Page 33 of Unexpected Shot
“I know,” I grumble. “And that’s become even more apparent after the last few days.”
I proceed to tell them about today’s round, which is the catalyst for my bad mood. And really, it’s my fault. Not what happened on the course—oh no, that was all Shelby—but it was my fault thinking we’d made a turn for the better.
We didn’t. If anything? Things might be worse.
Sure, her grip and stance are back to normal, and she’s starting to hit the ball like the Shelby of old. I took that as an indication things would go smoothly today when we tried to play a two-man scramble, which is the format of our first day of the tournament.
Oh how wrong I was.
When you’re in a scramble, each person hits their ball, and whoever has the better shot, that’s the spot your duo or entire team plays from. While it’s weird for casual golf watchers, because you pick up your ball and move it to the spot of the best one, it’s a great way to shake up the game and give it some variety.Should be an easy thing to accomplish with only two people. Yet, somehow, every shot I recommended we take, Shelby had to argue with. Even when I said we should play her ball, she balked. It was like she couldn’t let me be right.
After a while, I quit talking, which somehow also pissed her off.
There’s no winning with this woman. And after today, I truly don’t know how we’re going to survive Vegas.
“Wow,” Theo says, laughing under his breath. “I’ve never tuned into four straight days of a golf tournament, but I might have to for this one.”
“Never?” I ask, a little hurt. “Even when I won my major?”
“Sorry,” he says with a shrug. “Though in my defense, we’d just met. We weren’t at the place of watching each other’s games or matches.”
“We still aren’t.”
I laugh at Asher’s objecting words, but it’s a fitting thing for our grumpy defenseman to say. He might not like to admit it, but the three of us have become best friends since we’ve started the Poker Club.
And it happened completely by accident.
Asher, Theo, and I all knew of each other prior to joining forces. We’re all represented by West Athletes, so we ran into each other at various events. We’d talked at some. Just gave a head nod or a wave at others. We all played different sports and had different footprints in the sports world.
Then came the fateful pie judging contest.
Yes. The three of us judging a pie-baking contest is what eventually led us here. Theo and I had very strong opinions on a winner, but not as strong as Asher, who actually stormed off after the one he wanted to win came in second place. At that moment, Theo and I realized the three of us might have something in common that has nothing to do with our jobs.
So we got to talking. Theo and I loved to bake. Or, well, we loved the idea of baking. I might’ve grown up with a sister whohas baking in her blood, but while she was perfecting recipes at a young age, I was working on my flop shot. As I got older, I fiddled with things in the kitchen when I had time, but wanted to do more of it.
As for Theo? He was looking for something to take his mind off the game. Baseball is a grueling and long season. He wanted something that was so far away from the field, he could fully unplug and not even be tempted to think about his schedule. When we approached Asher about it, he was originally hesitant. He didn’t want to leave his daughter with a sitter for another night on top of how much he relies on her during the hockey season. Valid. But for some reason, he came around. He had one condition, though—it couldn’t be called a baking club.
And thus The Poker Club was born.
It was genius. When someone asked what we were up to, no one would bat an eyelash at any of us gathering together for a friendly game of Texas Hold ‘Em. But if anyone found out that the three of us—well, four once Maddox came along—were here baking? That I have a sourdough starter named Betty or that Asher can pipe icing better than Gabi? It would be a circus. The media would eat it up.
And that’s not what this is about. This is about us getting away from the pressures of our lives. From the game. To relax.
Or, in my case tonight, to get a bunch of shit from my so-called best friends who are not going to let this Shelby thing go.
“I know you want to ask me.”
The kitchen had fallen quiet, except for the working equipment, so Theo’s question takes me by surprise. “Ask you what?”
“For advice,” Theo says, like I should’ve known. “Clearly you need to figure out how you’re going to deal with Shelby. And this is the last night you get me for in-person advice for two months. So you better get to talking.”
Tonight was already planned because Theo leaves for spring training with the Nashville BlueBirds tomorrow. Usually when we meet up, we do give each other advice. Get shit off our chest.Vent. Because everyone needs an outlet. It’s unofficial therapy. A brotherhood.
Asher will occasionally talk about the stresses of being a single, windowed, father. Maddox asks plenty of questions about being a new dad—and thankfully doesn’t talk about my sister in a way that will land him a fist to the face. Theo doesn’t vent much—it’s like he has a permanent ray of sunshine protruding from him—but he’s the best when it comes to giving advice and putting things into perspective.
Then there’s me. Up until a few months ago, I’d talk about my game. The social media channels. The occasional woman who I had to let down because she wanted more than I was willing to give. Now I’m adding “talking about the woman who’s driving me absolutely bat-shit crazy” to the list of topics.
For clarification: On the golf course. Driving me crazy on the golf course. That’s it. No more. No less.
