Chapter 21
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Paige
The rolling hills of the private golf course are a sharp contrast to the salt and sand from my weekend getaway. Everything out here is pristine. Controlled. Even the air smells expensive, like cut grass and leather gloves and something faintly sweet.
My grandfather steps alongside me, his hands casually clasped behind his back as he takes in the expanse of green.
“You know,” he starts, his voice light but thoughtful.
“I used to bring your mother out here when she was a little girl. She loved the kids’ club over in the main building, but every time I brought her, not an hour in and I’d see her curls disappearing and reappearing as she ran up and down the hills, trying to find me out here.
Thankfully, I’m a talker, so we’d still be pretty close to the starting line.
” He chuckles deeply. “Well, not ‘thankfully,’ but you know what I mean.”
My smile is soft as I try to picture it. Sometimes it’s hard to think of her fondly when I don’t have all that much to go on. Maybe spending time with my grandfather like this, away from the pressure of his company, can offer that.
“Yeah, she loved it until she hated it, like with most things when you grow up, I guess.” When I look at him in question, he shares, “She thought golf was slow. Boring.” A faint smile plays at his lips. “She was restless, always wanted the next thing before she’d finish the last.”
There’s a warmth to his tone, but you can’t miss the sorrow buried beneath it, too. That sadness sinks beneath my ribs and settles there like a stone.
“She wanted things to move fast,” he adds softly. “But life doesn’t always work that way. In fact, the best things we’ll ever come across in life are those that take time and patience.”
My own smile appears then, and I can’t help but think of Chase.
Yeah, I know about patience—took him two years to even meet me halfway, and even then it almost felt like I was backing him into a corner I wasn’t so sure he wanted to be in.
Thank goodness for Cameron and her pushy ways; I’m not sure if I would have ever been brave enough to wear his number to the game that first time.
Now I can say for certain he would allow me to push him into any corner if I tried.
He’s where he wants to be and he isn’t afraid to let me know.
I love that about him.
“Paige?”
My head snaps toward my grandfather, who has this look on his face. It’s almost knowing, like he understands what I’m thinking, to an extent anyway.
Maybe he does, though he’s never offered much about his own love life, about my grandmother. I’d like to ask but know too well how hard it is to answer questions you’re not ready for. He’ll tell me their story when he’s ready, and I find no fault in that.
“It’s your turn, sweetheart.” His gaze is soft, and he holds out a golf club.
I smile, taking it from his hand, and step up to where the ball is being set up for me.
Prescott looks up, pushing to his feet as I approach. “Ready?” He smiles, smoothing his polo down as he stands to his full height, looking as polished as ever.
“Here,” he offers smoothly, signaling to the club in my hands. “Allow me to show you.” His smile is easy, genuine enough, and when he moves closer, there’s a natural, undeniable charm about him.
But before he can position my grip, I smile, lifting my hand just slightly. “I think I’m okay, actually.”
There’s a moment of pause that has my nerves stretching, but then a smooth, slightly amused chuckle leaves him. He takes a step back and to the side. “Not gunning for a tour anytime soon, huh?”
“Absolutely not.” I laugh along with him, stepping up and eyeing the little white ball.
“Fair enough.” His hands slide in his pockets. “Let’s see it.”
I line up my shot, trying to focus despite the eyes on me.
“Aim just past the tree line, and swing smooth.” Prescott offers his tip when I hesitate a moment.
Nodding, I give it my best, and while the ball doesn’t soar, it does travel in the right direction.
“Not bad.” Prescott nods, stepping back as I lower the club.
I look up at him, expecting to meet his gaze, maybe share a quiet smile, but he’s already turned away.
A flicker of guilt sneaks in, and I wonder just for a second if I hurt his feelings by shutting down his offer to help so quickly, so obviously.
But if I let him help me the way I’m pretty sure he intended to, it would have put us in an intimate position, be it intentional or not, and that’s just not something I would have been comfortable with.
The night he and I went out, it wasn’t a date to me, and while I think he felt the same, I don’t want there to be any confusion. I am not available, and I’d like to make sure that is clear, just in case. Still, I don’t want things to be awkward, and I don’t want to appear rude.
I exhale, glancing toward my grandfather only to find him watching me. Not the shot I just took. Not Prescott. Me. His gaze lingers a moment before he looks back at the course, like whatever he’s thinking comes as no surprise to him.
