by Ivy Jordan
“They all do,” Dad said. He popped open his tackle box. “Here, you wanna get a worm on the hook?” He popped open the tub of worms and held it out to Quinn, who stared at me, mortified.
“Dad, come on.” I picked up the tub and shook my head. “She’s never been fishing before, remember?”
“They’re just worms!”
But Quinn was laughing all the same. “I don’t want to touch them!” she exclaimed. “Use them, by all means, but I’m not ready yet.”
“That’s perfectly fair,” I said to her—and to my father, who already had a protest forming on his mouth. I hooked the worm for her and made sure that her fishing rod was set to work properly. It wasn’t a particularly great fishing rod. My dad had the really expensive, top-of-the-line fishing rod, insisting that it was his best shot at getting the biggest fish in the river.
Quinn cast the fishing rod perfectly well, and we sat back for a moment talking about nothing and everything. Quinn told Dad a little about where she worked, even though Dad already knew, and I served as the occasional barrier when Dad made a joke that was just a little too cruel. All in all, it was a fun gathering, and I was grateful that two of my favorite people were getting along so well.
As the sun started to get higher up in the sky, the heat went from warm to uncomfortable. It reflected off the river and made for an unpleasant experience, and Dad declared the fishing time to be over.
“I think it’s about time we packed up,” Dad said. “Fish are all at the bottom of the river.”
“Wait, I think I got something.” Quinn furrowed her eyebrows and grabbed at the lever on her rod. “I think I got something.”
I looked at her bobber—or, where her bobber had been, but wasn’t anymore. “Oh, shoot. Um, reel it in. Give it a tug.”
Quinn tugged it back and started cranking the reel.
“Slowly, slowly. Let it fight a little.”
She loosened her grip and then began to turn the knob extremely slowly, and I laughed.
“Well, not so slow that it gets away.”
“I’m trying!” Quinn exclaimed. She tugged the rod up again, and a fish flopped up on the surface of the river. “Oh my God, I got something!”
“You did! Reel her in. Easy goes.” Dad said, and he had a grin on his face.
Quinn began to reel it in, and the fish became visible within a few seconds. A small perch, probably just going back for a little nap on the ocean floor, flopped in the air, suspended by the line.
“Is that a good one?” Quinn asked. “What kind is it?”
“You want to pull it in?” Dad asked.
“Um…” Quinn stared at it, and I leaned forward to catch the line for her. I took the fish off the hook and held it in my hand.
“Look at him. He’s a great fish,” I said.
“I told you I’d catch something!” Quinn declared, beaming.
“You told me nothing of the sort!” I protested.
“Told you!” Quinn stuck her tongue out.
I held the fish out to her. “You wanna hold him?”
“No thank you!”
My dad laughed behind us. “If you’re not going to hold him, toss him back. Let me get a picture first.”
It was hilarious to me to take a picture with this tiny perch. But it was Quinn’s first fish, and so I smiled with her until Dad took his phone down and put it back in his pocket. “Toss it back and let’s pack up.”
I helped Dad lug some of the tackle boxes back to the car while Quinn got the chairs folded. For a moment, Dad and I had some alone time to talk.
“I’m proud of you, Sawyer,” Dad said. “She’s really something, isn’t she?”
“She’s something,” I agreed. I smiled and waved at her from afar. She grinned and picked up the lawn chairs.
“You two got any big plans together?” he asked.
“I don’t know,” I said. “I don’t know. I… I hope we do.”
He nodded. “Well, I certainly hope it works between the two of you. I like her, and I think she likes you too.”
I grinned and laughed a little at how he phrased it, like it would be a feat to like me. “Thanks, Dad.”
“I’m proud of you,” he repeated. “I really am, Sawyer.”
I smiled, and I nodded, just to show that I appreciated the gravity of his statement. I couldn’t remember the last time he’d said that with sincerity, not buckled down to an apology or tied to some sort of treaty between the two of us. He clapped me on the back, and we got everything in the car loaded up.
I didn’t know if Quinn and I had any big plans together, but I knew that my life was never going to be the same, now that she’d come into it.
EPILOGUE
Even after two years, I hadn’t gotten entirely accustomed to waking up to Sawyer. I didn’t know that I would ever get used to it, even with all of my things moved over to his place and my own quite well inhabited by someone else. A new family had taken residence in my old house, and I wished them the best of luck knowing that I was going somewhere better and, really, perfect in every way for my future.
I woke up and crept out of bed quietly, not wanting to wake Sawyer. He’d had a particularly long day the day before, not getting home until late. He worked hard and left little time for fun, but that was the case with myself as well. Psychiatry was going very well, and I had started a sort of group therapy for veterans to come and talk about their struggles abroad. It was still in the formative process, but it attracted a lot of attention, and the local newspaper had even done a column about it.
I went to the kitchen and started making some eggs and toast. I made enough for the both of us in case Sawyer woke up soon.
Sure enough, I heard footsteps down the hallway within a few moments of the smell of bacon hitting the air.
