Page 12 of Unexpected Shot
I remember watching it—alone, where there would be no witnesses to my viewing—and being proud of him. He didn’t say anything false. The rain was horrendous. But because there wasn’t lightning, the tournament refused to call play. Which sucks, because it was a major. Majors should give golfers the best opportunities to play their best round of golf. No one plays well when they can’t keep their clubs dry.
So while Beau had a point, he still faced repercussions because of his comments. The governing board couldn’t exactly suspend him—there’s nothing in the rule book saying you can’ttalk bad about a tournament—but there was punishment. Suddenly tournaments weren’t inviting him. He lost endorsements. That didn’t start happening by accident. No, Beau was being disciplined for speaking up—a.k.a. not behaving the way a proper golfer does.
It hit him harder than he’ll ever admit.
Well, at least according to what Gabi told me. It’s not like I talked to him about it.
“Don’t laugh, Shelby. You need this too. Maybe more than Beau,” Ethan says, which immediately shuts me up. “I didn’t want to have to use this as a bargaining tool, but the purse is nice. Even if you two finish at the bottom of the top twenty, it’s more than you’d make if you finished in the same place in a women’s event.”
“It’s not about the money, Ethan.” Yeah, that’s a total half truth, but I’m going with it. “Plus, this would be my first tournament back from injury. Should it really be at a mixed gender tournament?”
“That’s exactly where it should be,” he says. “Would you rather have your first outing there? Or do you want your first time playing in almost two years to be a tournament that actually means something in the points and money race?”
Well, fuck. He’s right. Why is everyone right today and none of those people are me?
“I’m not a fan of any of this,” I say, crossing my arms for extra emphasis.
“You don’t have to like it. You just have to do it.”
I know that’s my life right now, but there are things that I don’t want to say out loud that are racing through my mind. The biggest one being that I’m not sure if my shoulder, or swing, are ready yet.
Despite months of rehab, working with my former coach, and now Chad, I’m still not back to where I once was. I wasn’t panicking as much when I thought I still had a month to get my new swing down. Apparently, now I have a matter of weeks.
Cue panicking.
What if I get out on the course, all eyes on me and Beau as my partner, and my drive tanks? Because it’s going to be based on what I’ve been doing at practice. My drive is going to suck, which means the rest of my game is going to suffer. I’m going to get in my head, and next thing you know, the surgery I had to prolong my career will end it before I’m ready.
“Are you ready?” Ethan asks, his face now displaying a concerned look. Because apparently he’s not a mind-reading sports agent.
“Yes,” I say, swallowing the lie. “At least, I will be.”
I feel Beau’s eyes on me, but I don’t turn to him. I don’t want to see the pity that I’m sure is there.
“Okay,” Ethan says, but before he goes on, I need to ask one more question.
“Why do they want us?”
It’s the question that’s been brewing in my mind since I realized what Ethan was asking us to do. This tournament has been going on for a few years now, and I’ve never been asked to play in it. To the best of my knowledge, neither has Beau. So why now?
“They don’t,” Ethan says pointedly. “I called in a favor. This is for both of you. Which is why you’re going to do it and not give me shit about it.”
Beau and I both flinch. It feels a lot like getting yelled at in the principal’s office.
“Like I said, you both need this,” Ethan continues. “And what better way to get back into the good graces of golf fandom than a feel-good story about childhood friends now playing together in a tournament.”
“We’re not friends,” we say simultaneously.
“Fine, acquaintances."
I don’t know what Beau’s face is saying now, but mine is giving “and that’s even a stretch.”
“Okay, you’re two people who’ve known each other for along time,” Ethan concedes. “But that’s the beauty of the pairing. The storyline with you two is a PR dream come true. PR, mind you, that you could both use right now. Two professional golfers who grew up playing together in Louisiana, both of you finding your way to the pros, now teaming up like you did when you were kids? Have those answers ready, because you know that’s going to be asked no less than a dozen times when you head out there in two weeks.”
“Whoa, slow down,” I say, holding up my hands. “I didn’t say yes.”
There have been very few times since I signed with Ethan that he’s had to force me to do something. But each time he has, it’s come with the same face. Hard. Stoic. One that screams “you pay me a lot of money to make you more money. So fucking listen to me and let me do my job.”
The face he’s giving me right now.
