On Par: a YA Sports Romance (Girls of Summer Book 3)

by Lynn Stevens

  On

  Par

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  On Par

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  On

  Par

  Lynn Stevens

  On Par Copyright © 2020 Lynn Stevens

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book, or portions thereof, in any form without written permission except for use of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  Copyright 2020 by Lynn Stevens

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used factiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

  Published by Lynn Stevens

  www.lstevensbooks.com

  For Bean and Dave

  Chapter One

  I had been a shitty friend. Since our class had come back from our European senior trip, I’d tried to make it up to Vicky. I mean, Vic. Hell, I didn’t even know what to call her anymore. My dalliance with Theo had been a disaster. I hated that word, but what else could I call it? When Theo showed more than a passing interest, I was all too willing to believe him that his relationship with Vicky was over on good terms.

  And the text message I just got from Erik Perday? That was definitely not on my radar to even look at much less acknowledge. He was the worst. Although Theo might actually take that crown now. Still, Erik had taken Vicky to hell and back. We hated him.

  Sighing, I put my phone back in my pocket and headed downstairs to binge some mindless TV. My shoulders ached from the slight sunburn I got the day before at Rachel’s lakehouse party. I never should’ve went. Public enemy numero uno, that was me.

  It didn’t matter that Vicky and Theo had actually broken up once we got back. It didn’t matter that Vicky had forgiven me. It didn’t even matter that she was so head over heels in love with Daniel Cho that Theo wasn’t a blimp on her romantic screen. What did matter was how I handled it, which was shitty. I deserved the coldish shoulder I was getting from our friends.

  I plopped on the worn brown leather sectional and turned on the TV mounted above the wood burning fireplace. Mom refused to convert it to gas so it didn’t get used as much. Bookshelves lined the walls on each side of the fireplace. There were more photos than books, most of them of the family. Dad’s favorite photo took up the most prized spot. It was taken at a PGA tournament with the one and only Rex Vargas. Dad loved golf, probably more than us. Scatter among the photos are my trophies from junior golf tournaments. There aren’t many since I stopped competing when I was ten, but Mom loved displaying them.

  Voices in the kitchen drew my attention away from my Netflix queue. There wasn’t anything I hadn’t already seen anyway. I followed the sound of my father’s booming voice down the hall and into the kitchen.

  “Lucy, wait until you see us with that trophy,” Dad boosted as he wrapped his arm around my brother’s shoulders. “The club has it on display. They went all out this year. It’s easily three feet tall.”

  Brendan met my gaze as rolled his eyes.

  “I look forward to it,” Mom said. She didn't look up from arranging the flowers she’d probably just cut from the garden out back. We were one of the smallest houses in Hillsdale with a yard not big enough for a pool. It was one of the oldest, too. The O’Brien family had lived here for generations. Our house might not have the pool houses or a fountain out front, but we had the family pedigree on Mom’s side.

  “Andrea’s a better golfer than I am,” Brendan said, throwing me to the wolves.

  It was my turn to roll my eyes. Mainly because I knew Dad’s response. It didn’t matter that Brendan was right. I played a couple times a month just because I enjoyed it. My game was ten times better than Brendan’s, especially since he only picked up the clubs once a year.

  “Don’t be ridiculous, son,” Dad said, patting Brendon hard enough on the back that my brother lurched forward. “Your little sister is okay, but she’s not up to the task of this tournament.”

  “Okay?” Brendan’s eyes widened. “Remember the pros at the club? All of them thought she was a natural and should work to get on the tour. Jesus, Dad, what’s—”

  Mom tipped the vase over, her hands shaking. Water splashed across the white marble countertop. White described the kitchen. White walls, white counters and cabinets, white tile floor. The only color were the stainless steel appliances and whatever flowers Mom arranged. Her flowers bounced on their buds before settling into the wet mess. “Oh dear. I’m so sorry. Let me just clean—”

  “I got it, Mom,” Brendan said as he reached for the towel hanging from the stove handle.

  “Let the women take care of it,” Dad said, pulling Brendan back.

  My face burned. Dad was the epitome of a sexist pig. It was the twenty-first century for crying out loud. I took the towel from Brendan and flared my nostrils, not bothering to hide it. Dad glared at me, and I waited for him to say something along the lines of “women belong in the kitchen” or some other bullshit. This was my real family: my gay brother who was out and proud in Chicago but somewhat hid it here, my asshole father who thought females were lesser, and my weak mother who never stood up to anybody for anything.

  I ignored all of them as I wiped up the water while Mom picked the flowers up to arrange them again. Her lips were pressed into a thin line. The bags around her eyes were heavier, thicker than normal. Mom looked older than her forty-six. It would piss her off, but she looked more like my grandmother than ever.

  “Come on, son,” Dad said, slapping Brendan on the shoulder. “We’ve got the perfect tee time today. I hear Eliot Westbrook will be there with the Mayor.”

