Page 8 of Fore Better or Worse (Return to Starlight Bay #16)

Chapter eight

Leah

B efore I can respond, Hays moves toward Sean and Nicole’s table, glancing around before liberating the half-empty bottle of champagne from the ice bucket.

The sun is dipping below the horizon, painting the summer sky in shades of coral and gold.

A warm, gentle breeze carries salt air across the deck.

While everyone’s attention is focused to the west, Hays grabs my hand and guides me toward the port side—or maybe, it’s starboard—where a wooden bench, with a sign showing life vests are stored inside, is built against the bridge.

I feel like slipping one of the orange vests over my head and cinching the strap tight, because I’m clearly drowning in whatever this is between us. And Hays seems determined to pull me under completely.

“Champagne?” he offers, extending the bottle in my direction.

“Please.” Two drinks is usually my limit, and I’ve already polished off three rum and Cokes, but this turn of events has me lifting the bottle to my lips. It’s perfectly chilled, bubbles dancing on my tongue as I take a sip.

I pass it back, and as he takes a swig, I blow out a long breath. “Explain how proposing marriage to someone you just met could possibly seem rational to you.”

He sets down the bottle and leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. The golden sunset catches the amber flecks in his hair as he stares at the floorboards. “You want the honest answer?”

“Always.”

“I’ve never felt like this.” His voice has lost its playful edge, serious now as he glances over at me.

“I’ve dated plenty of women, Leah. Most of them threw themselves at me the second they found out who I was.

But you? You basically told me my career was a liability.

You paid for your own drinks. You called my pickup lines ridiculous. ”

“They were ridiculous.”

“Exactly.” He shifts closer. “You see me and not just the golf pro with the viral interviews. And when I kissed you…” He trails off, running a hand through his hair. “Hell, sweetheart, when I kissed you, it felt like coming home after being on the road all season long.”

My breath catches at the raw honesty in his voice, but logic still wins. “That’s just chemistry, Hays. Physical attraction. I mean, sure, the kiss was…spectacular, but it doesn’t mean we should get married. You’re a pro-golfer focused on winning. I’d be a…distraction.”

“Or the best thing that’s ever happened to my game.”

“You don’t know that.”

“My parents fell in love at first sight. Met when they were nineteen and married less than three months later. I never understood how that could happen until tonight.”

The picture in his wallet. Him here supporting his brother. He must be close with his family. I grasp for the argument that might finally get through to him. “And what would your parents say if you got married tonight without them here?”

“My mom would be thrilled, believe me.”

Not the answer I expected, but then again, I’m learning I need to be ready for anything from this force of a man. “And what about your dad?”

“My dad died when I was nine.”

Oh. “I’m so sorry.”

The words feel inadequate, but the shift in his expression tells me he heard the sincerity behind them. The cocky confidence that seems to be his default setting dims, replaced by something raw and unguarded that pulls at emotions deep inside me.

“He had a heart attack during one of my junior tournaments.” Hays looks out over the water. “I was on fourteen when my mom pulled me off the course. By the time we got to the hospital…” He shrugs, his shoulders dropping. “That was it.”

My hand finds his, our fingers threading together easily. “Is that why you don’t wait around for things you want?”

He reaches for the champagne bottle with his free hand, taking a long pull. “Life’s too fucking short.” He squeezes my hand, and when he looks at me, there’s something fierce in his expression. “My dad always said going all in, whether in golf or in life, is the only way to play.”

The ache in my chest tightens. This isn’t just some player trying to charm his way into my bed.

This is a man who learned at nine years old that tomorrow isn’t guaranteed.

A guy who’s spent his life chasing dreams with the kind of intensity that comes from experiencing firsthand how quickly everything can disappear.

My mind is already drawing parallels to my own childhood when he continues, his thumb tracing circles on the back of my hand.

“So when I say I want to marry you, I’m not being impulsive. I’m being honest about what I feel, what I want, and what I’m unwilling to lose because I was too scared to ask for it.”

God, how is he making a marriage proposal to a stranger sound almost…reasonable?

“But you barely know me,” I whisper, even as my resolve wavers.

“I know you think before you speak, but when you speak, it’s worth listening.

I know you’re brilliant enough to see through my bullshit, brave enough to call me on it, and generous enough to still sit here, holding my hand, after I told you my sob story.

” His voice drops to that velvet tone again, damn it.

“I know you taste like rum and possibility, and when you kiss me, it feels like coming alive.”

Fire races up my chest, but I don’t pull away. Can’t pull away. “Hays…”

“I also know you’re scared. And you should be. Because what I’m feeling for you? It’s the kind of thing that changes everything. And I can’t wait until the day you feel the same way about me.”

My breath catches. He’s so damn confident.

Like I’m—like we’re—a given. But he’s right about one thing.

I am scared. Not of him. No, I’m terrified by how much my heart yearns to believe him, believe in the happily ever after.

And of how this impulsive, confident man has managed, in less than three hours, to crack open my chest. One I’d sealed shut long ago, then again after David.

“What exactly are you proposing?” I ask, surprised by how steady my voice sounds.

