What. The. Fuck? Dating rumors about me and a certain sports reporter? Since when? Where in the hell is this coming from? Of all the days for things to go sideways… Today is supposed to be a celebration.
Fists curled, I glance at Jenna, whose brows have come together. She’s as caught off guard as I am. A flash of embarrassment, or maybe hurt, flutters across her face. Shit. This isn’t how this is supposed to go. Not today.
“I’m not sure what rumors you’re referring to,” I say carefully, my voice steady, despite the way my pulse has spiked. I flash my practiced media smile and lean back slightly, as if I’m unconcerned. “But what I can tell you is, this foundation launch will change lives. We’re talking about scholarships, mentorship programs, equipment grants—”
“The two of you have been photographed together multiple times at various tournaments,” another reporter jumps in. “Dinner, coffee, heading into your suite…” The insinuation is clear. And makes my blood boil. Jenna and I were never alone, no matter what anyone says.
The tone in the tent has shifted. Every camera is focused on me, waiting for a reaction.
“Look,” I say, folding my hands and trying one more tactical redirect, “I think we’re missing the real story here. In six months, we’ll have our first scholarship recipients selected. Kids, who might not have had a shot otherwise, will be on golf courses across the country—”
“But she—”
I can’t deflect. And Jenna’s sitting right there. I need to navigate this without throwing her under the bus, while also making it crystal clear to anyone watching—especially Leah—that absolutely nothing is going on.
“I’ve been fortunate to have a team working on a feature story about the new foundation. The piece requires multiple interviews, background research, and fact-checking. And frankly, the journalists have been nothing but professional. No one on the team deserves to have their reputation dragged through the mud because some photographer got creative with his angles.”
“But surely working so closely with an attractive, accomplished journalist who also loves golf—” someone starts.
“Has been a professional pleasure,” I cut them off, my voice sharper now. I can’t help it. The thought of Leah watching this shitshow, wondering if there’s truth to these rumors, makes my chest tight. Is she reaching for the remote to turn off the TV, convinced I’ve been playing her all this time?
“The staff are some of the best covering the tour. Their reputations speak for them.” I pause, making sure my next words leave no doubt. “But nothing is going on.”
“Speaking of reputations, you’ve been notably absent from the dating scene recently,” another voice calls out from the middle of the room, as if making a juicy observation. “The Hays Granger who used to make headlines for activities off the course, as much as on it, seems to have disappeared. Are you saying these recent rumors aren’t the cause of your new low-profile lifestyle?”
I run a hand through my hair, struggling to keep my composure as my patience wears thin. Leaning in to the microphone, I turn my attention to the cameras. “Let me be crystal clear since there seems to be more interest in speculation than actual news. I haven’t been and am not dating now because of a promise I made to someone.” My voice rises slightly, easy charm replaced by raw honesty. “A promise that hasn’t changed on my end.”
“Are you saying you’re in a relationship?”
“I’m saying I know exactly what I want, and when the time is right, you’ll know, too.” I flash my trademark grin, but there’s steel behind it, now. “Trust me, when I’m ready to let the world know, there won’t be any guessing involved.”
“What about your prediction for the major next month?”
Thank God. I take a breath, forcing my shoulders to relax. “My game’s exactly where it needs to be. I’ve been working toward this moment for years. And I’m counting on my closing game being stronger than ever.”
I stand up, signaling the end of my availability, despite the questions that keep coming. As I walk out, my mind races. I can only hope the foundation story still gets the attention it deserves. And that Leah heard every word I said about exactly where my heart belongs. Because if she doesn’t believe me, if she thinks for even a second I’ve been anything less than completely faithful to what I promised her on that boat, I might have just lost her before I even had the chance to win.
Chapter thirteen
Hays | Three Weeks Later
The three-hundred-pound barbell crashes back onto the mat at my home gym with a satisfying thud audible over the music blaring from the speakers. Sweat burns my eyes as I drag a towel across my forehead, but anything’s better than the constant ache that’s been eating at me for almost a month.
Three fucking weeks since that press conference went sideways. And radio silence from Starlight Bay. Not even a scolding for breaking our no-contact rule with the custom initialed leather journal and fountain pen set I sent for her birthday. Not a single word to tell me she believes me.
I chalk my hands and reset my grip, lifting the bar with controlled precision. The burn in my hamstrings and lower back feels good, real, unlike the constant ache in my chest that nothing seems to touch.
The dating rumors are still circulating online, no matter how clearly I shut them down. Some gossip blogger even published a post titled,Golf’s Golden Boy’s Secret Romance Revealed!complete with photos of me and Jenna having what was clearly a professional lunch. The comments section was a dumpster fireof speculation about whether I wasfinally settling downorjust having fun with the hot reporter.
I need to stay the hell offline.
I lower the weight and reset, focused on maintaining my form even as frustration courses through my veins. Maybe, Leah’s dating some small town guy. An intellectual type who can take her to dinner like a normal boyfriend. A man who doesn’t live life in the spotlight, creating complications she never asked for. A guy who prioritizes time with her over some career goal he’s been chasing for years.
I’m staring blankly out the floor-to-ceiling windows at the desert view when my playlist cuts off in the middle of a song.
“I wondered where the hell you were.”
I don’t bother turning around, just reset my stance and grip the bar again, lifting into position as Rory breezes in as if he owns the place. “Since when do you deadlift three hundred?”