  Brendan’s shoulders tensed. Dad was determined my brother hadn’t met the right girl yet. He was also determined that the right girl had money, prestige, and a pedigree ten times the O’Brien pedigree. Our family had money, old money, but it wasn’t what it used to be. Dad’s family, while not bad off, didn’t have as much. He married into the pedigree of St. Louis nobility.

  “Have fun, you two,” Mom said, fake cheer in her normally perky voice. I narrowed my eyes at her, but I couldn’t figure out what had her so haggard. She looked thin, too. Mom always worked out, went to yoga or ran. This was different. She raised her eyebrows without looking at me. “What is it, Andrea?”

  I glanced around the kitchen. Brendan and Dad had slipped out while I was staring at Mom.

  “Tell me what’s on your mind,” she said again, a little sharper than before.

  “Okay.” I put my hand on my hip and glared at her. “What’s on my mind is why you look like you haven’t seen a salon or yoga studio in
a while.”

  Mom laughed and turned away from me, putting her gardening shears in the sink. “I’m fine. Everything’s fine. In fact, I’m going shopping today with Pam and Olive. Do you want to come with us? You could use some new summer dresses.”

  Shopping with her friends seemed more like torture than fun. Pam and Olive spent most of their time gossiping. Not that I didn’t enjoy good gossip, but they talked about people their age.

  “Pass, but thanks,” I said as I walked around the counter to the fridge. “Have fun though.”

  Mom didn’t respond. As I stared into the fridge, not really hungry, I saw her grab her giant handbag and put her tablet in. I reached for a bowl of grapes as she strode out the back door. I put the grapes back and stood in the quiet kitchen, listening as her car started and then the engine faded away.

  I had no idea what was going on with my mother. She had her moods. Maybe this was just another swing in a new direction. My thoughts drifted back to my father. Brendan was right. My golf skills far exceeded his. They were better than Dad’s, too. And some of his buddies at the club. When I’d first picked up a club at five, it came naturally to me.

  The sun bounced off the frame of the net in the yard. Dad loved practicing outside on his golf mat and hitting a ball into the net. It reminded me of a soccer goal. He had also installed a putting green, much to the dismay of my grandparents and my mom. I hadn’t picked up my clubs since I got back from the senior trip in Europe. Yeah, we hit a few courses on our trip, but I downplayed my game. My skills were rusty after these last few weeks of living in an eternal pity party. I went to garage and grabbed my bag.

  I was the better golfer. I’d prove it somehow. Maybe then Dad would see I could help him get that stupid trophy.

  I practiced until the muscles in my shoulders burned. My back tightened and strained from the workout. Even my legs were sore. Then again, I had run five miles before the sun rose. I hadn’t played a more than nine holes since spring when I went with Rachel and her dad to the club. If Vicky hadn’t been there, I probably wouldn’t have bothered. Rachel wasn’t my favorite person. She had the high and mighty attitude of being a Westbrook. Okay, and I was a little jealous of her. She was gorgeous. Guys fell at her feet. My nose was too big, and my boobs too small. Guys did not fall at mine.

  After taking a shower, I settled onto the couch to binge watch old episodes of Grey’s Anatomy. Medical dramas were my go-to relaxing show. Mom and I watched ER over the winter break. She loved Dr. Greene. I’d just started season two when I heard the back door slammed followed by Brendan’s voice. Clearly there was enough drama about to happen in the Hoffpauir household. I clicked paused the show and listened.

  “Damn it, Dad,” Brendan snapped. Something hit the tile floor with a thud. “I’m gay. When are you going to get that through your thick skull?”

  Uh-oh. Here we go again. I picked up my bowl of strawberries and moved to get a better view of this repeat showdown. Brendan came out to our parents his junior year of high school, but he’d told me a year before. I think I’d known it all along though. He always seemed so miserable whenever he was on a date with a girl.

  I peeked around the corner, careful to keep myself hidden from their view. Brendan’s face was redder than an overripe apple.

  “It’s just a phase,” Dad said nonchalantly. My jaw tighten as I ground my teeth at that BS. “In a year or two, you’ll need to get married, son. Start a family. Carry on the Hoffpauir name.”

  “Do you even hear yourself talk?”

  I peeked around the corner. Brendan vibrated with anger. My brother was trying not to punch Dad. I wished he’d do it and get it out of the way. Maybe then Dad would realize Brendan wasn’t going to change into a straight man just because our almighty father willed it.

  “You act like the world revolves around your opinion and nobody else matters.” Brendan held up his hands. “Well, I’m done. You keep living in la-la land. I’m heading back to Chicago today.”

  “And how exactly do you expect to pay for your apartment?” Dad’s jovial voice was gone, replaced by the deadly calm of a man who always had the upper hand.

  “Jesus, you’re thick.” Brendan laughed and starting walking toward me. “I have a job. I’ve been working the entire time I’ve been going to school. And I have two roommates. It’s not like a three-bedroom apartment is a million dollars a month when you’re splitting it between three people. Besides, Grams and Gramps pay my tuition, remember?”

  “What about the tournament?” Dad asked, the steely cool still in his voice.

