Sweet Spot

by Rebecca Jenshak

  Hole five is a par three at one hundred fifty-three yards. Yesterday, I hit my nine-iron low and controlled and then was able to make putt for birdie, but it was risky. The greens are playing fast today, and a bad bounce could put me in an awful spot. I can’t miss long.

  I waver between clubs, ultimately sticking with the nine-iron. My caddy nods. He’s one the tourney provided for me, so we haven’t chatted much, but he seems to approve.

  I tee my ball and stare the flag down. I strike the ball flush, and it flies high and straight. The crowd claps heartily and then groans as it rolls off the green. I end up with bogey.

  Going into the back nine, I’m tied for third place. The crowd builds at each hole. The earlier tee times are finishing, and there are only three groups left ahead of us.

  Lincoln walks alongside me from the rough, looking just like the boyfriend on the sidelines I always wanted.

  Coach Potter is in the crowd too, hanging back as he plays the role of supportive coach. One thing is certain, no matter how today ends, I’ve decided I’m taking a page from Abby’s book and quitting the team. Four months working with Lincoln was more helpful than all the coaching Potter’s done his entire career. Times ten.

  After drinking some water and taking a few deep breaths in the shade, I pull out my scorecard and course map so I can study the tenth hole. I don’t need to since I have it memorized, but it gives me something to focus on.

  It’s a par five with an elevated green. There are two bunkers running along the right side of the fairway, and trees line the left just beyond the rough. It’s a beautiful sight, but there are so many ways to screw it up.

  When I shove the scorecard back into my pocket, my fingers graze the piece of paper Lincoln gave me. I don’t take it out, just hold it in my hand. I know how much his grandfather meant to him, and the fact he gave this to me touches me deeply.

  I think about the words scribbled on it and how hard I’ve worked to get here, how hard Lincoln worked to get me here. He may be unwilling to take credit, but I wouldn’t be here without him. I think he wants this for me nearly as much as I want it for myself.

  My driver is heavy in my hand as I stare between two points on the fairway. One safe option and another fifteen yards beyond that, if I strike the ball pure, it should give me a chance to get home in two.

  Oh god. I’m gonna go for it. I think this and try to talk myself out of it, but know it’s as good as done. All out. Not just for me but also for the man who apparently loves me.

  I haven’t let the words sink in yet. They’re too big coming from him.

  The crowd’s interest has waned, but Lincoln’s still watching. He adjusts his hat, giving me a better view of the smile on his lips. It’s encouragement in the exact moment I need it. If I don’t make a move up the leaderboard now, it’s going to be too late to make a run.

  There are two spots, but I don’t just want to qualify, I want to win today.

  36

  Lincoln

  Something changed in Keira on the tenth hole. She stopped holding back. There’s no indecision in her club choice or her swing, and she moves down the course like a machine.

  It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. I can’t take my eyes off her, not even as the ball flies through the air. I judge the lay by the cheers and the hint of a smile on Keira’s lips. Then she’s all business again and practically sprinting up the course.

  The energy of the crowd buzzes as she and the girl she’s paired with arrive at the eighteenth hole. Keira only needs par to tie for first and secure a spot at the Open.

  She glances around as if she’s seeing her surroundings for the first time in a while, and the crowd roars as she scans it slowly, hopefully letting the moment sink in. I can see her exhaustion as her chest rises and falls with a deep breath.

  She’s tired. She has to be. The fact that she’s pushed through after her body was so depleted yesterday is catching up to her. The adrenaline is probably wearing off too. You can only ride the high for so long.

  “You got this, baby,” I quietly mumble, lift my hat, and run my fingers through my hair before putting the hat back on. I’m more nervous watching her than I ever was for my own events.

  I stay in her line of vision, always where she can find me if she needs a familiar face. I’m honestly not sure if my presence is helpful or a hindrance after I ran in and professed my love seconds before the biggest day of her life. Not my finest moment, but I couldn’t hold it in a second longer.

