Page 47 of Iron

“God, I miss you too.” He pulls the dildo out and tosses it to the floor, then rolls onto his side, propping the phone against his pillow, blinking at me with the loose, sated look I wish I could actually touch instead of just watch through a screen. “How many more weeks of this?”

“Three, if I make the Tour Championship field. Two if I don’t.”

“You're gonna make it.” He says it easily, certain, no hesitation at all, and I wish I could borrow some of that confidence for myself right now.

“Maybe.”

“Gavin.” Something sharpens in his voice, tired but paying attention. “What are you thinking? This sounds more than just tired.”

I should deny it. I don’t. Not with him. Honesty.

“It’s a lot,” I admit instead. “Playing for the Cup. Not sleeping enough. Not seeing you enough. I just got you, and being apart is hard.” I rub a hand over my face. “I keep telling myself it’s temporary, that the schedules will line back up eventually, but some nights it just feels like we’re doing this whole thing sideways, half a relationship squeezed into video calls.”

TJ’s quiet for a moment, and I watch him actually think about it instead of rushing to reassure me.

“It’s not half a relationship,” he finally says. “It’s a hard month. Those aren’t the same thing.”

“I know that. Up here.” I tap my temple, echoing something he said to Geoff months ago that Ben mentioned to me in passing, and TJ’s mouth twitches, recognizing it too. “Doesn’t always make it to the rest of me. I want to be with you.”

“Yeah.” He sighs, and for a moment he looks as tired as I feel. The exhaustion of the whole grinding month finally showing through the post-orgasm haze. “I get it. I really do. I miss you so much. Some nights I can’t sleep even after Caleb makes me eat ice cream and takes away my laptop so I stop staring at leaderboards.”

“We’re a real pair.”

“We are.” He smiles, small, a little sad around the edges. “No more getting me sponsored, though. I’ll get that pro card on my own.”

I have to smile. “Understood. You slog through Miles Ferry on your own merit.”

“Had to tell my father No, too. I need to do this. It’s worth it. Right?”

“It is.” I mean it, even with the doubt still sitting low in my gut, an old, familiar fear stirring that I haven’t quite named out loud yet, not to him, not even fully to myself. “Just wish it didn’t feel so much like being apart on purpose.”

“It’s not on purpose. It’s just timing.” He yawns, fighting to keep his eyes open. “Bad, stupid, inconvenient timing.”

“Go to sleep, baby.”

“Don’t wanna hang up yet.”

“You’re already half asleep.”

“Am not.” His eyes are already closing as he says it. I watch him fight it for another few seconds before losing entirely, breath evening out, phone still propped against his pillow.

I don’t hang up right away. I just watch him sleep, hundreds of miles away, and let the ache in my chest sit there instead of pushing it down the way I usually do.

Two weeks. Maybe three.

I tell myself that’s nothing in the grand scheme of things. I tell myself that the prize is worth it, the prestige, the accolades.

I don’t think I believe it.

Todd finds me at the range the next morning, out of nowhere, a golf bag over his shoulder and a look on his face that tells me this isn’t a coincidence.

“Didn't know you were in town,” I say, lowering my club.

“Flew in Tuesday. Figured I’d watch a Playoff event in person for once, see how the young guns are doing.” He says it easily, casually, keeping his Texas boom to a low level, but something underneath it doesn’t match the tone. “Also wanted to talk to you. Man to man.”

That's never a good sentence to hear from your boyfriend’s father. This will not be fun.

“Alright.”