Chapter 4
Luke
Something that should be very easy for you.
Genevieve’s words ricochet through my head like a shank into the rough. The ground shifts. She doesn’t know how very wrong she is. Every part of me wanted to come back to her. I typed ‘I'm sorry. I miss you’ a hundred times. But I couldn’t hit send.
The thing I never told anyone is how manipulative and controlling my father was when it came to me and my career. When Claire slipped about Gen, he came down on me. Hard. Telling me, girls were a distraction, and that if I wanted to be the best in golf, it had to be my sole focus.
When I went pro, I was twenty-two, and my father was the one who got me there. So I did what he said, and ended things with ‘that girl’ rather than let her get in the way of my success.
My mother voiced her concern for five years, but it wasn't until I was on the verge of a breakdown—after I fired Dad—that she slipped me J.B.’s number.
But I thought about Gen almost every day.
Turning to look at her, I notice she's just as beautiful as I remember. Red hair full of waves, hazel eyes still sparkling, and lips still rosy, but there’s a hardness to her that wasn’t there before. A tiny part of me wonders if she’s this way with everyone.
I doubt it. Gen was always wearing a smile. I'm positive this is because of what I did. And I don’t blame her. I deserve the coldness she’s throwing my way.
But putting me in my place, that was a surprise. Feisty when she means it suits her. Watching her nostril flare and her hazel eyes spit fire was hot.
She still doesn’t mince words, I see—glad that some things haven’t changed. I always appreciated her ability to be honest and not pull any punches. Let’s just hope it stays verbal.
Mmm… maybe after her last word, I should eliminate sharp comments from our conversations.
Bogey takes that moment to prance past us carrying one of my headcovers, and I groan. “I don’t know how he keeps getting the new ones I just bought.”
“Where are you leaving them?”
My forehead pulls as I think about her question, and I watch her eyebrow quirk up before a smirk spreads across her lips.
“You’re leaving them in the normal place out in the open, aren’t you?”
Dragging my gaze from her mouth, I rub the back of my neck and shrug a shoulder. Her laughter rings out throughout the yard before I can even answer her question. “What?”
She scoffs and shakes her head. “Okay. So while we’re sitting here waiting, tell me about Bogey and what you’ve been doing so far. Other than leaving things you don’t want him to have out.”
Her voice is warm, but detached, and for the first time I see the woman that all of her other clients get, and my gut rolls. Not because she doesn’t sound sincere, she does, but because she’s treating me like I’m just anyone.
Burning spreads throughout my chest, and I lift a fist to try to rub it away. All the while I tell her about Bogey and what I’ve been trying.
She interjects with questions throughout, and I’m impressed by how intuitively she seems to grasp the situation and get to the heart of the matter.
She’s still easy to talk to, that hasn’t changed. So easy, the real reason I got Bogey almost spills out, then my throat tightens.
She’s not here to get to know me. She’s here because of him.
“Okay,” Gen says after I finish. “Pretty typical stuff for a Siberian Husky and other working breeds. We just need to figure out a job for him.”
“Unlike burying my headcovers?” I ask, as I watch the dirt fly through the air like chocolate sprinkles.
“Maybe we’ll build him an acceptable place to dig,” she chuckles, her eyes filled with warm humor as she watches my dog. A pang of jealousy surges through me.
I’ve never wanted to be a dog in my entire life as badly as I do right now.
“Here he comes,” she says softly. “Follow my lead.”
Just then, Bogey walks closer to us than he has this entire time. Gen gets up from her chair and begins walking toward the house.
“Ready to go inside, big boy?”
My head whips up to look at her when I realize she’s talking to the dog trotting behind her and into the house like he’s done it his entire life.
“Traitor,” I grumble as I push up from the chair and follow them.
By the time I make it inside, Genevieve has found the treats and has Bogey sitting in front of her like they’ve practiced this a million times and didn’t just meet today.
“Okay, so what we’re going to do next is—”
“FOOOOOOOOOOOOOORE!” My ringtone blasts, and I see Gen jump. I immediately decline the call and send my agent to voicemail.
“Sorry,” I mutter, just as my ringtone screams out again. And I wonder why I thought that tone was good for J.B. “It’s my agent. I think I need to take this.”
Gen nods and heads out the door with Bogey prancing behind her. When she’s outside, I answer.
“Now isn’t a good time. I’m with the dog trainer.”
“You mean your ex?” J.B. asks, excitement dripping from his voice. “Tell me what happened! Did she fall into your arms immediately? Did you capture her attention with that brooding glare of yours? What about—”
“J.B.,” I snap, gritting my teeth. “What do you want?”
“Well, I guess she hasn’t done anything for your mood yet.” I sneer at my agent, chuckling. “How long do you think—”
Hanging up the phone, I start to head toward the door and back into the yard when my phone makes a ‘plunk’ sound, and I see J.B.’s name.
J.B.
Call me when you’re finished.
“Yeah, right,” I grumble as I put my hand on the back door, only to have the same sound come through again.
J.B.
Seriously. Call me.
Luke
K
J.B.
Any chance you can get a girlfriend out of this, too?
I think a dog and a woman in your life will do wonders for your image.
And maybe your mood.
Rolling my eyes, I think of all the ways murdering my agent might be a good plan. Bogey has even dug the holes for me.
J.B.
Just think about it.
“I hate him.”
J.B.
We both know you don’t really hate me.
I’ll talk to you later.
Snorting, I push the back door open to find Genevieve watching Bogey run around the yard again, and my brows pull together.
“Everything okay?”
I nod, a bit surprised by the question, but bring the topic back to our session. “What are you doing?”
“The same thing we did before, so we can practice getting Bogey to come with you when you call him.”
She continues to talk as we walk around the yard and explains the tactic: learning to work with my dog, rather than against him.
Bogey runs up to Genevieve and lets out a ‘Awoooooo’ before running off again. Gen’s face lights up, and my heart burns.
“Watch out for the hole,” I reach out, grabbing her arm to stop her from stepping in one of the craters that are spread throughout my yard. “I have to fill those.”
When I glance up from the ground, I notice I’m still holding Genevieve’s arm, and she’s stopped moving, looking down at my hand.
We’re frozen. The warmth of her skin under my hand makes my breath catch. In the silence, I hear her breathing match mine, quick and unsteady.
Then Bogey runs by, and the moment is broken.
“Thank you,” she says so low I wonder if I’m imagining it. But then she looks at me, eyes lit up, and mutters. “I broke my ankle once, falling in a ditch. I’d prefer never to do that again.”
“You’re welcome.”
We turn in the direction of the house, and Bogey sprints past us. My mouth falls open at how easy she makes this all look.
Before we walk up the steps, I call her name.
When she peers at me over her shoulder, eyes wide. I say, “Thank you for helping me. It means a lot.”
To my utter amazement, her cheeks pull up, and she nods her head.
A burst of energy zips through me, and for the first time in years, the weight in my ribcage lifts.
Yeah, I hate when my agent is right.