Page 111 of Unexpected Shot
“Why does everyone think I love her?” I ask out loud, remembering what Courtney said in Vegas. “Do I not hate her as much as I once did? Yes. Are we living together seemingly okay? For now. Was the sex good? No comment, but also yes. However, let’s remember one thing—she still doesn’t like me. She still thinks I did her wrong. Until that changes, it’s never going to be anything more than that.”
“Guess it’s time to change that narrative then.”
Asher’s words linger as we all go back to our baking for the night. Theo’s working on a batch of brownies, Asher looks likehe’s making cake pops, while Maddox seems to be trying, yet failing, to get macarons right.
Also known as our white whale, those fuckers are going to be the death of us.
And then there’s me, staring at my baking sour dough loaf as I ponder their words.
I’ve wanted to change the narrative between us for years. Shelby always made it so hard because, well, she’s Shelby. But how much did I really push? Can I push more? I wish I knew.
And until I’m sure how much might be too much and how much is just enough, the only thing I’ll know for certain is that she doesn’t love me. And I definitely don’t love her.
CHAPTER 26
SHELBY
In the few weeks I've been living with Beau, we've learned how to navigate a lot of things. We don't run into each other in the kitchen each morning anymore. I can now successfully estimate when he's going to choose to walk around the house without a shirt on and therefore successfully avoid him because...well, seeing Beau without a shirt on makes me stupid. We've even settled into a nighttime schedule that includes dinner and chill time where sometimes I read and he plays on his phone, sometimes we watch a show together, and most times I fall asleep on the couch.
But today is the first day I feel like I'm being held hostage in a house that's not mine, because all I want to do is go outside and work on my putting.
Why can’t I? Great question. It’s not raining. Not one thousand degrees outside. The putting green hasn’t been overrun by tiny, annoying, furry rodents. No, my husband is filming a fucking YouTube video, and I want nothing to do with that, which means the only place safe is in this house.
“Gah!” I start pacing around the kitchen for the hundredth time, feeling like I’m in a really fancy prison. I had my whole day planned. I got up. I’ve already been to the driving range.I’ve done a workout. And the next thing on the to-do list was to get in an hour of putting before… Well, I actually have nothing else to do for the rest of the day, but this is what I wanted to do now.
Live with your husband, they said. It won’t be that bad, they said…
I’ve known for a while that I need some hobbies, or to make more friends than just Gabi, but I kept putting it off, always figuring out a way to fill in my time with golf. That decision is really biting me in the ass right now. Because my one friend isn’t available today because her son has a doctor’s appointment.
I could go over and play a round at the club, but that’s going to come with stares and whispers. It could all be in my head, but I swear they never looked at me before like they are now. Like somehow I’m using Beau. For what? His money? Clout? Tips for my golf game? I’m not sure what they could be thinking, but I have to be in the mood to ignore the whispers and side-eyes, and today isn’t the day.
Along with that, I’ve heard rumblings that Chad is back in town. That’s an interaction I'd like to delay as long as possible. And, while I don’t need Beau to defend me, I really don’t want my first run-in with him to be alone. He’s never been physical toward me, but with how his mood swings have been, and how things ended in Vegas, I wouldn’t put anything past him at this point.
Which is why I’m standing on Beau’s expansive back patio, looking down at the putting green, wondering when he’s going to be done. Judging by the putt he just missed, not anytime soon.
“Are you almost done?” I shout out, not caring if I interrupt his video. I’ve seen enough to know that they’re all recorded. He can edit this out later.
Except Beau doesn’t acknowledge me. He had to have heard me. I’ve been accused of a lot of things in my life, being a quiet person has never been one of them. But Beau doesn’t look up. He doesn’t even give me a “one second” finger motion. He justgoes along with his day, talking to his phone—that I’m assuming is in camera mode—and ignores me.
“Oh for fuck’s sake,” I say as I march down the stairs to the putting green. Which…I don’t even know if this can be called a mere putting green. Beau wasted no expense on it. It’s so large you can practice every angle, speed, and turn of a putt depending on where you put your ball. As for what he’s doing right now? It looks like he’s trying to make a fifty-footer that has more ups and downs than a roller coaster.
“Ah! So close!” he says to the putt he just misses. “If you had attempt one hundred nineteen, sorry I ruined it for you.”
“One-nineteen!” I yell out. “You seriously haven’t made that putt in a hundred nineteen attempts!”
Again, Beau ignores me. Well, verbally. He does give me a side-eye.
Is he trying to tell me something? I barelyspeakBeau let alone receive Beau telepathy.
But if he thinks his silence is going to get me to move, he has another think coming. No, I’m going to stand right here next to his phone, arms crossed, hip popped, and wait Beau out.
Because, unluckily for my husband, I’ve got nowhere to be.
“Thanks for the gift, Scottie. Appreciate it, man.”
Who the fuck is Scottie? Is his gift going to beam him up? And why is Beau purposefully still not making direct eye contact with me? While that’s a thought I never thought I’d have, it’s annoying now that it’s happening.
“Alright, folks! We’re on to attempt number one hundred twenty. Who in the comments thinks this one is going to be the time!”