“Good morning,” he said, pulling me to him from behind and kissing the back of my neck.
“Good morning,” I agreed. Outside some birds chirped, and I didn’t know that anyone could prove to me that a world existed outside that house.
“I told Pete I’d help him with some new decorations in his house,” Sawyer said. “But I don’t know shit about decorations. Do you think you’d be willing to come up with me for a bit?”
“Sure,” I said. I got us some plates and we ate at the table, talking about whether we wanted to get another birdfeeder. The birds nearby were absolutely terrorizing the ones we had set up, but it was too much fun to have them to not want another.
We took a few moments to get dressed. I pulled on a sweater; it was beginning to get a bit chilly. It was uncharacteristic of Texas to get chilly in the fall, but in only early October, it seemed that I would need a sweater. We got in Sawyer’s truck and turned to different radio stations on the way to Pete’s house. I’d been acquainting Sawyer with all the new music styles and technological advances that had taken place in his absence.
When we pulled up to Pete’s house, something looked strange. Or, beautiful, but strange because Pete’s property usually looked humble. The trees had big bows tied around them, and there was a long carpet down the side of the hill covered in flower petals. I looked up the rug and saw a tree stump, one of the older ones that had been there since the first time I’d seen the property.
Sawyer came around and opened my door, and he took my hand and walked with me up to the carpet.
“Is Pete inside?” I asked.
“I brought you here to talk to you,” he told me.
I blushed. I didn’t know what was going on, and while I would usually panic at ‘I want to talk to you,’ the situation seemed far from dire. I set my hand on his arm and nodded. “Alright, then,” I managed, trying not to let my imagination run too wild.
“Since I got back two years ago,” he said, “my life has been indescribably good. I could never have hoped for the family, the friends, and the relationships that I have now. I have a house; I have a good relationship with my father; I have a job—I didn’t expect to have any of those things when I
came back. I didn’t think I deserved them.
“But those things all happened because of you. You came into my life and made it something better than I could have ever dreamed. I have you to thank for everything good that’s happened to me, Quinn. I love you very much.” We were approaching the stump, and my heart started to pound.
“I don’t want to see this go,” he said. “I love you, and I want to share the rest of my life with you, if you’ll let me.”
We stopped in front of the stump. Something glinted and caught my eye; I peered and saw a ring, a small silver ring with a diamond-studded center.
“Will you marry me?” he asked.
I stared, dumfounded, at the ring. At the stump. The birds in the background filled the silence in the air. Slowly, I began to nod, pressured by the realization that I had to say something.
“Of course. Of course, I will marry you!” I picked the ring up off the stump and slipped it onto my finger.
He pulled me to him in a hug, squeezing me nearly too tight and yet somehow not tight enough. I wrapped my arms around him and bounced on my toes.
“I love you,” he whispered.
“I love you too.”
“Aww, that’s sweet,” said Pete—where had he come from? I turned around and saw him standing off to the side, along with Jesse and Janet and Sawyer’s parents. Babs waved at me too, hiding behind a tree.
“How did you get them all here? How did I not see them?” I was a laughing, crying mess. “Oh my God, Sawyer!”
“They’re good at hiding,” he said simply. He kissed the top of my head, and I turned around to poke him in the chest.
“I’ll get you back for this,” I promised him, the smile never fading from my face.
“You’ve got the rest of our lives,” he told me. He pulled me closer, and I let the world slip away.
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STROKE IT
By Ivy Jordan
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are products of the writer's imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2017 Ivy Jordan
Chapter One
Caleb
“Are you even listening to me, Caleb? Because your goddamn stance alone is making me absolutely crazy!”
I looked back at my golf coach, Gabriel, with fire in his eyes. We had been working on my swing all morning, and even though I was an excellent golfer, I was falling apart all morning long, to the exasperation of my coach. He looked like he was ready to murder me, and I really couldn’t blame him. My head hurt from partying the night before, and the last thing I wanted to do at that moment was to hit a ball repeatedly with an ornery man barking behind me. It was enough to make anyone crazy.
The man was a legend, no doubt, in his forties with short dark hair and angry brown eyes that were staring me down. Gabriel had been to the majors a few times when he was in his glory days, and he never let me forget it. He was an amazing coach and had been working with me for most of my career on my swing.
I just wasn’t in the mood for it today. I had been getting a lot of pressure from my parents lately, and I just felt like I was going to blow.
“Move it, Caleb!”
I threw my driver across the driving range, to the surprise of the person next to me, and threw my hands up in the air. “Fuck it. Let’s call it a day.”
Gabriel shook his head. “Yeah, good call there, Caleb. With that kind of attitude, you will win the majors for sure.”
“Don’t start. I get enough of that from my parents.”
“Well, maybe you need to hear it just a little bit more there, guy. Today, you are doing shit, and you need to consider working on your bad days because if you wake up on the wrong side of the bed at the majors, guess what? You still have to find a way to make it a good day.”
I stared out across the driving range. We had already been there all morning, and at that point, all I wanted to do was grab a drink somewhere. Stress was mounting to the point where I could barely stand it.
