Chapter 32 #2
Calista nodded but didn’t look up. Her swing was rushed, the ball veering into the rough. She bit her lip, frustration flashing across her face.
“Don’t worry about it,” Athena said, stepping beside her sister. “It’s just one shot.”
Benjamin, however, couldn’t resist. “A little rusty, aren’t we?” he said with a chuckle. “You used to have a much better swing, Calista.”
Reid’s camera zoomed in on Benjamin, capturing the subtle cruelty in his words. “And there’s the Benjamin Dempsey we’ve all come to know.”
Gavin placed a reassuring hand on Calista’s shoulder. “Shake it off, kiddo. You’re here for Demetra.”
Benjamin snorted and started ahead, his lackey on his heels. As they followed him down the fairway, Athena fell into step beside Calista.
“You okay?” she asked, pitching her voice low to avoid Benjamin’s ears.
Her sister nodded, eyes distant, focused where past and present blurred. “I just . . . I wasn’t prepared for this.”
“Me neither, but we’re in this together, okay? Don’t let him get to you.”
“Ditto,” Calista said. “You’ve been staring at him as if you’d like to eviscerate him with your fingernails.”
“Now, there’s a thought.” Athena steeled herself. Seventeen more holes to go, but they’d survived worse. They’d endured Benjamin, weathered the aftermath of their mother’s death, persevered through long, dark nights when pain seemed endless.
They’d survive this too.
As the group moved down the fairway, Reid followed at a respectful distance, his commentary weaving between celebrating Demetra’s memory and subtly highlighting Benjamin’s behavior.
“Here we are at the first green,” Reid said, his tone upbeat but edgy. “It’s incredible to see so many people gathered to honor Demetra’s legacy. But as we’ve seen, even on a day meant for healing, old habits die hard.”
Athena glanced over her shoulder at Reid, his focus on the camera. His presence was a reminder of the world outside Hobby Island, of the millions who might see this footage and know the truth.
They all sank their putts in one shot and moved on.
Approaching the second tee, Benjamin maneuvered himself next to Calista, effectively isolating her. Athena’s muscles coiled and her senses heightened.
“You know, Calista . . .” Benjamin’s voice lowered, meant for her sister’s ears alone. Athena strained to catch every word. “I’ve been thinking about you lately. You were always so much better than Athena. Smart, talented, driven. That fire inside you . . .”
Her sister’s steps faltered as her head tilted toward Benjamin. The look in her eyes—desperate, long-buried need for approval bubbling up—tore Athena up inside.
“Come back to the LPGA,” Benjamin coaxed, his words honeyed poison.
“Come home . . .” He paused. “I’ve missed you, Calista.
All those years apart . . . I’ve been lost without you.
You’ve always been my favorite, Calista.
” Benjamin’s voice dropped to a whisper Athena could barely make out.
“I pushed you hard because you were the real star. Athena wasn’t tough enough, but you are. ”
Athena snapped. She couldn’t stand by and watch this happen, not again. Not after everything they’d endured. Not after how far they’d come in healing their relationship in the wake of Benjamin’s relentless triangulation.
“Lissy,” Athena said, moving to touch her sister’s hand.
The contact jolted Calista from Benjamin’s spell. She blinked as if waking up from a confusing dream.
“You know who you are,” Athena said. “You don’t need his validation. You don’t need him at all. You were the strong one, the one who had the courage to walk away. Don’t let him suck you back in.”
“I-I don’t . . .” Calista stammered, voice small and uncertain.
For a moment, a look of pure evil crossed her father’s face, but he quickly replaced it with a mask of concern and a condescending tone. “Now, Athena, this is a private conversation between—”
“No.” Athena cut him off. “There are no private conversations here. Not with you.” Never again would Benjamin isolate them and pick them apart with surgical precision.
“Remember all the things he did.” Athena held her sister’s gaze. A lifeline thrown, praying Calista would grasp it. “Remember what we talked about.”
“Love-bombing,” Calista whispered.
“That’s right.”
Benjamin laughed but it was a sour sound. “Your sister has been pumping your head full of lies. It’s not too late.” He slipped an arm around Calista’s shoulder. “We can start over, build something incredible together, just you and me. The way it should have been from the start.”
Calista’s breath hitched, audible in the hush, and when she didn’t immediately move away from Benjamin’s touch, Athena’s stomach dropped to her feet.
Reid popped up between Calista and Benjamin. “Up to tee off we have Benjamin Dempsey. A man who’s made headlines for his competitive spirit and unconventional approach to family dynamics.”