  The eighteenth hole is a straightforward par four. She needs to birdie in order to win outright.

  The other girl, whose name I should remember but don’t, drives the ball well. Not as long or consistent as Keira, but her short game is as good as anyone I’ve seen. She’s made more saves with chips and putts today than should be humanly possible.

  Weston? Waston? Watson? Yeah, that sounds right.

  Keira goes first. Her drive is a little shorter than she’s capable, but it lands just off the center of the fairway. Watson pulls out a monster, and for the first time today, her drive is the longer of the two.

  Keira looks angry as hell as they walk down the course. The crowd keeps cheering them on because, no matter what happens in the next few minutes, it’s been a great tournament and they’re going to see more of these ladies.

  Their approaches vary only on direction. Both of them get up just off the green, but in the fringe. Watson has a slightly better lie in that she’ll be putting on a mostly flat area. Keira’s closer but will be working downhill where the slightest miss can end up rolling to no-man's-land.

  Watson takes her time lining up her shot, and we all hold our breath as her ball inches toward the hole. There’s a collective “oooh” as the ball hits the rim but fails to fall in. She knocks it in for par, securing a tie unless Keira can make the next shot.

  The pressure of the moment hangs in the air. Watson stands off to the side, and even those who have counted Keira out are watching. All eyes are on my girl.

  Putter in hand, she walks to her ball and crouches behind it to get a good look at the angle. When she stands, she wobbles off balance, and the lady next to me gasps and clutches my arm.

  “Sorry,” she says and removes her hand as soon as she realizes what she’s done. I nod my acceptance of her apology, but I kind of wish she’d keep squeezing my arm to distract me from how weak Keira looks.

  I’m fighting every urge to charge onto the course to make sure she’s okay. My pulse thrums and anxiety vibrates inside my chest.

  Keira takes a moment to regain her composure, but her body’s failing her and that’s gotta be messing with her mind.

  “Take your time, baby.”

  The forearm-clutching lady beside me doesn’t look at me as she says, “You know Keira Brooks?”

  “She’s my . . .” Girlfriend? It doesn’t seem like enough. “She’s my everything.”

  I feel her eyes on me briefly, but when Keira gets into position to take her putt, everything else ceases to exist.

  Keira stares at the line and adjusts her grip, but instead of taking the shot, she steps back. The indecision has us all worried. Everyone’s rooting for her at this point, the underdog who didn’t let anything stop her.

  When her eyes lift and find mine, they are brimming with worry and nerves. I do my best to reassure her, nodding and smiling. If she had any idea how confident I was in her ability to make this shot, she wouldn’t have any room for doubt inside her.

  Win or lose, it doesn’t matter, but I want her to win for herself. I want her to feel that ultimate satisfaction of having her hard work pay off in a big, big way. No client has ever made me this proud, no woman has ever made me want this much.

  She holds my gaze for a few seconds more and then her eyes close and her chest rises as she takes a deep breath. When she opens them, she moves with purpose into position, allows a second to adjust, and then takes her shot.

  I’m pretty sure the world stops. I know my heart doe
s. The ball rolls along the green to the hole in no hurry. It teases us, drawing out the seconds and the suspense, until I feel like I might faint.

  I switch my gaze to Keira just before the ball makes its final decision.

  The crowd roars, my heart restarts, and Keira raises her hands in victory. Tears stream down her face as she tilts her head back and looks to the sky.

  The woman next to me nudges me with an elbow. “Congratulations.”

  “Thank you.”

  Keira hugs her caddy, shakes hands with Watson, and then heads off the course. I walk along the rope just ahead of her. Though she doesn’t see me right away, her eyes scan until she finds me. Her smile hits me in the gut, and we move toward each other at a jog. My hands wrap around her waist and hers find my neck.

  “You did it.”

  She’s still crying, happy tears that mark her face and slide down to her upturned lips. “Was there any doubt? What happened to all that it’s your destiny?”

