But I’m too busy shooting back a reply to answer.Are you okay?
It’s a minute before the little dots appear. Then, even longer until her reply comes through.Yeah, just need some space.
“She’s not coming.” I’m already reaching for my wallet on the counter. “I’m going over there.”
“Whoa, hold up.” Rory jumps between me and the door, hands raised. “Think about this for a second.”
“Think about what? The fact some assholes with cameras and microphones made her feel like she’s destroying my career?”
“Look, I get that you’re pissed, I do, but you’re four shots back with thirty-six holes to go in the U.S. Open.”
“This isn’t just about golf—”
“Everything’s about golf right now, man. That’s literally why we’re here.”
“They need to leave her out of it.”
“You know that’s not going to happen.”
“But—”
“She knew what she was getting into, Hays. That it was a possibility.” He unlocks the tablet to scroll through more articles. “Look, Leah Sullivan, bookstore employee, debut novelist. They’re following her around town, snapping pictures of her at the coffee shop.”
“She’s not the reason I’m not leading.”
He sets down the tablet, not meeting my eyes. I can tell he doesn’t agree.
“You’re sitting at four under,” he points out again, as if it’s proof.
“So this is my fault.”
“Yeah, it is. But not for the reasons you think.” He sits across from me, leaning forward. “You want to know what I think?”
“Even if I didn’t—”
“Leah’s smart enough to recognize you need to prove—to yourself and to everyone else—that you can win a major. And she doesn’t want to be the reason you don’t.”
Fuck. He’s right. I meet his eyes. “She’s not the reason.”
Rory leans back. “Doesn’t matter. But what I do know is you play your best golf when you have something to prove.”
I think about tomorrow’s round. About proving Leah’s not a distraction. Showing her, and everyone else, that loving her doesn’t make me weak. It makes me unstoppable.
“You’re right,” I say, blowing out a long breath. “This weekend, I’ll show everyone exactly what I’m made of.”
“Now, you’re talking.” Rory grabs the remote. “Pin positions are brutal tomorrow. Flag on seventeen’s tucked behind that front bunker. Eighteen’s playing long with the wind gusting up to twenty.”
Chapter twenty-two
Leah
Ilove the satisfying clickety-clack sound the keys on the vintage typewriter make when I’m in the flow and the words are coming easily, a story gliding from my fingertips. But right now, with nothing staring back at me except a pathetic single line I managed to peck out an hour ago, the silence feels deafening.
I lean back in my chair, rubbing my temples. It’s dark in here, even with the lights on. But, thanks to the media camped outside, I can’t open the window shades to let in what little sun peeks through the thick gray clouds. Photographers, patient as all get out, have been lurking since dawn, waiting for their chance to snap a photo ofthe woman destroying Hays Granger’s chance at a major.
I roll my neck and try again, positioning my fingers over the keys.
Nothing.
