Chapter 16
Matthew
Day four of the Bluewater Championship. I’m currently ranked at number ten, with nine under par total. It’s a good place to be, but I have to be on top of my game in order to earn my Summit Pro Tour card. I missed it last year, but a top ten today will get me there.
I take a deep breath. It’s just me, my club, and the ball.
Hole 1, par-5. Let’s see if I can get it less than that. The cool sea air fills my lungs, and I adjust my grip on the club. The handle feels rough under my palms, familiar and comforting. My heart thumps in my chest like it’s trying to pound its way out, but I steady it with a deep breath.
Focus, Matthew.
My swing back is smooth, and for a moment, there’s pure silence before the club connects with the ball in a satisfying thwack. It soars through the pale-blue sky before disappearing in the distance.
An applause echoes around me, but I’m not satisfied. It wasn’t the perfect hit—the ball curved slightly to the right. I’ll just have to make up for it in my short game. My strong suit.
We stride down the fairway as a flock of seagulls fly overhead and a symphony of waves crash nearby. Nick hands me the four iron as I approach where my ball landed, just off the fairway.
“Wind’s tricky, hit it soft.”
My hands tighten on the club, then I swing. The ball arcs through the air and lands on the green, rolling toward the hole. The crowd claps as it comes to a stop. One putt and it’s in.
The slight breeze tingles against my skin as a hush falls over the crowd. I glance once more toward the cup before focusing back on the ball.
With precision and force, I hit it and watch as it sails smoothly over the short grass toward the pin before dropping in with a clink. That’s an eagle. It was a great shot, starting off strong.
The audience cheers while I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. One hole down, seventeen to go. I redeemed myself on that one. I gotta keep it up.
As we move to the next hole, Beth catches my attention in the crowd. I watch her as she laughs at something my mom says, her honey-rich laughter ringing out above the murmur of the crowd. My sister tugs on her arm and points to me, causing Beth’s cheeks to flush with a subtle hint of pink.
I forget the game for a moment and get lost in the sight of her. She fits in seamlessly with them, like she’s meant to be here. I see a glimpse of what my life could be like if we weren’t pretending. If she feels the same way I do, if this were real. A life full of shared laughter, banter…and love.
“Eyes on the ball, Romeo,” Nick teases, nudging me.
I chuckle, redirecting my mind back to the green. I should be focusing on the game, not daydreaming about Beth.
The noise dies down as I prep for my next shot. Line up my feet, square my shoulders, and release. I hit it just right, sending it flying straight toward the hole. A cheer erupts from the crowd, but all I hear is Beth’s voice cheering me on.
Hole after hole goes by, and time blurs around me as I focus on the movement from my body to the club to the ball. Though my game isn’t perfect, it’s strong. As long as I keep up this pace today, I’ll be on my way to the Summit Pro Tour, which I’ve been working toward my whole career.
That’s why we started this ruse. Even if I don’t want to continue it, what choice do I have? I’m so close to getting what I want. Travis is happy with the press, sponsors are ecstatic at the response of Betthew, and my exposure from the Summit Pro Tour will only up it, making everyone happy. I have to keep my eyes on the prize.
Hole 10, a tricky par-4. I step up to the tee and glance at where the pin lies in the distance, tucked between two sand traps. I strike the ball, but my drive hooks left, burying itself in a bunker.
No.
Nick jogs over, calm. “We’ve got this. Pop it out. Just like Sarasota’s hole 4.”
It’s time for redemption. I manage to get it out of the bunker and onto the green, ten feet out.
Nick squats, reading the green. “It breaks left, so soft touch.”
I look down at the ball, my heart pounding like a drum. I’ve been here before, but the stakes feel higher now. Like this is my big moment, not just for Summit, but for her.
I can do this in my sleep, all the hours I’ve spent on the green, with coaches, in the gym, all that practice comes down to this.
One calming breath in, then out.
I line up and putt. The white speck rolls smoothly across the green and begins to drop into the hole when it swirls around the rim, back onto the grass.
Shake it off, it’s fine. Just a small putt in. Sometimes this happens. One more swing.
I watch the ball inching its way closer to the hole, but it does the same thing. It swirls around the rim back to where it started.
I look at Nick in disbelief.
“Breathe,” he mouths. “Trust it.”
I look at the audience to where Beth is standing, who gives me a reassuring nod.
Feeling her presence even from afar is oddly comforting. It centers me amidst the pressure of the tournament and reminds me what I’m playing for—what we’re pretending for.
I take a deep breath to let out the frustration and reexamine the green. Three crisp strides and I’m over the ball again. My heart beats steadily, focused on the task at hand.
I imagine the swing I want. The swing I’ve done a million times over. Just one connection between the club and the ball, one last journey across the smooth grass and into the hole.
I draw back and release, this time a little less forceful, even more calculated than before.
A collective gasp from the audience is followed by a moment of heavy silence as we watch the ball roll toward the same hole, for the third time.
Rolling…closer…touching the rim.
Then dropping in with a clink that sends a wave of relief through me. The crowd erupts into cheer, but it’s Beth’s smile, front row, that is infectious.
“Now, that’s your Summit swing.” Nick claps my shoulder.
I let my mental game slip a little with hole 10 and got a bogey. Yikes. But I focused on the mechanics—all those practice hours that have honed my technique—and got through it.
Holes 11-15, I grind. Nicks reads save me a few times and my putts are steady.
Hole 16, another birdie. Hole 17 was tougher, par. One left.
The 18 th hole.
I can taste the victory. I’m so close.
I line up the putt, and the ball drops in clean. Straight into the 18 th hole. The crowd roars. Beth’s right at the front, waiting for me as I step away from the green. She jumps forward, wrapping her arms around my neck and pulling me into a hug.
“You did it,” she whispers in my ear.
Her arms around me, her sweet voice—they fill me with a level of satisfaction that no trophy, sponsorship, or tour could surpass.
I wrap my arms around her waist, lift her, and spin. Her laugh echoes in my ear as I set her down. Our eyes meet, and everything else blurs around us. All I can see is her bright green gaze brimming with pride.
“You were amazing, Matthew,” she says in awe.
I want to tell her right here and now. Tell her just how much she means to me.
“Thank you,” I say instead, knowing now isn’t the right time.
My sister charges at me with boundless energy.
“Way to go, big bro!” She swarms us with a hug, then turns to Nick and high-fives him. “You too.”
I raise my eyebrow to Beth, who shrugs.
My mother reaches up to pat me on my cheek affectionately. “You did great, sweetheart.”
We walk off the green, Beth and I hand in hand. I may have just hit victory in my career but her heart is what I really want.