Page 49 of Iron

I just know I can’t keep pretending the question isn’t there.

I call at our usual time. Nine PM for him. Caleb answers, eyes covered, which makes me genuinely laugh.

“He fell asleep,” Caleb says right away.

“It’s safe, Caleb,” I chuckle.

He uncovers his eyes and looks at me.

“Jesus, put a shirt on. That is too much eye candy for a horny single boy,” he snaps.

Laughing, I set the phone down and tug on my discarded polo.

“Better?” I snicker.

He sighs. “Yeah.”

“So he fell asleep. At nine.”

“He’ll be up at three. Two maybe. Guy is getting shit for sleep,” Caleb replies. He isn’t blaming, just stating a fact.

“You making sure he eats, right?” I ask.

He glares at me. “I am doing my best.” Then he huffs, “He doesn’t listen. Says he is full when he’s only halfway done.”

“Shit,” I breathe. “He is losing weight, isn’t he?”

Caleb nods. “Stupid little fucker.”

“He played rough today. Barely made the cut.”

“Yeah, he did,” Caleb agrees. “Checks your leaderboards too much, and his game is slipping.”

“How do I help, Caleb?” I ask. “His father came to see me today, wants me to back off, I think.”

“No!” Caleb says quickly. “That would kill him. He is mad gone for you. Ass over heels in love. Do not back off.”

I smile. I do some mental math. My tee time tomorrow, Sunday, is mid-morning. I’ll be done with my round by two. I have to be in St. Louis on Tuesday by noon at the latest to get in some practice rounds. It’ll be exhausting, but I can do it. I need to.

“I’m coming out. When do you head to Idaho?”

Caleb blinks at me, then answers, “Sunday night.”

Ok. I’m going to Idaho.

Stephen stares at me for a long unblinking moment.

“I’ll be there on Tuesday,” I repeat, even though I know he heard me the first time.

He says nothing, just shakes his head and walks to the range.

I finish the day solidly at tenth place. TJ takes twenty-fifth in Omaha. I get this news as the private jet I chartered lands in Boise.

35

TJ

Boise. Ten PM. I am so fucking tired. We stagger towards the front desk, Caleb carrying my golf bag, while I’m pushing our suitcases. He gives the clerk my name, and she nods cheerfully, handing over plastic key cards, rambling about the breakfast buffet, room service, and pool hours like we are tourists.