33. Ellie Hart
Day one of the U.S. Open
Golf is much more intense than I ever thought it could be. Anticipation isn’t just in the air; it’s a living, breathing thing hovering over everyone. This morning I rode with Miles to the course, and the entire drive was silent. He gripped my hand tight with his eyes trained out the window. Fitz didn’t crack any jokes or make conversation. Even our driver seemed to know the weight of today, remaining quiet except to let us know we’d arrived.
As soon as we got out of the car, Miles pulled me in for a brief but impassioned kiss. He murmured that he loved me against my lips. I told him the same, and wished him luck. His stoic demeanor slipped for just long enough to say I don’t need luck, Red, I have skill. Then he winked at me and in a flash he and Fitz were gone to check in. I haven’t spoken to him since.
Now we’re on the tenth hole, and Miles is two under par. He’s playing well. Every stroke has been confident. His focus is unwavering. My attraction toward him only increases seeing him in his element like this. The golf pants he’s wearing help, too. I feel like football and baseball uniforms get all the love. Golf pants are vastly underrated. And then there’s the way he lifts his hat every now and again to push back his hair…yeah, I’m a lucky woman.
I can’t show him how he makes me feel though, because I can’t even go near him. The only one allowed to walk next to him is Fitz. I try to stay as close as possible, because getting lost in the crowd is a terrible feeling. It happened to me on the third hole, and I had to fight my way back to the front through a crowd of fans that weren’t too happy with me. Seeing Miles make birdie was worth wading through a sea of muttered insults though.
Since that moment, I’ve worked to keep ahead of every crowd in between holes. My legs are already aching and there are eight holes left. It feels like I’ve walked the entirety of Coastal Cove twice over, maybe even three times. Between the hills that are more like mountains, and the vigorous pace I have to set to stay ahead, I’m going to be exhausted by the end of the day and I’m not even playing.
The pain doesn’t outweigh the pride I feel for Miles being mine though. Because that’s what he whispered to me last night outside of my hotel room. I’m yours, Red, and you’re mine. I’ve carried his words like a banner all day today. And though I can’t touch him or talk to him, we have our moments where I meet his eyes across the green and see his words echoing within his gaze.
I hold my breath as he putts, waiting for the only moment he shifts his focus. He makes it, placing him at three under. I clap along with everyone else. He hands Fitz his putter, then lifts his gaze and finds me in an instant. He hasn’t had to look for me even once. It’s like there’s some part of him always aware of where I am, no matter what’s happening around us. He smiles at me. I mouth I love you, and then he’s off again. There’s no time for more than that.
I worried coming into this that I’d feel bored or slighted by not being able to talk to him. But it hasn’t felt that way at all. Instead, I’ve thrown myself into the game too. I’ve kept track of his score and looked forward to that little moment after the final putt at each hole. Because even though I might be in the crowd with everyone else today, I’m the only one that Miles looks at. The only one he smiles at. And tonight, I’ll be the one celebrating this amazing day in his arms.
Day two of the U.S. Open
Yesterday was perfect. Miles ended the day in the number one spot with four under. Zane was right behind him with three below par, but Miles was winning. We celebrated over dinner at a gorgeous restaurant and then got some rest for the next day.
This morning we got an early breakfast before Miles headed to warm up. He was in high spirits, everyone was. We should have had our guards up. Not seeing Miles’ parents at all yesterday made us think they were bluffing. But it turns out they weren’t.
We’re on the sixth hole when everything starts to go downhill. As he walked up to the tee box, Miles’ steps faltered. I looked in the distance and spotted a familiar figure. His father. And when I got closer, I noticed his mother was there too. They stood near enough to speak to each other, but not so near that they would chance touching the other.
Miles hits a hook shot, his ball sailing to the left toward the trees. Fitz looks over, shooting me a worried expression before they start walking. I twist my bracelets and match their pace.
“It’s nice to see you again, Ellie,” a voice I wish I’d never have to hear again says from behind me.
“Mr. Day,” I greet him in a cool tone as he steps up to my right.
Talking is fine in between shots, but I’d rather Miles not have to listen to his father. I consider dropping back, but I’m not sure if that would just cause Miles to be concerned.
“You can call me Arthur.”
“I’d rather not,” I say and he chuckles. The sound grates on my eardrums.
Miles looks back at us. It’s just a split second, but he hasn’t looked back once the entire tournament. This isn’t good.
“I see my son has poisoned you against me.”
“He didn’t have to. Just meeting you was enough for me to know I don’t want any sort of familiarity between us.”
I don’t have to look at him to know how angry my response has made him. I can feel his hatred rolling off him in waves. Miles looks back again. I quickly force a smile. He shouldn’t worry about me right now.
“You don’t want to make an enemy of me, Ms. Hart,” he says as we come up on where Miles’ ball landed. “I can promise you, you’ll regret it.”
My stomach knots. I don’t say a word, since it’s time for Miles to hit. Thankfully he chips it up onto the green. I breathe a sigh of relief. When we start walking again, I expect him to say something else, but he doesn’t. I’m not sure whether I should be grateful though because he continues to stand beside me.
