Page 120 of Unexpected Shot
No, it wasn’t physical. Today was a mental block like I’ve rarely faced before. I couldn't focus. I felt like a hamster set up his wheel in my brain and was running a million miles an hour.
I shot a seventy, which isn't terrible. If I turn things aroundover the next few days, I should be able to have a top-twenty finish.
But that’s not who I am. I’m not the golfer who’s happy with being in the top twenty. I need to get my head on straight, and I need to pinpoint why I’m such a mess.
Normally when I’ve had blocks like this, my first phone call would be to Bubba. Or, more likely, Bubba would’ve told me we were meeting for dinner and we were going to get my head out of my ass over a steak and baked potato. The man always knew what to say.
The problem is, I don’t have a Bubba anymore. My new caddy is fine, but he doesn’t know me like Bubba did.
The only person who does…
“No!” I scream out to the voice in my head as if she’s a real person. Because no, I’m not calling Beau. Absolutely not.
For one, he’s at his own tournament this weekend. While I’m playing four days in Phoenix, he’s a state over in California, where— Shit, I forgot to check to see how he did today.
I grab my phone and scroll to the scores. Eighth place. Not bad. He’ll probably be upset—I know I would be—because we’re both delusional people who think we should win every week.
I catch myself smiling as I watch highlights of his day. His swing looks great. He looks relaxed. I even see him joking with a few of the players, which I love to see. So many of them distanced themselves from him after last year, and I know that hurt him more than he’ll ever say. I’m glad he’s having fun.
And he wants you to be having fun too…
Seriously? Who is this bitch in my brain and why won’t she shut up?
But she’s right. He would. Over the past few weeks—and even more so after we shot that episode ofThe Back Nine—I feel like we’ve grown closer. In a way, gone back to how I always thought Shelby and Beau would be if they stayed friends and golfed together as adults.
Only in that dream, I was never kissing him.
And now I do.
Kind of.
I close my eyes and think back to the kiss on the eighteenth green. I wish I could go back and tell fourteen-year-old Shelby that one day she’d get her kiss. That she’d kiss Beau Devereaux at the one place she’d remember forever.
Too bad it came after years of me wanting nothing to do with him.
God, I’m so confused. I want him. It’s time to start admitting that I do. Which is in direct opposition of my brain telling me I should also still hate him. The feelings inside me are raging a war.
What I need to do is talk to him. The two of us need to sit down and have an actual conversation about what happened all those years ago. Who knows if it will do any good, but…I’m starting to think Gabi was right. I mean, she usually is, but I was too stubborn to accept it. Two things could be true about that day. And if they are, I wasn’t the only victim. Beau was as well.
I let out a sigh as I flip over, needing to push those thoughts aside. That’s future Shelby’s problem to deal with. A discussion like that isn’t one you have over the phone. But, a feeling I’m not used to having continues to nag me. I want to talk to Beau. He knows my game better than anyone, and…I’ll never admit this out loud…I kind of miss my husband.
Which is very inconvenient.
I pick up my phone and stare at his contact, trying to will myself to hit the call button. I don’t know why I’m nervous. It’s Beau. We live together. He kissed me the other day in a video that will be broadcast for millions to see. I’ve seen him naked. A lot. This shouldn’t be hard.
So why is it?
“Suck it up buttercup,” I say to myself.
I’ve never used Bubba’s slogan for anything outside of thegolf world, but now seems like the perfect time. So I hover my thumb over the button, close my eyes, and press down.
“Shelby? Why are your eyes closed?”
I peek open my left eye, because either he answered in less than half a ring, or I blacked out for thirty seconds.
“I…I had something in it. Trying to squeeze it out, you know?”
Beau’s tilted gaze screams that he knows I’m full of shit. “Did you get it?”
