Page 56 of Unexpected Shot
My overly-hushed, yet still loud, words make her laugh. “Damn. Beau trusting me with secrets. We’ve gotten real close tonight, haven’t we?”
“Yes, we have.” I lean in, really wanting to overplay howmuch of a secret this is. Because it’s not a secret. It’s just words I’ve never said out loud before. “My secret is that if I didn’t golf anymore, and just had the channel, I wouldn’t be sad.”
Shelby pulls away, clearly shocked by my words. And so am I. Sure, the thought has rolled through my head on occasion—and more so after the America’s Open last year—but saying them out loud makes it feel real.
“Have you seriously thought about it?”
“Not a lot, but occasionally," I admit.
“Last year?”
She doesn’t even need to ask a full question for both of us to know that answer. “I had to weigh my options. Being kicked off the tour was a serious possibility. So, I had to ask myself what would be next. Use the business degree that’s never been touched? That sounded horrible.”
“But hey, when you have to close business deals on the golf course, you’ll have a hell of an advantage.”
I snort out a laugh as I take a sip of my…what am I drinking? Not important. “Then I’d become one of those stuffy assholes at the country club when we were growing up? No fucking thank you. That would be trading one evil for a worse evil.”
“Golf has become evil?”
“Kind of,” I say, making sure my drunk brain says the right words. “I love the game. Winning is fun. Playing is fun. I still get joy out of it. But…kissing asses of tournament big wigs? Boards of directors? Making nice with sponsors and donors who only see you as a way to make them money? It takes the fun out of the game, especially when you realize you’re the pawn.”
Shelby seems to be letting my words sink in, and, out of habit, I brace myself for whatever crack she’s going to make. Which is why it almost knocks me off my barstool when she doesn’t.
“Wouldn’t you miss the grind though? I don’t know if I’d be able to handle life without it. Actually, I know I couldn’t. I went crazy this past year.”
“Sure, I’d miss parts of it,” I say, lazily taking her hand in mine, which she doesn’t fight off. “But don’t you miss the time when it was fun? When it was just you and the course and no pressure?”
“When was there ever no pressure?” she asks. “There was always pressure.”
“Did there have to be?”
Dumb thing to say, Beau. Now you’re not holding her hand anymore, because she ripped it back. And you like holding her hand…
“Yes, there was always pressure. You grew up with me. You saw it.”
“I did,” I say. “I know you had pressure. More than me, for sure. And I know you wanted to prove yourself. But there were times when I know you could’ve backed off the pedal. Not thought that every round we played was life or death. Maybe hit a mulligan every once in a while.”
That makes her smile just a little bit. It’s only a curve of her lip, but I’ll take it.
“Can I tell you a secret now?”
“Of course.” Hand back in mine. Victory.
“I don’t know if I know how to have fun.”
In the thirty years I’ve known Shelby— granted, twenty of them were spent hating each other—that might be the most vulnerable thing she’s ever said to me.
“Well, that I can help with.”
I reach over, pouring the last remnants of the bottle into each of our shot glasses.
“I know how to take shots.”
“Will you just trust me, woman?” I say, holding up my glass. “Because it’s official.”
“What’s official?”
“That this night is just getting started. But I need to know one thing, Shelby Lynn.”
