Page 42 of Meet Me Back Here

Forrest shrugs at me with a confused frown, but then glances back toward the eighth hole. No time to dawdle. I drop another ball, which thankfully stays on land. I line up, swing, and feel the head of my club roll right over the top of the ball.

Shit.

I look down just in time to see my ball pop backward… and sink into the lake.

You’ve got to be kidding me.

I let my head fall back while I take a deep breath.

“Want to try again?” Forrest asks, looking very sorry for me when I finally turn to him.

But the next group is already waiting on us, so I shake my head.

“It’s fine. You finish up, and then let’s just move on. Add like five swings for me or something on this one.” It doesn’t feel fine. I feel irritable again, but I don’t want to take any longer here. That’ll just make me feel worse. I want to get back to being silly and relaxed, so I want to put some space between us and the guys behind.

Forrest finishes the hole and then drives us around to the back nine, which double back on the course, so we’ll end near where we started. We finish the tenth hole quickly and without fuss, so I’m feeling better by the time we park near the eleventh hole’s tees.

Forrest goes first.

Then, I line up and look out toward the fairway, squinting as I spot a narrow creek cutting right across my path. It’s nothing compared to the lake. It’s such a small strip of water, that it’s incredibly unlikely I’ll hit it, so I clear my head, get ready, swing, and watch my ball soar.

Right. Into. The. Creek.

“Oh, Cam…” Forrest says in disbelief.

“Trust me, I know,” I quip back. I just want to get this over with.

From checking the weather before we flew here, I know it hasn’t rained in a few weeks, and the water level of the creek should be low. It’s also filled with large rocks. I only bought a three-pack of the new balls, and that was my last one. I know Forrest would share his, but I don’t want to have to ask. My pride is taking a beating already.

“Drive ahead. I’m just going to check real quick,” I say, before I take off jogging toward the creek.

“Wait, Cam! Check what?” Forrest calls after me, careful not to be too loud, but I’m already gone.

It’ll be fine. He worries too much.

I run right to where I saw my ball go in and peer into the crystal-clear water. As expected, the water level is low, maybe a foot deep, if that, and it’s a very gentle-moving creek. I can very easily see that pink ribbon on a bright white ball. That one’s mine, and it’s right next to quite a large flat-topped rock. Maybe I could just…

I flip my club around and sharply jab the rock with the rubber grip. The rock doesn’t budge. I step right up to the edge of the grass beside the creek, bend my knees for stability, and quickly kick the rock with as much force as I can. Steady as can be.

This is going to work.

Before I can lose my nerve, I step onto the rock, planning to squat down quickly, scoop up the ball, and push back to shore.

But the second my weight is on the rock, it suddenly sinks several inches into the sandy bottom of the creek and tips aggressively to the side.

I only have a moment to gasp before I’m falling ass-first into that fucking creek.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

chilled, with training wheels

“Ijust don’t see how anything else on this trip can top that,” Forrest teases as we step out of our rideshare.

It’s been about six hours since the creek incident, and it’s still the topic of every conversation.

I don’t think I’ve ever moved as quickly as I did when I launched back out of the water. Thankfully, today is a relatively warm day, especially compared to the first part of our trip, because I was completely soaked from mid-chest down, and the water was frickin’ cold.

Once he confirmed there was no damage other than to my thoroughly soaked phone—it had been in a pocket in the shorts under my skirt—and to my pride, Forrest doubled over with laughter. Apparently my shocked-fell-in-a-creek expression is very funny.