“I can do what I want. That’s the thing about it beingmymoney. I can be stubborn too.”
I’m doing some serious mental math, trying to figure out if what I’ve got saved, plus the winnings from this weekend, are enough to cover the physical therapy regimen I know my mom needs. It’ll be tight, but if I have to live off of ramen for the next few months to make this happen for them, so be it.
Jo huffs out a laugh. “Look at you, sounding all tough…just like I taught you.”
“You know it. Tell Mom and Dad not to worry, and we’ll figure everything out when I get home. I want Mom in therapy. She needs it. It’s giving her more good days than bad.”
“I know. I wish they had better insurance.”
“You and me both. It’s ridiculous that it’s considered elective when it’s literally the thing keeping her functioning.” I glance around. The fans are trickling away from the eighteenth green, and I’ve got to take some notes on Holland’s performance while they’re fresh in my mind. “Hey, I’ve gotta go. Be in touch soon, though. Thanks for being there for them.”
“Nowhere I’d rather be. Family forever.”
“Family forever. Love you, Jo.”
“You too.” She pauses. “You did look good on camera today, by the way. Big girl-boss energy.”
“Obviously that’s what I was going for.”
“Obviously.”
I laugh and tell her goodbye. I sneak into an open room and pull up my phone’s notebook app. The TV on the wall is streaming Holland’s press conference. I mostly tune it out but catch bits and pieces of it. He earns a point when he says it was a “team win this weekend” and uses the plural pronoun “we” when talking about his preparation. It’s a good reminder that Hollandcantone down the self-centeredness when he wants to. I’ll give him credit for that.
I don’t know how long I’m sitting there typing out what I remember about his round and what I want to work on at our next practice before a throat clears.
I look up, and Andy Mason is standing in the doorway.
“Is this where all the magic happens?” he asks.
I glance around the empty room, not sure what he’s getting at…not sure why he’s talking to me. Andy is a pro. He’s been at or near the top of the golf world for the past five years. He’s in the generation of golfers ahead of Holland, probably thirty-five or thirty-six years old, with movie star good looks. Basically, he’s Holland’s predecessor.
“Depends on what you consider magic.” I stand and cross the room to shake his hand, mentally banishing my nerves and the imposter syndrome troll that sits on my left shoulder and constantly tells me I don’t belong. “Good round out there today.”
“Not good enough.” He shakes my hand and offers me a wry grin. “You’ve got Holland playing well.”
I bob my head in acknowledgement, still not sure where this conversation is going. I didn’t know Andy Mason knew who I was, and now he’s giving me credit for Holland’s game? I’ll take it.
“If you’re ever looking to take on another client…” Andy lets the idea hang in the air, and I swear my heart drops through the floor. Imust not do a very good job hiding my surprise, because Andy laughs. “Can you blame me for asking?”
“No.” I regain some semblance of my composure and channel my best girl-boss energy. “I’m honored, is all.”
Before I can say anything else, Holland appears behind Andy.
“You trying to poach my coach, Mason?” He’s smiling, looking for all the world like he’s carefree and relaxed. But there’s a tightness to his posture that’s usually only present when he’s annoyed or frustrated. Because I know all of Holland’s tells, I know that right now he’s…tense.
Andy steps to the side so the three of us can stand in a triangle. “Always looking for ways to stay at the top. You know how it is.”
“I do.” Holland grins and doesn’t take his gaze from Andy.
I’m not sure what to make of his intensity, but then he snaps his focus to me. “Noah texted. He’s here, so we’ll be ready to meet anytime. I’ll give you two a minute.” He chin checks Andy before his gaze flicks to me again. There’s a brief flicker of something in his eyes before he turns on his heel and leaves the room.
What in the Arnold Palmerwasthat?
I shake my head. Whatever. It’s Holland’s problem, not mine.
“Let’s be in touch,” I say to Andy.
He smiles. “Sounds good to me.”