  “What about it?” Brendan stopped and turned around. “I couldn’t care less about some stupid golf tournament. I don’t even like golf. Andrea loves it, and she’s great at it. Ask her to be your partner. Or do it alone. I really don’t care.”

  I ducked behind the wall as Brendan stormed out of the kitchen. He stopped when he saw me, then nodded toward the stairs. I followed him up to his room. Brendan’s room was blue everything. He hated it, but he never bothered to change it. Even the blue plaid comforter he hated so much.

  “You’re really leaving?” I asked, clutching the bowl of strawberries to my stomach.

  Brendan stopped throwing his clothes on the bed. “Yeah, I can’t deal with this anymore. I know we were going to head to the lake this weekend, but he’s gone too far. Again.” Brendan dropped the Irish green polo he had in his hands and sat on the corner of his bed. “We were golfing with the mayor and his daughter. She’s a nice girl and all, but she’s still in high school. Dad had the audacity to suggest I take her to a movie tonight. The mayor laughed, but I could tell she was just as embarrassed as I was. I had to take her to the side and tell her I’m gay.” He stood suddenly and started chucking his clothes on the bed again. “Who does that anymore? Dad doesn’t give a shit about me or you, just his reputation. Hell, I don’t even think he cares about Mom.”

  “When will you be back?” I asked. Since he’d moved to Chicago for school, I didn’t see him enough. Brendan had his own life. He made his own decisions without Dad on his ass or Mom being so nonchalant about everything. He got to be himself. I just wish I could move with him, so I didn’t have to deal with the same bullshit anymore.

  “Christmas, maybe. We’ll see. I might...” He stopped and stared at me. “I might go with Evan to be with his family. They don’t care that we’re together.”

  “I’d love to meet Evan,” I whispered. It was hitting me harder than I wanted him to know, but I couldn’t stop the tears from edging along my eyes. “I don’t care you’re gay, either. I just want you to be happy.”

  Brendan pulled me into a hug. “I want you to be happy, too, Andrea. Find some happiness this year. And when you go to college, don’t come back. Wherever you go, stay there. Dad’s too poisonous to be around.”

  I nodded, but it wasn’t that easy. Brendan could just leave. I still had to survive the rest of the summer and my senior year.

  Chapter Two

  Brendan left as soon as he was done packing his clothes. He hugged me and promised to call when he got to Chicago. I didn’t even bother going downstairs the rest of the night. It wasn’t worth hearing Dad bitch about Brendan or how everyone was out to get him or whatever the complaint of the evening was. Most likely, it was about Brendan disappointing him yet again. A definitive theme in my family.

  I fell asleep with the TV on and woke up with the TV still on. Nobody had called me down for dinner. Nobody had checked on me. Great feeling, knowing your family doesn’t really care.

  The bitter smell of coffee drifted up toward my room. I glanced at the clock. It was only seven. Too early to really get up, but what else did I have to do? It wasn’t like I was going to hang out with Vicky today or lounge by our nonexistent pool or anything else for that matter. This summer had been a complete bust.

  I rolled out of bed, took a long shower, and went down to the kitchen in hot pink shorts, sneakers, and a white racer-back tank. If I wasn’t going to do anything fu
n, I might as well go for a run before it turned a hundred degrees out.

  “He’s ungrateful,” Dad’s voice said as I entered the kitchen.

  “Shush,” Mom whispered. She glanced at me then back at my dad who turned from asshole to woe-is-me in less than ten seconds.

  “This will be the first year we haven’t done the tournament.” Dad leaned his elbows on the counter and literally pouted. Mom patted his back, and I could’ve sworn she fought an eye roll. “What will people say?”

  “It’ll—”

  “They’ll say Brendan’s off to college.” I shrugged and walked around him to the fridge. “Just say he had to go back early because he was offered a job working with one of the professors or something prestigious sounding. It was an opportunity he couldn’t pass up.”

  Oh yeah, I could make up some bullshit.

  “That’s a thought.” Dad perked up for about two seconds then folded back in on himself. “But I haven’t missed a tournament in over ten years. Why’d he have to pick this year to decide not to play?”

  Maybe you shouldn’t have tried to force him straight. I kept that to myself and poured a cup of orange juice.

  “You look cute,” Mom said with a high-pitched perky voice. Anything to change the conversation around here. “You look like you’re going for a walk. I’ll change and come with you.”

  “Actually, I was going to run.” I did not want Mom with me. She’d slow me down and talk about all the gossip in the neighborhood as we past the houses. I just didn’t care about the neighbors.

  Her smile fell then she put it back in place. “Okay. Maybe later we can get a mani-pedi.”

  I shrugged noncommittally.

  “What am I going to do?” Dad whined again, bringing the attention all back to him.

  “I’ll do the tournament,” I said. I almost clapped my hand over my mouth to push the words back in. “If you want. I am a better golfer than Brendan.”

  “You should let her,” Mom said, raising an eyebrow and folding a white towel on the counter. Guess it wasn’t folded correctly in her eyes. Her hands shook as she forced it into a perfect square. “She’s right, too. She’s a natural at the game. You’d have a better chance at winning.”