Miles misses his putt. Twice. He bogeys for the first time today. When he finally makes it, his eyes meet mine, then flick to my right where his father stands. I want to reassure him, but I can’t say anything, and he doesn’t look at me again.
The next two holes go the same way. Arthur standing too close for comfort. Miles putting for bogey. Then looking at me, glaring at his father.
This can’t continue.I purposefully fall back on the way to hole nine and assimilate into the crowd. Hopefully Arthur will follow me and Miles can focus. Arthur doesn’t follow, though, and I worry that I’ve played right into his hand. When Miles’ mother falls into step beside me, I know I’ve made a mistake.
“Do you think you’re special?” she asks. No introductions or greetings. She’s straight to the point. I like this better than Arthur’s sleazy faux manners, but not by much.
I don’t give her a response. She decides to fill the silence all on her own.
“Because you’re not. You may be warming his bed right now, but he’ll tire of you eventually. He has his father’s blood in him after all.”
I whip my head toward her. The expression she wears is infuriatingly serene. She must speak like this often.
“Miles is nothing like his father.” I keep my voice low, not just so Miles doesn’t hear me, but any press around. The fact that she’s having this conversation surrounded by people makes my blood boil.
“So you aren’t his assistant?”
“What does that matter?”
“I don’t know if Miles told you, but Arthur is quite fond of his secretaries. And I believe it wasn’t long ago that I caught Miles’ last female assistant in his bed with lingerie on.”
She pauses her verbal flogging when we stop. I hear Miles hit the ball, but all I can see is his green Nike cap. I hate not being close to him. Does he know I’m missing? Is he playing better or worse?
“So you see, you’re not even the first of many. You’re merely another skirt for him to chase in between tournaments.”
I clench my jaw. She’s wrong about everything, but it still infuriates me that she feels she can speak to me this way. That assistant was a frenzied stalker, not someone he was hooking up with. And we’re in love.
I’m debating on whether or not I should respond when we walk up to the green. Or what I think is the green. It’s hard to see past all these people, and I’m disoriented because of this conversation.
“I see that you think you’re too good to speak to me. That’s fine. I know a gold digger when I see one. How much money will it take for you to leave my son alone?”
“I don’t want your money,” I grit out. A few people shoot us dirty looks over their shoulder. We’re supposed to be silent, but it’s difficult when she’s saying such ridiculous things.
“Oh really? You don’t need any money to help that struggling, widow sister of yours?”
Something inside me snaps at the mention of Naomi. I whirl on her and step so we’re toe-to-toe. Surprise mixed with fear flashes across her face before she schools her expression again.
“Don’t you dare speak of my sister ever again. You can tear me down all day. Call me a gold digger, call me trash, I don’t care. But you will not bring my family into this.” She doesn’t say a word, merely stares at me with icy blue eyes. “And as for me, I cannot be bought. So you better get used to my face, because I’m not going anywhere.”
Applause erupts around us. I look up and find everyone walking to the next hole’s tee box. No. I missed my moment. Frustration rises in me. Suddenly, everyone starts looking around, confusion written all over their faces. I see Miles on the edge of the crowd. His eyes meet mine and I can see the worry in them. He came to find me.
I’m okay, I mouth to him. But I know it won’t help. It wouldn’t if our roles were reversed. He nods, a helpless look on his face, then starts walking toward the next hole with Fitz. The eyes of the crowd are on me, which is the last thing I need right now.
“I’m sure you’re eating this up,” Winona seethes. “Girls like you love the spotlight. When Miles loses, it’ll be your fault for distracting him.”
I stop and let everyone walk ahead of us. I want her to hear me loud and clear.
“Miles is going to win. And when he does, I’ll be the one celebrating with him.” I meet her icy gaze with one of my own. “I’ll be the one by his side in pictures. The one at dinner with him that night. Meanwhile, you’ll be alone, because you’ve hurt your son so much that he doesn’t want you anywhere near him.”
“How dare you speak to me that way!” Her voice raises to a screech. A few heads at the edge of the crowd turn our way.
“After the way you’ve spoken to me, I have every right to say much worse than the simple truth. And if you raise your voice again, I will be sure to find the nearest official and inform them that there’s a disruptive fan in the crowd that needs to be escorted off the premises.”
“They won’t listen to you,” she says, but I can hear the fight draining from her voice.
“Maybe not, but they will listen to Miles. What will it be like, I wonder, to have everyone at the club talking about how your own son kicked you out of his tournament because you were making a scene?”
Her lips curl up into a snarl. “I’m not listening to this any longer. You can tell Miles that his mother left because of you.”
I give her a saccharine smile. “I’ll be sure to let him know the good news.”
She stomps off in the opposite direction of where Miles is playing. My shoulders slump once she turns around. I don’t have time to process how awful she was though, I need to get back to Miles. Arthur is still over there, and I don’t know that he’ll back down as easily as his ex-wife did.