Page 147 of Unexpected Shot
Yours.
And the one word that neither of us has said, but I can feel with everything in me—forever.
CHAPTER 34
SHELBY
It’s weird being on the other side of the rope during a golf tournament.
But if anyone thought I was going to miss a second of Beau’s first round today, they are out of their goddamn minds.
I’m here to support him, so I was going to be walking every hole no matter what. But when we found out that someone in the scheduling office felt like being messy and paired Beau alongside Ricky Robson, who still has Chad as his caddy, I knew I wasn’t going to miss a single shot. Hell, I even got here early.
Which was a good call. To say this group has a following would be an understatement. It’s like every golf fan who’s come out here today is waiting with bated breath to see if there’s going to be a blowup between Beau and Chad.
So far, they’ve been disappointed. But that’s to the untrained eye.
For me? The person who knows these two—and their history—better than anyone? I’ve gotten to witness every single microaggression between the former friends.
I’ve noted every time Chad’s looked his way. It’s almost pathetic how many times he has. It’s like he’s begging Beau to look at him.
And Beau, when he has, it’s been with nothing but disgust. Then again, he could be envisioning Chad with his hands on me, which sent Beau into a hot—I mean blind—rage.
But it was really fucking hot.
Since the article came out two nights ago, the gossip mill has been going crazy around the course. Beau said every golfer he saw at the driving range, or during the practice round, asked him if we had exaggerated anything. When Beau said no, and that we actually probably went too easy on him, he could see the real-time shift in their attitudes toward the caddy who’d made his way into golf circles like he was one of the players.
Chad, meanwhile, has denied everything. Shocking, I know. Last night when we walked past the hotel bar, he was actually standing up on a stool in the middle of the bar trying to declare his innocence.
No one was listening. It was kind of hilarious.
Will it change anything? I don’t know. It’s too soon to tell. But what I do know is that I feel better. And I’ve done my part in telling the golf world that this man isn’t who he claims to be.
“He's playing well today.”
I try not to have a reaction to Michael's voice as he walks up next to me, watching Beau’s shot as it goes sailing down the fairway. I don't even want to look at him.
“Are you doing okay?”
Is this man really trying to have a conversation with me? The same man who asked me questions about my Vegas wedding? The wedding he knew about before I did? The man who—whether he knew it or not—literally told the entire world about my marriage? The man who, once upon a horrible time, made me the other woman? Yeah, I don’t owe him a single fucking syllable.
“Can we talk?”
Oh for fuck’s sake. “About what, Michael? Oh! Let’s go chat at Chili’s! I could go for a Triple Dipper.”
I see a touch of shame cross his face. Good. He deserves it. And so much more.
“There’s a lot that I need to tell you. Please, Shelby. Let me get this off my chest and I promise you'll never have to speak to me again.”
I ponder his words, reminding myself it’s not my job or responsibility to absolve his guilt. He broke my heart. He broke my trust. He threw me into a mental and emotional spiral that landed me in Nashville.
Except…everything that happened after I left Vegas led me here. To finding happiness. To Beau.
Fuck…do I need to thank my ex? That sounds like a terrible thing to do.
“After this shot, you’ll follow me to the green,” I whisper as Beau approaches his second shot. “Then, you have five minutes.”
Michael nods slightly as Beau sends a beautiful shot toward the green, an easy hundred-fifty-yard iron that’s leaving him with a fantastic look at a birdie.
