Page 40 of Unexpected Shot
I nod, hating that it came to this. “Bubba retired. I lost my combination caddy/swing coach to an RV he wanted to drive around the country. One day early on in our lessons, I asked Chad if he had caddy recommendations. He said he could do it. That I didn’t need to look any further.”
“And you thought that was a good idea?”
“One, your sarcasm isn’t appreciated, and two, I was desperate,” I defend. “I was spending so much time on my recovery, I forgot to look for a new caddy. I figured if I was trusting him with this, I could trust him on my bag.”
“But now…?”
I let out a sigh. “But now I know I’m fucked and I can’t get a hold of him in time to fire him so he’s going to show up tomorrow and I’m going to have to awkwardly tell him I’m going back to my old swing and we need to talk when we get back to Nashville.”
“He’s a big boy, you know. He can handle you not using his grip.”
I give him a side-eye. “Are we talking about the same Chadwick Ashcroft? The one who once cried because of a pin placement at a Drive, Chip, and Putt competition?”
We both laugh, remembering Chad’s full-on meltdown when he was eleven. I know Beau gets shit for being a diva—and with his bright shirts, always perfectly matching shoes, and ridiculous celebrations where he pushes his club into a non-existent holster, he’s earned that title—but Chad is just as much of one. Only instead of developing from success and being encouraged by adoring fans, Chad’s personality manifested in a “my daddy has money and I should get everything I want” kind of way. And unfortunately, it hasn’t gotten better as we’ve become adults.
“Can I point something out?”
I turn to look at him, and the softness in his eyes pulls at a heart that most days I don’t think is there. “Go for it.”
“Have you noticed that we’ve been here for going on thirty minutes, and neither of us have called each other a name?”
“Wow,” I say with a chuckle. “That’s gotta be a new record. But don’t tell Gabi. She’ll get her hopes up.”
“I’d never.”
He bumps my shoulder again as we share a smile—a smile that sends a shiver through my body, so obviously, I look away.
I don’t know what’s happening now. Over the years, I’ve trained my head—and my body—to not react to Beau Devereaux. Sure, he’s gorgeous. And exactly my type. But I’ll jab a needle into my leg to pass a polygraph to make sure no oneever knows that I’ve wondered what his beard would feel like between my thighs.
“Can I ask you a question?”
“Why not,” I respond. “The fact that we’re sitting here civilly means pigs are already flying somewhere.”
My joke doesn’t land as he turns to me, sincerity in his deep brown eyes. “Why did you try to make it work for so long? With Chad. Why were you hellbent on forcing the square peg into the round hole?”
I don’t know where the pigs are, but they might just be flying over a frozen meadow in hell, because I don’t even have the urge to give Beau a smart-ass answer. Nor do I tell him it’s none of his fucking business. I must be more exhausted than I realized.
“A few reasons,” I begin. “There was his reputation. It couldn’t be denied.”
“I get that,” Beau says. “Say what you want to about the guy, but he’s carved out a nice niche for himself in the golf world.”
“Which is why I kept fighting to make it work. I read countless articles online, all quoting our peers, praising him for fixing their slice. Or others like me who had a surgery and needed to tweak their swings, and he helped them do it. I hadn’t heard a bad word about him, so I figured the problem had to be me. That I just had to keep pushing through and sooner or later it would happen.”
“But it didn’t.”
I don’t answer Beau’s rhetorical question. “Also, somewhere in my subconscious is eight-year-old Shelby. The girl who wanted to learn everything about the game, but had to teach herself. Or pick up on things from watching you.”
Beau’s eyebrows raise up. “Belle, I’m flattered.”
“Don’t be,” I say, though I find a smile creeping out. “When I was growing up, I always promised myself that if I ever got a coach, I would listen to everything they said. That I wouldn’t take anything for granted, because I was finally at the spot whenI could have one. Even if it was shitty advice from my high school ex-boyfriend.”
I always thought not listening to a coach—or even firing one—would disappoint younger me. That I was letting down the little girl who used to hide and watch the lessons Beau got. But now I know I’d only be letting her down if I didn’t fire him.
And I know deep down she’s proud of me.
“Thank you.”
I tilt my head, giving Beau a questioning look. “For what?”