“Shall we?” Prescott calls, and I look over to find him moving toward the next hole, a friendly smile on his face.
It settles something in me, and I nod, waiting for my grandfather to start walking, falling in step beside him.
“You know,” he begins after a few minutes of comfortable silence.
“The game’s not really about power. Not the way people think.
It’s about patience. Precision. Knowing when to lean in and when to hold back.
” He looks at me then, his gaze subtle but steady.
“About restraint when you want to swing harder than you should.”
Curious, I glance his way, noting the reflective tone in which he’s speaking, like this is a thought he’s had for a while and he’s only now figuring out how to voice it out loud. “Most people aren’t patient enough for that,” I say.
His gaze flicks to me, considering. “No, they are not.”
We walk a few steps in silence before he speaks again.
“Most think it’s about the big moments,” he says.
“The drive, the winning shot.” He pauses, eyes on the horizon.
“But it’s the quiet parts in between that win the game.
The moves we make when no one’s watching, but we still choose the right thing. ”
He could be talking about anything. About the game, about me, or maybe even my mother.
“Sounds like you’re not just talking about golf,” I allow myself to mention, my voice soft.
A ghost of a smile flickers across his mouth. “Am I not?”
Before I can respond, a white golf cart pulls up, a young caddy hopping out with a smile as I instantly move to the back of his little ride. “Good afternoon, everyone,” he says casually and starts pulling things from the chests on the back.
Prescott and my grandfather are both handed drinks, the caddy clearly well versed in their country club cocktail of choice. I don’t realize Prescott asked for a second of his orange-colored drink for me until he turns, holding it in my direction.
“I think you’ll like this one,” he offers.
“Oh.” Crap. I didn’t plan to drink, but I don’t want to be double rude, so I accept with a tight smile.
Prescott and the caddy chat for a moment as payment or a tip or however it works is covered, and I glance toward the large fountain about fifty yards away.
“Pretty, isn’t it?” My grandfather steps up.
“Gorgeous,” I agree.
“The whole bottom is made of these shimmery white rocks and there’s a bunch of flowers on the back side,” he says. “I can’t tell you how many weddings I’ve witnessed out here.”
My head yanks his way, the liquid in my cup sloshing over the side slightly. I expect him to be giving me a pointed look, but I’m met with his profile, small tension lines visible along his temples as he stares out at the fountain, lost in thought.
The group ahead of us is just finishing up their turn, slowly making their way to the next hole, so Prescott orders another round, but when he glances my way, seeing mine is still full, he raises a brow.
“Not a fan of day drinking?” he asks, but there’s a playfulness in his gaze. He’s not mocking me; he’s mocking, well, himself and this place.
It loosens the tension in my shoulders, and a low laugh leaves me. “I am quite a fan of it, actually. College student, remember?” I tease, but then lift my drink. “I just have plans with Chase today and I don’t want to get that guaranteed need to nap that would most definitely follow.”
In my peripheral, I catch my grandfather’s head whip my way, but Prescott continues before I turn to him.
“Ah.” He chuckles lightly, motioning to the glass in my hand, and I pass it back. “See, once you get to be my ancient age and business meetings are held over afternoon cheese and wine or whiskey and dessert, you get used to it and then you pass out by eight.” He smiles.
“You act like you’re much older than me. You’re, what, thirty?”
“Give or take a few years.” His grin spreads wider and I laugh, shaking my head.
“Well, looks like I’m up.” Prescott sets his drinks down on the back of the cart and steps up to take his shot, or whatever they call it in golf.
“So.” My grandfather steps closer. “Plans tonight, hmm?”
I squish my lips to the side, biting back a smile at how he’s trying to act casual and failing. “Yes. Tomorrow is a really important game for him, so tonight is just about…” I take a deep breath, glancing toward the tree line. “Mindset, I guess.”
“Ah, yes. I saw the announcement on the Avix Inquirer a few days ago. Rivalry game, isn’t it?” His eyes slide my way briefly.
“Yeah.” I nod, chuckling lightly. “You read the Avix Inquirer?”
“I do now.”
“It’s an Instagram account.”
“Yes, sweetheart. I am not that old.” He chuckles, passing his empty glass back to the caddy, who waits for Prescott to return and grab his drink before driving over to the next group.
“Besides, I like to be aware of things in your life. And the people that are in it. Makes me feel like I’m not missing out when I’m stuck behind my desk. ”
Prescott catches the tail end of the conversation and grins. “Oh, come on, old man. You wouldn’t know what to do with yourself if your day wasn’t work from sunup to sundown.”
