Page 201 of Unconditionally Yours

Finally, we reach the last hole. Number eighteen. The Giant Pirate Skull.

It’s got glowing red eyes, a mechanical jaw that chomps, and a voice recording that says things like “Avast!” and “Ye be cursed!” when you miss.

Chad lines up first. He misses.

The skull says, “Ye be cursed!” and chomps his ball into oblivion.

Jett smirks.

Benji mutters, “Fitting.”

Then Chad tries again, swings a little too hard, and the club slips out of his hands and whaps Rhys right in the shin.

“Fuck,” Rhys yelps, hopping in pain.

“Oops,” Chad says.

“Oops this, you steroid-sucking fail of a Ken doll,” I say, rubbing Rhys’s leg while he scowls at Chad.

It all comes down to me. Last shot. If I make it in one, we win. Lifetime free golfing. A plastic trophy shaped like a peg leg. Eternal glory.

Benji kisses the top of my head. Jett adjusts my grip. Rhys yells “you’ve got this, pet” from the bench like the hot PTA daddy he is. I inhale.

Line it up. Exhale.

“I dedicate this to the duck we traumatized,” I whisper.

And I swing.

The ball sails through the chomping pirate skull mouth right as it opens, spins up the ramp, hits the glitter cannon sensor and explodes into sparkles as it drops into the hole.

The siren goes off.

We win.

Benji lifts me like I’m a championship cup. Jett throws a fist in the air. Rhys limps his way over and kisses me with tongue and vengeance. Someone hands us our trophy, it’s gotgoogly eyes and a detachable parrot, and a certificate for lifetime unlimited golfing at the FunPlex, which is probably the most powerful prize in the world.

Hank’s still on the ground.

Chad’s club has been confiscated.

Margo cheers for us anyway.

We’re champions.

And I am absolutely fucking someone in the pirate skull later.

Probably more than one someone.

Because we came. We saw.

We went Balls Deep.