Page 1 of Gamble (Black Light #38)

ELIJAH

“ F ore!”

Elijah’s three companions shouted the warning in unison as he shanked his first-hole tee-off straight toward the crowd of spectators.

Perfect way to start this fiasco.

“Great shot there, old man,” Shane Covington teased, slapping him on his back as Elijah shoved his driver into his golf bag.

He wasn’t in the mood.

“I told you three assholes that this was a bad idea. I haven’t golfed in over a year.”

Jaxson Cartwright-Davidson, his boss and friend, stepped up to place his own golf ball on the tee before turning to retort. “Stop bitching. If I have to be out here, so do you.”

“Bullshit. You’ve known about this event for months. You were invited. You said yes. I, on the other hand, was recruited less than eight hours ago, and pretty much forced at gunpoint.”

Chase, Jaxson’s husband and the fourth golfer on their team, tried to diffuse the tension. “And we really appreciate you filling in for Cash at the last minute. He’s stuck in Colorado.”

“Like I had a choice. And he’s only stuck there because he refuses to fly commercially. Hardly a crisis.” Elijah grumbled.

The men watched as Jaxson’s first shot went straight down the fairway of the first hole of the Beverly Hills Country Club golf course. It landed just a few yards away from Chase’s ball.

But it was Shane Covington’s shot that was closest to the green, and the A-list actor had no problems pointing that detail out to his friends.

“Looks like it’s a good thing this is a scramble tournament. All you losers are going to get to play your next ball from my lie.”

While true, it also gave Elijah one last attempt at getting out of spending the next four hours embarrassing himself in front of the hundreds of paying spectators and ESPN commentators.

“Which is why you should just play with the three of you. You don’t need me in a scramble.”

“We need a warm body. We’ll get disqualified if we don’t have four golfers,” Jaxson retorted.

“Gee thanks. Nice to know that even if my golf game sucks, I do at least still qualify as a warm body.”

Elijah was only half-kidding. This was a celebrity tournament, and while his three teammates were bona fide celebrities, his notoriety was marginal at best. Not to mention, he’d already met several groupies who were more than disappointed to find a washed-up stuntman had taken the place of Cash Carter from the Crushing Stones in the tourney.

The only saving grace was that golf carts were allowed. He’d rather have let Jaxson fire his ass than have to walk eighteen holes with his bum knee and hip.

By the time they were on the fifth green, his long game had only deteriorated. Thankfully, his short game was better than average, sinking a twelve-foot putt from the rough to give their team a birdie on the hole.

“Looks like you might have some game left in you, Keaton,” Shane taunted.

The men had a rocky history, but had come through their differences as good friends, which was why Elijah felt comfortable dishing right back to the famous actor.

“Yeah, and I’m out here playing with less than three hours of sleep. You assholes probably went to bed at nine last night to get your beauty sleep. I helped close down Black Light at three. The least you could have done is get our tee-time pushed back until closer to lunch.”

Jaxson threw his putter in his bag before jumping into his golf cart next to the waiting Chase. He got his parting comment in just before charging off to the next hole.

“Stop whining. The charity is a good cause, and we only have four more holes to go before we get to the half-way break where Avery promised to have those delicious crab cake appetizers waiting for us.”

“Oh, you mean the same ones I ate for dinner last night?” he deadpanned.

He loved Avery’s cooking as much as the next guy, but he ate dinner at Runway at least three nights a week. Her food was hardly an incentive.

Covington sweetened the pot with something much more valuable than food to the dungeon master.

Shane jumped behind the wheel of their own cart, taking off way too fast as he added, “Does it help that Nalani is helping Avery with her catering duties today? She was just telling me a few days ago how she missed seeing you.”

He’d always had a soft spot for the executive housekeeper turned fiancée of Shane Covington. He liked to think of Nalani as the pseudo-daughter he’d never had, which unfortunately made the guy driving the golf cart like a bat outta hell his future son-in-law.

After taking a curve entirely too fast, Elijah gave him shit. “I managed to have a twenty-three-year career in one of the most dangerous professions, traveling across the globe without getting myself killed. It would be a shame to bite the dust riding in a fucking golf cart in Beverly Hills.”

“You losing your nerve, old man? Where’s your sense of adventure?”

It wasn’t bravery Elijah lacked. It was a healthy body.

I’m getting too old for this shit.

Except he wasn’t that old. Not really. He just hated feeling old.

A few long hours later, the foursome was in a respectable fourth place out of the dozen teams coming up on the final hole. Elijah was exhausted and more than ready to get home and crash. Just one more hole between him and his bed.

He took a few practice swings before stepping up to the tee. Squaring his shoulders, he pulled his swing back just as he’d done dozens of times already that day, only this time, something went wrong.

He felt the tear along his shoulder and down his back, but it was the popping of his left hip that brought him to his knees… literally.

The pain was sharp, unlike the constant hum of discomfort he’d long ago become accustomed to.

“Aw, shit, man. You okay?” It was Chase who rushed to his aid first, attempting to help Elijah to his feet.

“Need to lay down.” It was all he could grunt out as he leaned into Chase, letting the younger man help him lay flat on the sod.

Unfortunately, all the new position did was add a new shooting pain down his back and into his left leg.

For all of their razzing of him that day, he could hear the real concern in Jaxson’s voice as he shouted at Shane to “Call 911.”

“Don’t fucking call 911. I just need a minute,” he ground out.

“Bullshit. I heard something pop all the way back at my cart.”

Elijah tried to make a joke. “It was my pride.”

His joke fell flat.

“Screw that. You need to go get checked out.”

“No, what I need is to finish up this hole and then go home and take an eight-hour nap on a bed of ice.” When all three of his friends looked at him like he was crazy, he added. “It’s okay. I have very good drugs at home that will have me back to new by tomorrow.”

Except those good drugs had stopped working their magic long ago, and he was determined not to become dependent on them. He was also starting to worry he’d soon be making the decision between constant pain and his tenth surgery.

“Don’t just stand there. Help me back up and into the cart. I made it to the last hole. Surely, I’ll be able to limp across the finish line so our charity can get the contribution.”

Like he’d done countless times before, Elijah put on his brave face and pushed through the pain.

If only he were a masochist instead of a sadist.