Beside Athena, Gavin grunted and said in a low voice, “Reid has a way with words.”
“Yeah, but let’s hope his way doesn’t get us all into trouble,” Athena said, glancing at her sister.
Calista’s focus seemed elsewhere, a tight grip on her club as she adjusted her stance.
Benjamin, meanwhile, stood off to the side, arms crossed, his gaze darting toward the crowd as if seeking validation. When none came, his jaw tightened, a flicker of irritation flashing across his face.
The next few holes passed in a blur of forced politeness and simmering tension, a real minefield tiptoe. With each swing, Benjamin’s civility wore thinner and thinner. He couldn’t help himself. He was gonna blow.
Athena girded herself, preparing for the battle she knew lay ahead. She had seen it play out time and time again. Before she’d read It’s Not You, she hadn’t understood the pattern. Now she did.
And with knowing came greater fear, because she could no longer make excuses and pretend in some twisted, roundabout way her father wanted what was best for them. Benjamin cared about one person and one person only.
Himself.
On the sixth hole, Benjamin whistled far too cheerfully as he approached the tee box for his shot. His usual swagger was intact. But hypervigilant, Athena noticed a muscle tic at his jaw and the loose way he held his club.
The eyes of the crowd bored into him. He turned and bowed to the gallery, squared his shoulders, took his stance, and drew the club back in a smooth arc. The sound of contact rang out—a hollow thwack.
The ball sliced hard to the right, bouncing awkwardly before disappearing into a grove of trees. A murmur rippled through the crowd, and someone let out a laughing snort.
Athena winced. Laughter was the last thing Benjamin would tolerate in a moment like this.
Benjamin straightened, his face darkening as he scanned the group. “Who laughed?”
No one responded. The laughter had been knee-jerk, but it hung in the air like smoke from a fire, impossible to ignore.
Reid, standing a few paces back, kept the camera trained on Benjamin. His calm voice carried on the warm summer breeze. “A rare misstep for Benjamin Dempsey, a onetime Masters winner, known for his take-no-prisoners-approach on the course.”
Athena’s throat tightened and she was eleven all over again. She glanced toward Calista, who had her head down, avoiding Benjamin’s glare.
Gavin stepped forward, casually clapping Benjamin on the shoulder. “Tough lie,” he said, his voice even. “We’ve all been there.”
Benjamin jerked away from Gavin’s touch, his expression mean-spirited. “I don’t need your commentary,” he snapped. “Or your sympathy.”
Athena bristled at the tone, but Gavin didn’t react, his calm unshaken. “Of course,” he said, stepping back. “Your ball.”
Benjamin strode toward the rough, his movements stiff, the poor caddie scrambling to keep up. Her father’s muttering was low but sharp, words Athena couldn’t quite make out. She exchanged a glance with Gavin, who shook his head slightly as if to say, Let it go.
As the next players stepped up to the tee, Athena’s attention flicked to Reid.
“It’s moments like these that reveal character,” Reid said into the camera, his tone measured. “Golf is as much about resilience as it is about skill.”
Ahead, Benjamin reemerged from the rough, his face stormy as he lined up for his recovery shot. He made no comment to the group, but the anger radiating off him was palpable.
They all made par on that hole, leaving Benjamin and Gavin tied for first place. Athena was one stroke behind. Calista lagged at one over par. Athena could tell her sister’s mind simply wasn’t on the game.
On the seventh hole, Benjamin pulled ahead, making up for his shanked ball, and immediately began gloating, puffing out his chest like a cocky rooster and getting digs in on Gavin, retelling the story of their head-to-head competition at the Masters where Benjamin beat him on the final hole.
Reid filmed the whole exchange, staying silent, letting his subject do all the talking.
They finished the ninth hole with Benjamin still holding a one-point lead and started the course over with the first hole becoming the tenth to mimic a full eighteen-hole golf course.
The second hole—now the eleventh—was a short par three that everyone had birdied the first time.
This hole was deceptive—its inviting layout masked the potential hazards of the surrounding water and strategically placed bunkers.
Benjamin got on the green in one stroke and stood aside for Gavin to tee up. Conversations fell away as spectators leaned in closer.
Athena stole a glance at her father. His face was a careful mask, but she could see the hostility in the tight set of his jaw and the stiff way he gripped his club.
With an easy confidence, Gavin lined up his shot.
“And here’s Gavin,” Reid murmured for the camera. “Can he make it to the green in one shot to join his archrival?”
Gavin’s swing was smooth and controlled, his follow-through graceful perfection. The wood connected with a gentle yet solid whack.