  “That was before I realized some idiot rushed in here minutes before you were supposed to tee off and unloaded on you, not to mention the whole recent hospitalization thing.”

  “I had to win. It had to be today.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I needed to make sure that when I told you that I love you too, you knew it wasn’t because I needed you to coach me.” Her hands cradle my face. “I love you so much.”

  My head falls back, and a laugh rumbles from my chest. “Nice try, we have a lot of work to do before June.”

  “Can you kiss me first?”

  I crash my mouth down onto hers, holding nothing back. I don’t know how I lived without her, but I don’t plan on ever letting her go.

  Epilogue

  Keira

  Two Months later . . .

  I stand on the golf course at the ninth hole right outside of Lincoln’s grandmother’s house. What feels like a million people are gathered around me. Some talk to me and others only about me.

  “Just act natural.”

  “But try to smile.”

  “I think she needs a little more blush.”

  “How’s the black shirt? Should we have her in white instead?”

  “Can I have a minute with Keira?” Lincoln’s voice cuts through the others, and I want to fall into him the second everyone else walks off and it’s just us.

  “Nervous?” he asks.

  “Yeah, when you said we were gonna shoot a video for the site, I thought it’d just be you and me.” I gesture toward the people and equipment. It looks like we’re shooting a music video. “Is all this necessary?”

  “Nothing but the best for my star client. Ignore them and just show off for me, sweetheart.” He hands me my wedge and a ball, drops a kiss to my cheek, and calls everyone back.

  When I’m given the go ahead, I take a breath and start.

  Tap. Tap. Tap.

  The noise soothes and excites me. Body poised, right forearm extended slightly in front of me, the tip of my tongue between my teeth, and my man standing on the sidelines watching me. I move through the trick, forgetting about the cameras.

  After five takes, the guy holding the camera calls, “We got it.”

  As the crew packs up, I stand off to the side and watch Lincoln thank everyone. He’s so good at being in charge, at making people feel his thanks and respect, and ultimately getting them to do what he wants in the exact way he wants them to do it.

  “Seems like a lot of manpower for fifteen minutes of shooting,” I say when he walks over to me.

  He takes my hand and leads me to the golf cart path. “Take a walk with me?”

  “What about all our stuff? Shouldn’t we help pack up?”

  “Trust me, they don’t want us touching their equipment. Leave your clubs here; we won’t be long.”

  The sun sets in front of us, and we walk with our hands linked. It’s the perfect ending to a chaotic week. The Valley semester ended, and school is out—forever for me. I’m going to finish my degree eventually, but since meeting Lincoln and realizing what’s possible, it no longer feels like the right path for me. I have new goals and dreams, starting with playing in the US freaking Open next week.

  Also, I moved in with Lincoln. A big step for us, but another one that just felt right. I’m attempting to hide the extent of my messiness for at least another month or two so he doesn’t change his mind.

  But so far, it’s been bliss. He works a lot, but I’ve instituted a shirtless workplace, and that’s helped morale a lot, if I do say so myself. And when he forgets to take a moment to breathe, I just crawl into his lap, wrap my arms around him, and remind him.

  “I really love it out here. Think Gram will mind if I start sleeping on her patio every night?”

  “No.” He chuckles. “She’d probably be thrilled.”

  I close my eyes and breathe in the scent of jasmine and grass. “Someday I’m going to live on the golf course where I can just walk out and play golf any time I want. We can sit on the patio and you can critique swings of everyone who passes by.”

  “I bet they’d love that.”

  “Not to them, just to me. For fun.”

  “I can think of a lot of things to do in this hypothetical house that would be a lot more fun than that.”

  “Oh yeah? Like what?”

  “Like surprising the hell out of you by telling you it isn’t so hypothetical.” He stops walking and turns to face the back of a house across the fairway from Gram’s. It’s down from the tee box a hundred yards or so and has a big For Sale sign hanging just off the course.

