Page 4 of Unexpected Shot
And who I found making out with the cart girl one week later.
I wanted—needed—someone to say anyone’s name but his. Because while I don’t hate him as much as I hate Beau, he’s a tangent. He was there. And I truly believe he covered for Beau when he changed our scorecards.
Plus, I’ll never forget or forgive Chad’s father, an adult I should’ve been able to trust, for how he spoke to me when my world was crumbling. Because of his words, and how he warped my brain into thinking I’d be treated if I were to speak up, I never played at the country club again. I got so in my head, believing everyone thoughtIwas the cheater, that I couldn’t bear to look anyone in the eye.
My life changed forever that day. And the two people I blame the most for it are Beau and Chad.
But desperate times call for desperate measures. And frankly? I’m a desperate-ass bitch.
Which is why I swallowed my pride, packed up my house, sold it at the first offer, and moved to Nashville.
And I hate the reasons I’m here, and the reminders they bring with them, every single day.
“How’s the shoulder?”
I don’t look back to Beau as I start my slow and methodical warm up, doing the prescribed shoulder rotations to loosen things up before I start any form of swinging. “Fine.”
“Are you saying it’s fine because it is fine, or is it not fine and you’re lying to me?”
I’m turned away from Beau, so he can’t see the eye roll I give him, but based on the snicker I just heard, he knew I sent it.
“Everything is great,” I lie. “Getting back into form. I’ll be ready to go for my first tournament.”
“Good to hear,” Beau says as I walk to my bag to grab a stick I use to help me warm up my shoulder rotations. “And Chad is helping you?”
I don’t know what it is about the tone he just used—the questioning along with the doubt of my decision making—that makes me turn around.
“He is,” I say, throwing a hand on my hip. “Pretty soon, I’ll be back to good as new.”
Beau doesn’t say anything, just laughs under his breath as he lines up his next shot.
“What?”
He shakes his head as he brings back his six-iron, then shoots it forward, hitting it a solid one-hundred and ninety yards.
Asshole.
“I know you want to say something, so just fucking say it.”
He watches the ball land before lowering his club and making eye contact with me. He might be twenty-feet away, but the look he’s giving me is as intense as if we were mere inches apart. It’s…unnerving.
“I’m just surprised you chose to work with Chad.”
Me too. But hell if I’m going to admit that.
“He’s the best. Why wouldn’t I want to work with one of the best?”
In the four months I’ve been in Nashville, this is the first time Beau’s questioned my decision. Why the fuck does he care? Is he afraid I’ll steal his best friend from him?
“I just find it hilarious that you’re so high and mighty about cheaters, yet you’ll work with Chad.”
Believe me, I don’t like it either. But again, desperate times and all that shit.
“It’s different,” I say, turning to grab my nine iron, avoiding eye contact because I’m lying through my teeth.
“Explain. Please.”
I don’t owe Beau, or anyone, an explanation for why I’ve made the decisions I have. Why making a deal with one of the devils in my life is my only option. Yet, I don’t feel like he’s going to let this go.
