Page 38 of Unexpected Shot
And all because the man forgot to turn off his location.
When the tears stopped falling—and I realized that I hadn’tshowered in a while—I picked myself up. I showered, I revenge shaved. And I made a plan.
I can admit now, it was a shitty one. But it was what I needed to do.
I needed to get out of that town. I needed to get my career back. And if making it happen meant striking a deal with the devil, that’s what I was going to do.
The decision to buy a house in Nashville, uproot my life, and start working with Chad was one made of desperation, humiliation, and done with little thought behind it. Unknowingly moving in next door to Beau was the icing on the shit cake.
And now I’m paying the price for it. Sure, my swing is back. But at what cost? I wasted months trusting Chad, who I still have to officially fire as my coach. I could’ve been using that time to actually find a swing that will keep my game at the level I knew, while also giving me the longevity I need.
Then there’s my personal life, which is…
I feel like the word stagnant gives it too much movement. I have bought a lot of batteries since I moved to Nashville. But I haven’t even tried to date. The closest thing I’ve gotten to physical intimacy? Beau’s unwanted arms around me when he tried to help me the other day.
Damnit!
Beau and his stupid arms and his stupid cologne and his stupid Ghost golf…
I tap a ball toward me, bending over to prop it on the tee. Out of habit, I start adjusting to the Chad grip, then quickly correct myself. I’m not doing that anymore. I’m not pretending something’s working just because I’m too stubborn to admit when I’m wrong. My career can’t be the hill I die on just to avoid having to admit a failure.
I take a breath and bring back my hands, swinging through the ball in the most effective shot I’ve taken since I decided to go back to the way I know best. It felt good. Clean. Back to myself.
It’s official. I have to fire Chad. I need to make decisions withmy full brain. And I need to do what’s best for me—wherever and whatever that is.
“Nice shot. But save that for this week.”
I don't react to Beau’s voice. I'm not surprised he made his way out here. From where his house sits against the country club, he has a direct line of sight to the driving range. There's still enough daylight that he could make out who I was. That said, if he knows my swing like I know his, I wouldn’t need daylight to be able to spot Beau a mile away. I wouldn’t even need binoculars. I’d just know.
“Thanks.”
I walk back and put my driver in my bag. You always want to end a practice session with a good shot, and I don’t know how I’d get better than that.
“Did it feel good?”
Any other time, I’d say something snappy in the way of “no shit, Sherlock.” But I don’t. I’m drained—emotionally more than physically. Well, damn. I’m so tired I don’t even want to fight with Beau.
That’s a new one.
So I don’t answer his question. At least, not directly.
“You were right.”
I peek out of the corner of my eye to witness Beau dramatically stumbling back while holding his heart. I’m ninety-nine percent sure he’s being a smart-ass and merely mimicking a heart attack. I mean…it could be a real one. I did just admit he was right.
“You’re an ass,” I say, fighting a hint of a smile as Beau continues to be his over-the-top self.
“An ass who was right,” he crows, stepping up in front of me as I try to put away my golf glove. “But I need to know about what. I know I’m right about many things. Many, many things. But you’ve never said that before, so I’m curious about what specifically I was right about. And please, don't leave out a single detail.”
I let out a sigh and prop my hand on my hip. “I need to fire Chad.”
I know he wants to do a little dance right now, but I appreciate that he’s reading the room and recognizes this is about to be a tough conversation. I’m also just realizing that he doesn’t have his clubs with him. No balls. No glove. Did he come here just to watch me? Talk to me? I don’t know why he’s here, but for some reason, I’m glad he is.
Man, tonight is turning into a whole lot of firsts.
“I’m sorry,” Beau says, and shockingly, I think he actually is. “I know you wanted it to work. But you can honestly say you gave it a try.”
I’m about to respond, but I’m rendered speechless by the sight of Beau picking up a bench that’s sitting at the back of the driving range area. It’s not just any bench. It’s heavy. Solid oak and heavy iron. I’ve tried to slide it to where he just put it down many times, and I struggled. Chad tried once, and I think he threw his back out. But Beau’s making it look easy. I knew this man never skipped arm day, but damn…