  “Gonna buy me a house someday, sugar daddy?” I joke and lean against him. “That one is nice. Good patio. That pool is great too. Yep, one just like this will do. Got a cool million I could borrow?”

  “It won’t cost you quite that much.”

  I pull back and look up at his face because he’s gone along with this charade far too long and sounds far too serious.

  “What’ll it cost me?” I ask tentatively, my pulse speeding.

  He takes out his yo-yo, which makes me laugh.

  “I have to learn a trick? You know I’m hopeless with that thing.” He’s tried to teach me a few basic tricks, but it seems that I can add yo-yoing to the list of things I’m not very good at.

  He takes my left hand and guides my ring finger through the slipknot, still holding the yo-yo in his palm. “Ready?”

  I nod. I have no idea what he’s up to, but I’m ready for it all—anything he wants to throw at me.

  “It’ll cost you forever.” He opens his palm, and a beautiful platinum ring slides down the string and onto my finger.

  I gasp as Lincoln gets down on one knee. His lips are wrenched into a tight, nervous smile, and he looks at me with such hope and want that I’m utterly floored.

  “You’re sure?” I have zero doubts that the man loves me, but this? I’m stunned.

  “I’ve never been more sure of anything.” He pushes the ring down my finger. “I want us together in this house.” He nods toward the home behind us. “I want your stuff strewn all around it, and I want to wake up every morning and try to figure out how to be the best husband and coach that I can be. I’ll never stop wanting you. Never stop wanting to be better for you. Not in a million lifetimes together. Marry me?”

  “Yes! Yes, of course, I’ll marry you.”

  He stands and brushes a quick kiss against my lips before tipping his head back and screaming, “She said yes! She said yes!”

  I’m laughing as he sweeps my legs out from under me and carries me back toward Gram’s house, kissing me and telling me how much he loves me the whole way. When he sets me down, he does so in front of a bunch of people who are all smiling and holding champagne glasses.

  “What if I’d said no?”

  He smiles. “It was going to be a really lame party.”

  “Dad?” I spot him off to the side dressed fancier than I’ve maybe ever seen. I rush to him. “What are you doing here?”

/>   “Heard my baby girl might be getting engaged.”

  Lincoln’s at my side and extends a hand to him. “Good to see you again, Mr. Brooks.”

  “Now that you’re getting married, I think Dan will do just fine.”

  I squeeze my dad and then pull back and check him out. Face clean-shaven, and I think I smell cologne. I pat the pocket on his button-down shirt. “You clean up well.”

  Leaving him was the hardest part of moving away from Valley.

  “Dan,” Milly calls as she walks toward us. A woman follows closely behind her. “Dan, have you met Addison yet?”

  Addison blushes a bright red that almost matches the shade of her hair and holds her hand out to my dad. “Milly has told me a lot about you.”

  Lincoln leans down and whispers in my ear. “Looks like Gram found someone new to play matchmaker with.”

  I glance to her, and she gives me a mischievous wink, which has me grinning like a fool.

  “Come on, my parents are around here somewhere.”

  He sweeps me away and we make our way through the small crowd until my eyes land on a man who looks like an older version of Lincoln.

  “Keira, these are my parents, May and Jim.”

  “It’s so nice to finally meet you,” I tell them.

  “You too. Welcome to the family.” Lincoln’s mom pulls me into a warm hug, and then his father does the same.

  “What’d I miss? Did she say yes?” A man comes to a stop next to Lincoln’s parents, adjusts his tie, and then finally looks between Lincoln and me. A cocky smirk pulls his mouth into a wide smile.

  “Keira, this is my obnoxious little brother, Kenton,” Lincoln says before grabbing him playfully and hugging him.

  “Nice to meet you, Keira,” Kenton says. “If you want embarrassing stories on this one”—he punches Lincoln in the arm—“I have you covered.”

  “Don’t even think about it,” Lincoln warns him.