Page 22 of Unexpected Shot
“Oh Shelby,” Gabi says, taking my hand in hers.
“Oh wait, there’s more,” I continue. “When I tried to speak up, to say that something was wrong and the cards must have gotten switched, Mr. Ashcroft grabbed me by the arm—with a firm grip on my bicep, mind you. He said accusations of cheating would not be tolerated. And, if anything, I was the one who cheated because it was Beau who actually won. He went on to say that it was my word against Beau’s and Chad’s, and who would people believe? He was practically foaming at the mouth, insisting your brother was a good young man and a claim like that could ruin his career. Would I want that?”
Gabi gasps at the story. “He did what? He’s a grown man touching a teenage girl! Did you say anything?”
“I didn’t...” And I hate that even though I lived by my hardened, can-hang-with-the-boys front, I was still a scared girl who didn’t know how to navigate power dynamic situations. “I was panicked. Confused. Embarrassed. And I never played at the country club again.”
I fight off the tears I feel building. I absolutely refuse to cry over a two-decade-old story.
“I’m so sorry that happened to you,” Gabi says, bringing me into her arms. She rocks me back and forth, understanding I’m doing my damnedest to not break down. “I always hated Chad’s dad. He was a fucking misogynistic asshole.”
“Him and most men in Louisiana,” I say.
“Have you ever talked to Beau about this?”
I nod into her hold. “Yeah. Right after. I asked him what happened. He knew I won. Why didn't he say anything? Whydid he change the names on the scorecard? Why would he take that moment away from me?”
“What did he say?”
If I was nervous to tell her about the actual incident, telling her Beau’s reaction has me downright petrified. “He swore he didn’t do it. That he doesn’t know what happened, but he had nothing to do with whatever did.”
Gabi’s quiet, too quiet, so I keep talking. The longer I talk, the longer I still have my best friend.
“He claims everything happened so fast. That he was too stunned to say anything.”
But he could have. I’ve maintained since that day that if Beau would’ve stood up for me, for the right thing, maybe things would’ve been different. Another “what-if” I can ponder until the end of time.
“My whole life changed that day,” I rush out, needing to finish everything before Gabi utters the words I’m terrified to hear. “Without that prize money, the partial scholarships I did get barely covered room and board. On top of playing golf and keeping my grades up in school just to maintain those scholarships I did get, I still had to work and take out student loans to make up the difference. Golfing in the summer and staying up with my sport was impossible because I had to work to make sure I had money for the next year.
“And, while I’ll never be able to prove this, every time I walked onto a golf course in Louisiana after that, I swore people looked at me differently. I was denied entry to tournaments. Told the field was full when I knew damn well it wasn’t. I was blacklisted by Mr. Ashcroft and his good ol’ boy friends. I quit my job at the country club, which was the only way I was even allowed to play there, because I couldn’t be around them and handle their stares. That day changed my life, Gabi. And not for the better.”
How I’m not a mess of tears right now, I’ll never know. I don’t cry often. But I did cry that day. A lot. Probably more thanI’ve cried in my entire life. And the memories haven’t faded. How can they when I’m still surrounded by the reminders.
“My life wasn’t the same after that. If Beau would’ve just…”
The rest of the years-old plea dies on my lips, and I sit in silence, being held by Gabi, as I wait for her to say something. Anything. And when she takes a breath before talking, I stop breathing.
“I believe you,” she says. But before I can exhale in relief, she adds, “But I believe Beau as well.”
I slump my shoulders in defeat. If my own best friend doesn’t believe me, then it’s official, no one ever will.
“It’s—”
I start to sit up, but Gabi holds up her hands, stopping me from surrendering to the inevitable brush-off. “Let me finish.”
Damn, she’s really developed a solid mom voice since she had the baby.
“I do believe you, Shelby. I know how hard you worked then and now at your game. I know you could beat anyone—including Beau and Chad—any day of the week. I believe you won, and I know you wouldn’t make up cheating accusations because you were bored on a Friday.”
I’ve never felt a bigger “but” coming in my entire thirty-six years.
“But I also know Beau.” And there it is. “He doesn’t cheat, Shelby. He never has. He’s a lot of things, but none of those are a cheater. I don’t know what happened, but after hearing this, I truly believe that two things can be true at once. Someone screwed with the scores, but it also wasn’t Beau.”
I’ve thought about this a few times over the years, but every time I do, it doesn’t make sense. Beau was in charge of my scorecard. I signed off on it. Then he turned it in. Who else could’ve changed the names? Who else would’ve?
“It’s in the past,” I say, wanting desperately to end this conversation. I hate talking about that day. Or even thinking about it. I’m exhausted, tired, and if I’m about to lose the oneperson in my life I love more than anyone, I’d like this whole thing to end sooner rather than later.
“It is, but now it’s my turn,” Gabi says. “Why didn’t you tell me earlier? I get why you didn’t when it happened, but all those years. Jeez, Shelby. That’s a lot of weight to carry alone.”
