickly covered with an assortment of sub sandwiches, chips, and cookies. For a few minutes, we eat and chat, but I feel something coming as they glance at each other.

Finally, Sarah breaks. “So, want to tell us why you’re hiding in here instead of out supporting your man?”

“He’s not my—” I start then stop. The denial feels hollow even to me.

“Leah,” Cora says gently, “we saw the interview footage from Wednesday. The pictures of the two of you at that swanky party. That man is completely gone for you.”

“Which is exactly the problem.” I run my thumb up and down the paper coffee cup. “Haven’t you seen the headlines? They’re blaming me for his performance.”

“And you believe them?” Emma asks, raising an eyebrow.

“I can see it for myself! He’s playing terribly, and it’s because he’s distracted by—”

“By what?” Sarah interrupts. “By being happy?”

I open my mouth to argue, but she continues.

“Leah, you write romance novels. You know better than anyone that love doesn’t make people weaker. It makes them stronger.”

“That’s in books,” I protest. “This is real life. We’re from completely different worlds. He’s a professional athlete who travels constantly. I’ve never even been on an airplane!”

“So?” Cora shrugs. “Bryce and Sarah are complete opposites. He’s got his MBA, works in finance, and travels for business.”

“Yeah, and I teach third grade and make crafts on weekends,” Sarah continues. “Somehow, we make it work.”

I was a bridesmaid in their wedding two years ago and can attest they’re blissfully happy, but still… “That’s different.”

“How?”

“Because…” I struggle for words. “Because strangers don’t meet on boats and fall in love in three hours and spend three years apart and then get married and live happily ever after. They just don’t.”

The three of them exchange glances. Again.

“What?”

“Why not?”

I ignore them, instead moving on to other concerns that will prove my point. “And there’s the media attention,” I continue, setting down my cup. “My life is already upended, and with him? It would turn upside down.”

“The tournament ends tomorrow,” Cora points out. “The media are here for that, and because you’re a new face on Hays’s arm, you two are something to talk about. Marrying Hays doesn’t mean you’ll be followed by paparazzi every day for the rest of your life.”

“But—”

“Leah.” Sarah’s voice is gentle but firm. “What are you really afraid of?”

The question stops me cold. I stare at my friends, these women who’ve known me for years, who’ve watched me play it safe, time and time again, despite my personal adventures.

“I think you’re afraid of getting hurt again,” Emma says gently.

Cora reaches for my hand. “Or maybe, of not being enough for a charismatic guy like him.”

“Maybe, that if you believe in the fairytale, it’ll all fall apart and you’ll be left with nothing?” Sarah adds.

How is it they can articulate in three sentences what I couldn’t untangle in three years of overthinking?

“I’m not afraid,” I insist, but even as I say the words, Hays’s voice from that night on the boat replays in my mind. “Life’s too fucking short.”

I fiddle with the chips on my plate. While I’ve been overthinking every angle, analyzing every risk, he’s been living by the philosophy that when something matters, you don’t wait.

The room is quiet.

“Has he given you any reason to think you’re not enough?” Emma asks softly.

I think about Monday night, the way he looked at me like I was the most beautiful woman in the world. How he’d said “You’re not a distraction” with such conviction, as if the very suggestion was absurd.

Then Wednesday at the cocktail party, how he’d been so happy to introduce me to his friends, his protective hand planted at the small of my back.

“No,” I admit.

“Has he ever made you feel small or insignificant?”

“The opposite.” I think about how he’s always given me his full attention when we’re together. How, from that first night, he’s always made me feel as if he likes me for me. “Hays makes me feel like I could conquer the world.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

I close my eyes and swallow hard. The issue becoming crystal clear.

Me. “I’ve been the roadblock. This entire time, I’ve been the one making excuses, pushing him away, coming up with reasons why it won’t work.

” My voice cracks. “He’s done nothing but prove himself to me, over and over again, and I just kept moving the goalposts. ”

The realization hits me like a physical blow. “I even canceled on him Friday night,” I admit, my voice barely above a whisper. “Told him I needed space, that I was protecting him from the media attention.”

I look up at my friends, shame burning in my chest. “But really, I was punishing him. For what? For keeping his promise? For being exactly who he’s always been?”

Sarah’s expression softens. “Oh, honey.”

“Nothing that’s happened this week has been his fault,” I continue, the words tumbling out now. “Not the media attention, not the headlines, not the pressure. That’s all just part of his world, and instead of standing beside him through it, I ran. I abandoned him when he needed me most.”

“And?” Cora prompts gently.

“And I love him.” The words come out in a rush, like a dam bursting. “I love his confidence and his dimples and the way he makes everything feel possible.”

I think about that first night, how he’d said “when you know, you know” with such certainty. He’d known. From the very beginning, he’d known what we could be, and I’d spent three years trying to prove him wrong.

The tears flow freely now, but I can’t stop. Hays never asked me to change. He just asked me to trust him. To trust us.

“He’s given me so much.” I wipe my eyes with the back of my hand. “And what have I given him in return? Doubt. Fear. Conditions.”

My voice grows stronger as the truth settles in. “The least I can do is give him my love. Unconditionally. Win or lose, major championship or not. He deserves someone who believes in him the way he’s believed in me.”

Sarah squeals as Emma claps her hands together. “So, what are you going to do about it?”

I look around my friends, who did who knows what to come here and stage an intervention. Incredible women who have systematically dismantled every excuse I’ve built up to protect my heart.

An idea forms in my mind. Something bigger than just showing up at the course. Something that would prove to Hays I’m all in.

“I need to get to the tournament tomorrow,” I say, setting my plate on the coffee table as I jump up and start pacing. “And show him what real follow-through looks like.”

My friends erupt with enthusiasm, but I’m already thinking ahead. After all, Hays isn’t the only one who can make a grand gesture.

“Speaking of the tournament,” Emma says with a mischievous grin, “What about that caddy of his? Rory? He’s…”

“Hot,” Cora finishes with a dreamy sigh. “Like, seriously hot. Dark hair, those intense eyes, and did you see his arms when he was carrying that golf bag?”

“Down, girls,” I laugh, feeling lighter than I have in days. “Tabitha’s already called dibs.”

A chorus of groans erupts, but I grab my coffee and take a sip, already thinking about tomorrow when, win or lose, Hays will know exactly where my heart belongs.