I knew why Gabriel was riding me hard. I had made it to the majors a few times in my career, but I always choked when it mattered. I was a choker, and it was ruining my career. Nothing was worse than hearing all about it on the nightly news, as well. People were laughing at the fact that I couldn’t seem to get my shit together. Especially since my father was a legend in their eyes.
Why can’t I just be like my dad? I wondered. He never choked, not once; he was always so cool and collected. Never doubted himself, but he had all the doubt in the world for his son these days.
I didn’t know why I choked, but it happened every single time. I had to break the streak, or my career would be over; I knew that much. I just didn’t know how. I had the talent and skill. I certainly had all the resources to get me to the top. I just had to get over the fear, the ever-mounting fear that grasped onto my throat and threatened to kill me as soon as I got to the majors.
Maybe it was because my father was a PGA Tour multi-champion, and he had all the expectations in the world that his son would be, too. My parents had sunk a lot of money, never mind the time and energy, into my career, and in four years, I had screwed it up every single time.
It was essential to my career that I make it this time. Otherwise I could lose everything. Then I would have to listen to my father rant about what a failure I was. That was too much to bear.
I rubbed at my eyes, wishing I was anywhere but there.
“Gabriel, man, give me a break.”
He sighed. “Caleb, what the hell is going on with you today? We really need to work on that swing of yours.”
“Long night.”
“Partying? C’mon, man, at least come to practice with a straight head. I know you want this – the desire to win is practically leaking out of your pores.”
“I do want it. I’ve never wanted anything more.”
“Then, what the hell are you doing partying so much? Can’t you just leave the celebrations until after you win? You need your head straight at all times. The tournament is just three months away.”
“No, I need the freedom. Blowing off steam is the only way I don’t lose my mind at this point.”
He nodded his head slowly. “Is your father giving you a hard time?”
“When is he not giving me a hard time? It’s a daily event.”
“He just wants what’s best for you.”
“No, he just doesn’t want me to embarrass him. He can’t figure out why his only son can’t make it to the top like he did.”
I turned when I heard a phone ringing. I made my way to the cart to dig around in my bag. Pulling out my phone, I saw it was a call from my father. Speak of the devil, and he appears, I thought. I clicked on the green button and said hello.
“Caleb, how are you?”
“I’m good, Dad; how’s it going?”
“Are you out with Gabriel right now?”
“You know I am.”
“Good. That’s good to hear.”
“What can I do for you, Dad?” I looked over my shoulder at Gabriel, who was watching me intensely.
“I’m just calling to let you know I would like you here tomorrow for dinner at the house.”
I groaned inwardly; I wasn’t in the mood for any of it. “I don’t know if I can make it.”
“Caleb, I insist. The majors are right around the corner, and I would like to have a game plan ready. I want to make sure that you are preparing for it properly.”
“Geez, Dad, I’m not a kid. Besides, Gabriel has it under control.”
“Oh, there is much more to it than just getting your swing ready. Be here at seven.”
I hung up the phone without another word. The man aggravated me to no end, but there was no point in dragging on the conversation longer than I had to. We both knew I would be a
t dinner the next evening whether I wanted to be or not. There was no point in arguing with my father – he got his way, no matter what.
I could just imagine the kind of plan he had in store for me. He was adamant that I was to go to the top at all costs. Maybe then he would be proud of me.
I sighed as I started walking back towards Gabriel. I was under a ton of pressure to perform in the majors, and if it didn’t go well for the fourth time, I wasn’t sure what I would do. I needed to get over the fear of failing; I just didn’t know how.
It came up on me so quickly, and no matter how much I wanted to win, I couldn’t get past the feeling. It seized me like a vice, and even though I knew I had the skill and talent to be the best, I would stand there frozen, unable to do exactly what I had been trained to do. It was the most helpless feeling in the world. When it was all said and done, I was just left with regrets, knowing I could have made the shot if I just didn’t choke on it.
That was my Achilles heel, and I didn’t know how to get past it. I would need to if I was ever going to win, however, and get a sense of accomplishment, not to mention make my father think he hadn’t wasted his time on me.
I was no hack – hell, no. I had led all the tournaments to greatness every single time. It was just the majors that killed me. It had been three years of embarrassments; three years that I could have seriously lived without.
This year had to go right. I wanted it so badly that I could feel it in my bones. The ache of wanting literally lived beneath my skin, and I needed this year to be different. I couldn’t stand any more embarrassments. I was not the “boy who choked.” Gabriel was right about one thing: I needed to get my head on straight and figure out why I was choking, what was stopping me from getting to the top.
I was rubbing my temples when I got back to where Gabriel stood.
“Was that your father?”
“How could you tell?” I said sarcastically.
Gabriel nodded; he knew what it was like to go to the top. The expectations involved, the stress. But he also knew how great it felt to win, to prove everyone wrong to stand there knowing that you were the best. I had no idea how that felt, despite all my accomplishments during tournaments.