“Since you won’t marry me tonight,” he says slowly, as if gauging my reaction. “What if we make a pact instead?”

My eyebrows lift. “A pact?”

“You like rational, right? So let’s be rational about this.” He leans forward, his intensity focused entirely on me. “What would it take for you to agree to be my wife?”

This is it. My chance to set some guardrails around this madness. “You want to win, right? At golf?”

“Ever since I was a little boy.”

“What does that look like to you? Winning?”

His response is immediate. His tone filled with conviction. “A major championship.”

“Then that’s what it will take.” I study his face, watching the way his jaw tightens, but I press on. “You need that win, Hays. Not for me or anyone else. You need it for yourself, before you can commit, I mean really commit, to anything or anyone else.”

He’s quiet for a long moment, his thumb still moving in those maddening circles on my hand.

“You’re right,” he finally scoffs, a smile playing on his lips. “I shouldn’t be surprised, after less than three hours, you’d know me better than I know myself, but you’re absolutely right.”

I meet his gaze. “You focus on golf, chase that major. And when you win, I’ll marry you. Not because you need to prove anything to me, but because when you’re mine, I want you one hundred percent. I’m not willing to settle for anything less.”

The stipulation hangs between us while he considers my position. “I’ll wait on one condition.”

“What’s that?”

“If I haven’t won by the time we turn twenty-eight, you’ll marry me, even without the green jacket or the trophy or the medal.”

Twenty-eight. That’s three years. I do the math. His father died when he was nine, which would’ve made his dad… The realization hits me like a cold wave.

“So either way, we end up married?” My pulse pounds in my ears.

“Either way,” he confirms. “What I feel for you won’t change, major championship or not.”

My heart hammers against my ribs, but I force myself to hold his piercing gaze as I do the most unlike Leah thing I’ve ever done in my life. I agree. “Alright.”

His eyes widen. “You’re serious.”

“On one condition.”

He scoffs. “Whatever it is, my answer’s yes.”

“Maybe, you should wait until you hear it.”

“There’s nothing you can say that would change my mind, sweetheart.”

“What about no contact until then?”

“What?” He sits up straighter, his hand tightening on mine. “No contact at all? Leah, that’s—”

“Necessary.” I pull my hand free. “You’ll be traveling all over the world, focused on your game. I’d be a distraction.”

“But you’ll be able to follow every tournament, every interview, every article. You’ll have a front-row seat to my life, whereas I won’t know anything about yours.”

“You’ll have to trust me. Have faith that everything will happen as it’s meant to.”

“That’s—”

“Completely fair.” I cross my arms. I need this boundary. “I’ll be living my own life, and if what you’re feeling is real, time and distance won’t change it. And if it doesn’t hold up, then we both dodged a bullet.”

A muscle in his jaw twitches. “You’re asking me to wait three years without so much as a hello?”

The boat’s engine shifts, slowing as we approach the harbor. We’re running out of time, and somehow, that makes everything feel more real, more final. “I’m asking you to have faith.” The words come out softer than I intended. “The same way you’re asking me to believe in you. In us.”

We stare at each other in the fading light, the sounds of laughter, conversation, and the gentle slap of waves fading into background noise. He’s weighing the offer, and I hold my breath, waiting for his answer.

Before he can speak, an announcement crackles over the intercom.

We’ll be docking in ten minutes. Hays shifts to one side and reaches into his pocket.

He pulls out something and looks at it for a long moment before holding it out for me.

I take it, not knowing what I expected, but definitely not a pressed penny.

One of those little souvenirs that comes from a crank machine.

I examine the surface, worn almost completely smooth. The inscription, barely legible, reads, Pikes Peak, CO Elev. 14,110 ft. The words are stamped into the coin around a picturesque mountain range.

I stare at the penny, understanding deep in my gut it’s meaningful in a way I may never comprehend. “Hays, I can’t—”

“I want you to have it.” He plucks it from my grasp and turns over my hand to lay the warm metal in my palm. He closes my fingers around it then raises them to his lips, pressing a kiss to my knuckles. “So you know without a doubt I’m serious about this. About you. About us.”

The penny feels heavier than it should. When I look up at him, there’s determination in his expression, but also an unexpected vulnerability.

“I’m going to marry you, Leah. I’m going to win that major, come back to Starlight Bay, and make you my wife.”

The declaration sends shivers down my spine. This is crazy. Completely and utterly insane. But sinking into his sea-glass eyes, feeling the warm metal pressed into my palm, I find myself believing him. Believing in the fairytale.

“Okay,” I breathe. “It’s a pact.”

His smile is brilliant, transforming his entire face, and before I can second-guess myself, he’s leaning in to kiss me again. This time, it’s different, soft and meaningful and full of promise. A seal on this mad deal we’ve just agreed to.

When we break apart, both breathing hard, he rests his forehead against mine. “I can’t wait until you’re mine.”

My fingers close tighter around the penny. “Don’t make me wait too long, hotshot.”

His laugh is warm against my lips. “I’ll do my best, sweetheart.”