Page 24 of Fore Better or Worse (Return to Starlight Bay #16)

Chapter twenty-four

Hays

T he roar from the gallery builds as I stride up the eighteenth fairway, the sound rolling toward me like an ocean wave.

Close to eight thousand people are on their feet, their cheers almost deafening.

But instead of feeling the pressure, a quiet calm settles over me. I shoot a smile at Rory on my left.

My approach shot sits twelve feet from the pin, a manageable putt that could put me in the clubhouse lead.

Behind me, the final groups work their way through the course.

One glance at the leaderboard shows two players still have a chance to catch me, maybe force a playoff, but right now, all that matters is this moment.

Then I see her.

Leah stands inside the ropes near the green, that fuchsia shirt blazing like a beacon against the crowd. The sight of her waiting makes my chest tight. But it’s who’s standing beside her that makes me nearly stumble. My mom.

Their arms are linked, the two chatting easily, heads bent together like old friends. When Mom throws back her head, laughing at something Leah says, an overwhelming surge of pure happiness nearly stops me in my tracks.

“Good lie,” Rory says as we approach the green, but I hear the grin in his voice. He saw them, too.

I mark my ball with the pressed penny and step back, zeroed in on this shot.

Rory scans the green. “Twelve feet, slight uphill. Five, maybe six, inches of break from right to left, but it’s subtle. The grain’s running away from you, so it’ll be a touch slower than the practice green.”

I nod, reading the line myself. The green slopes gently toward the harbor. The lighthouse in the background, its white tower standing high over the water, reminds me I’m back where Leah and I began.

“Pace is key,” Rory continues. “Get it to the hole with good speed and let the break take it. Nothing fancy.”

“Don’t worry,” I assure him, with a wink. “I’ve been working on my stroke all week. I know exactly how to get it in the hole.”

Rory shakes his head with a snort. “Jesus, Granger. Even now?”

“Especially now,” I grin.

And with that, his caddy mask slips, replaced by the friend who’s been by my side since we were kids. He claps me on the shoulder, his voice dropping to something only I can hear.

“Take your time. Enjoy this moment. You’ve earned it.”

I will, believe me. Because when I sink this putt, I’ll be the leader in the clubhouse at the fucking Open. The stakes are massive, the pressure should be crushing, but instead, I feel like I did when I was little, when my dad was my coach and caddy and assured me I could do anything.

I pick up the pressed penny, replacing it with my ball, and slip it into my pocket, sending a silent Happy Father’s Day wish out to him, because there’s a chance I might be about to make his prediction come true.

With a deep breath, I step up to the ball. Three practice strokes and I’m feeling the weight of the putter in my hands. I adjust my grip twice, just like always, making sure everything’s perfect. Then I go completely still, the crowd noise fading to white noise as I read the line one more time.

The putt feels perfect the moment it leaves the blade. I watch it track exactly where I aimed, taking the subtle break, rolling with that confident pace that says it’s never going anywhere but the bottom of the cup.

It drops with the sweetest sound in golf, that satisfying rattle of ball against plastic.

The crowd erupts like a bomb went off. Thousands losing their minds, their cheers echoing off the clubhouse and rolling out over the harbor. I raise both arms, letting the club fall to the ground as the moment washes over me.

Rory’s there in an instant, pulling me into a fierce hug I return with the deep gratitude I have for this man who’s been by my side through thick and thin.

He pounds my back but doesn’t say anything, which tells me more than words ever could.

As we part, I lift my hat and run a hand through my hair before I lose it right here, right now.

It takes a minute to shake my partner’s hand and his caddy’s, as well, accepting their congratulations, but then, I’m walking off the green, searching the secure area that leads to the scoring tent.

And Leah’s right there. She rushes toward me, a huge smile filling her beautiful face. I catch her, lifting her off the ground and spinning her around while she laughs against my neck. She feels perfect in my arms, solid and real and mine.

“I can’t believe you just did that,” she breathes against my ear.

“Believe it, sweetheart.” I set her down, turning as Mom appears at my shoulder.

I pull her into a fierce hug.

“I’m so proud of you,” she whispers, her voice thick with emotion. “And somewhere out there, I know your dad is, too.”