“True. But one day I’ll have a little great-grandbaby to distract me. I can bring him to golf lessons and teach him how to drive the cart.”
Prescott laughs, but I shake my head.
“No way. Football practice maybe.” The words leave me before I realize it and my cheeks blaze when both men face my way. “Or, you know, dance or something.”
“Hmm” is the only sound that my grandpa makes, and he turns away.
“I saw some highlights on ESPN the other night.” Prescott meets my gaze. “They mentioned Chase a few times, and there was talk about the quarterback already being a guarantee for the draft in April. Johnson, I think his name is?”
My smile is instant, and I nod. “Mason, yeah. He’s one of Chase’s oldest friends.
He and Brady, our first-string defensive end, and their other best friend have had unofficial interest from several teams for the last few seasons, so they’ve stayed on their game.
But tomorrow”—I can’t help the grin that breaks across my face—“Chase gets his chance to earn his own.”
Prescott’s brows jump. “He has scouts coming?”
I nod vigorously.
“Wow.” He pauses, his interest polite and genuine. “Big day for him.”
“It is,” I say quietly. “He’s worked really hard for this.”
My grandpa hums. “You build something with hard work. But you protect it with loyalty.”
He doesn’t elaborate, and I don’t push, though the words seem to burrow deeper than I expect, catching on old wounds I didn’t realize I had. My mother didn’t choose loyalty in the end, but I wonder, in some way, if he’s not just talking about her or the business she was supposed to take over.
Pulling my phone out, I send Chase a quick message, then tuck it back away in my purse.
We make small talk as we move along the green strips, folding over the hills until the country club finally comes back into view.
Prescott lets out a low whistle, and I look just as the golf ball falls near the tall stick with the little flag sticking out. It must have gone where he wants because he turns around with wide arms and a grin. “Not bad for an afternoon’s work.”
“Not bad,” I echo, but my gaze is already shifting, tugged toward a figure emerging over a small hill.
My heart kicks.
The sun flashes across his face and then his eyes find mine, sending an instant warmth through me. He strides over, all tall and broad and confident, like he owns the damn place.
Or maybe it’s just that he owns what he’s come to collect.
Me.
Without hesitation, he crosses the grass and scoops me up, spinning me once in the air before setting me down, my laughter spilling free.
“Angel,” he murmurs against my ear, his grin wicked as his hands linger on my waist.
Behind us, a throat clears, but I barely hear it.
Chase kisses my hair and steps back, but not before his palm slides along my lower back on its way to take my hand. He’s not so subtly claiming me in front of the man he felt wanted a chance, letting him know he won’t be getting one.
It’s… Yeah. Maybe his show of possessiveness shouldn’t be so endearing, so alluring, but it is. Maybe because it’s not in a malicious or arrogant way.
It’s not a warning. It’s just a fact.
I am his.
I look over and find my grandpa watching, his gaze steady and unreadable, but there’s something in his expression that shifts. Something quieter, something older. Something that looks almost like…regret? Maybe even longing.
I don’t know, but when Chase steps toward him, he blinks and it’s gone.
“Prescott.” Chase dips his chin, holding his hand out to my grandpa.
He takes it immediately.
“Good to see you again, sir,” Chase says kindly.
My grandfather offers a small smile. “You too, son. I hope they didn’t give you too much trouble at the gates.”
“No, sir. At least, not after I mentioned who I was here for.”
“That will do it.” My grandpa chuckles, nodding his head. He turns to me, and his chest falls with a heavy exhale. “I guess you’re off then?”
I nod and he nods back, his hand finding my back as he presses a kiss to my head.
“Bye, sweetheart,” he says softly, his voice carrying a hint of something unknown.
Together, Chase and I walk back to his truck. He opens the door for me, and I slide in, my gaze out the window as I look over the course once more. The manicured greens, the shining cars, the life I could easily step into.
His hand grabs mine and my eyes fall to where we’re touching, my chest expanding at the warmth behind it. I look over at Chase and his smile is…wow.
Can a man’s smile be blinding?
“Ready?” he asks.
My throat grows thick with unexpected emotions, but I nod. Somehow, his lips tip up even higher.
Chase kisses my knuckles and then off we go.
Tomorrow, Chase is going to show those scouts how hard he’s worked and his future is going to be set.
Please let there be room for me in it, too…