Page 51 of Golden Days

“You shouldn’t sleep on the couch,” I say, shaking her shoulder slowly, my thumb moving back and forth over the soft material.

She gives a little grunt of disapproval and I smile.

“There’s a bed upstairs for you,” I add.

Hazel turns to the side, facing me fully. Her eyes are still closed and she tucks both her palms under her face.

I sigh, debating with myself. I can’t let her sleep here, or she’ll be sore in the morning. But she’s so peaceful, I don’t want to wake her.

Her phone is on the cushion next to her, and I stick it in my pocket. Then I take a deep breath and wrap one arm under her shoulder, the other below her knees. Slowly, as to not disturb her, I lift her up into my arms. Her hands move of their own volition to wrap around my neck. I allow myself exactly one moment to categorize all her features.

The sleepy sigh she gives me, the feel of her soft hands hanging loosely around my neck. The weight of her in my arms, against my chest.

Fuck. When was the last time I was touched by a woman? I didn’t realize until now how much I’ve craved another person’s touch.

I take the stairs one at a time, careful not to jostle her too much. I push her bedroom door open with a foot and stop dead in my tracks when I see Gus sleeping on her bed.

Narrowing my eyes at the little asshole cat, I walk inside and place Hazel down on top of the comforter, setting her phone on the nightstand. Unsure if she’ll be cold, I grab a blanket from the closet and drape it over her. Gus opens one eye and takes me in, then stands. I expect him to run away, like he always does around me. Seriously, why does he hate me?

Instead, he moves closer to Hazel and curls up near her hip. I gape at him and gesture with my hands in the air. What the hell?

“This isn’t over,” I whisper at my cat, pointing a finger in his direction.

He hisses at me in response and I shake my head. With one more glance at Hazel, I back out of the room, leaving the door ajar in case Gus decides to leave in the middle of the night.

Once I’m in my bedroom, the last twenty-four hours come to the forefront of my mind. Hazel is here, in my house, living with me. She’ll be assisting me in the U.S. Open tournament in a couple of weeks, and then we’ll be participating in the pro-am together.

I sigh and take a seat on the edge of my bed, running a hand through my hair. My fingers hover over Rhodes’s contact in my phone, and with a deep breath, I press call.

“Hello?” he asks gruffly. “Levi?”

“Did I wake you?” I ask, frowning. A glance at the clock tells me it’s only ten at night.

“I may have passed out on the couch,” he groans. “What’s up?”

“Are you okay?” I ask, worry slicing through me. He doesn’t sound his chipper self.

“Fine, just had a few too many drinks,” he mumbles. I can hear shuffling as he sits up on his leather couch.

“By yourself? On a weeknight?” I frown. Now, that definitely doesn’t sound like my uncle.

“I’m fine, kid. It’s been a long week, and we have to make some hard trading decisions soon,” he says.

“I’m sorry,” I mutter, not knowing what else to say.

“What’s going on with you? It’s not often I get a call,” he says. I can hear the ice machine as he gets himself a glass of water.

I blow out a breath. “I’m doing the pro-am and I managed to convince the cart girl from the club to do it with me.”

“Hazel?” he asks. Of course he remembers her name. That’s just the kind of attentive man my uncle is.

I smile, thinking back about that day when she met us on the course and balked at the tip she got from him. “Yeah, Hazel.”

“That’s great. It should help with your image, right?” he asks.

My stomach sours at the mention of my image. Right. There’s still a video of me pummeling a guy circulating on the internet, whether or not I like it.

“That’s not why I’m doing it,” I say vehemently. “Not anymore. She needs this more than me, I think.” I swallow hard, feeling another pang to the heart when I think about her sleeping in her car. Jesus, am I ever going to get that image out of my head?