I swallow hard, the emotion swelling within me. “I played with the marker today, and he was right there with me.”

Tears stream down her cheeks as she steps back, swiping them away with the back of her hand. It nearly breaks me, but I reach for her, and when her fingers curl around mine, I let out a long breath.

“I see you’ve met my fiancée,” I say, clearing my throat.

“We’ve been having the most wonderful chat,” Mom says, beaming.

The moment’s perfect, but reality intrudes when Rory catches my eye. Two players in the final groups could still catch me, forcing a two-hole playoff. I need to get to the range, stay warm, and keep my swing sharp just in case.

“I’ve got to head to the range,” I tell my mom and Leah. “Stay loose in case there’s a playoff.”

“Go then,” Leah says, giving me a gentle push. “We’ll be fine.”

“No way.” I squeeze her hand. “You’re coming with me.” I look between her and Mom. “Both of you.”

I’ve been in a playoff before, at a tournament event in Hawaii, and despite the tropical paradise, staying warm on the range felt like torture.

The waiting, the watching the leaderboard to see if my lead will hold.

But today, with Leah and Mom chatting casually only feet away as I hit practice balls, it feels like the most natural thing in the world.

While I work my way through my bag, mom shares embarrassing childhood stories that make Leah laugh.

And Leah returns the favor by telling her about that night on the boat and how I insisted we get married right then and there in international waters.

Their voices create a comfortable background hum that keeps me loose and relaxed.

The competitor in me still wants this win, but no matter what happens—win, playoff, or even coming in second—I have no regrets. I gave it everything out there today, played the best golf of my life when it mattered the most.

Twenty minutes later, Jim, the official, who’s still with me, relays a message from his walkie talkie.

“Steward is facing a fifteen foot putt for birdie to tie your score on eighteen.” Sure enough, the crowd goes silent then, moments later, builds to a crescendo before suddenly cutting off with a collective groan that echoes through the air.

My heart stops.

Leah and my mom clutch each other as Jim, holding the radio to his ear, nods and meets my eyes. “Congratulations, Hays. You’ve won the U.S. Open!”

My legs go weak as the reality of winning a major crashes over me. I’ve done it. After everything—the pressure, the doubters, the years of grinding—I’ve actually done it.

Heat floods my chest, spreading outward until my entire body feels as if it’s vibrating. This is what winning a major feels like. Proof that hard work and determination, along with persistence and belief, can actually pay off.

“You won!” Leah throws herself at me, and I catch her instinctively, holding her tight as I give in to the emotions rushing through my veins.

I can’t speak. My throat’s too tight, my chest too full.

“I’m so proud of you,” she whispers against my neck, and that’s when the tears come.

The ride back to the clubhouse in the golf cart feels surreal. Officials and photographers surround us, and there’ll be hours more to go with the trophy presentation and interviews, but all I can focus on is Leah’s hand in mine, the press of her engagement ring against my palm.

Mom sits shotgun next to Jim, her smile brighter than the late afternoon sun, while Rory, in the back, grins as if he just won the lottery.

Leah squeezes my hand. “This must be the best day of your life.”

I look at her, this brilliant, beautiful woman who saw what I needed, who waited for me, and now, who’s wearing my ring and promising me forever.

“It is,” I say, bringing her hand to my lips to press a kiss to her knuckles. “So far.”

Her eyebrows lift. “So far?”

“I have no doubt the best days of my life are still ahead.” I hold her gaze, letting her see everything I feel, everything I promise. “With you.”

The lighthouse comes into view as we round the corner of the clubhouse, its white tower standing against the dusky sky.

“Remind me later to tell you about my second novel,” Leah says, biting her lip as if she’s hiding something.

“You didn’t seem to want to share details the other night when I asked about it.”

“Because I didn’t want to jinx anything.”

Wrinkles crisscross my brow, but she just smiles slyly and leans her head on my shoulder, settling perfectly against my side.

“So what happens now?” Leah asks softly, her voice barely audible over the rumble of the cart.

“Now?” I press a kiss to the top of her head. “Now, we get married.”

“About time, hmm?”

“You can say that again.”