49. Epilogue
Bryn
1 year later
I’m standing at the edge of the eighteenth green at Augusta, holding my breath as Jameson’s group hits their approach shots. I’m standing next to Izzy and Kelsey, all of us in sundresses with our hair pulled back. Jameson is tied coming into this last hole at the Masters, the Super Bowl of the pro golf world, and the tension in the stands is palpable. It all comes down to this hole—a Masters fan’s dream come true.
Izzy is keeping up a steady stream of chatter which she is all but whispering into my ear. “I can’t believe you and Jameson finally moved in together. I mean, I thought you would have moved in like a year ago, but at the same time, I understand not wanting to move into a cottage on the course with him. Not that you didn’t basically live there when you guys were in town, but still! And then the freakin’ builders are taking so long to finish everything. I can’t believe how long building a new house takes in the middle of nowhere.”
She has a point. It has taken forever for our house to get built. When Jameson announced last summer that he was going to build us a house in Wild Bluffs, I initially balked. It’s not that I didn’t want to move in with him, it’s just that I wanted to be an equal partner in it. After explaining that to Jameson, we worked out a deal. Instead of him financing the house himself, we went through the local bank to get a loan, one that includes both of us. It took some finagling, but I was even able to come up with half of the down payment.
As much as Jameson loves spoiling me, I think it feels better to both of us that the house is truly ours. We’ve both been heavily involved in each step of the process. As hard as it is to coordinate, we both joined the meetings with the architect and interior designer, constantly reassuring each other that, as painful as this process might be, it will all be worth it when it’s our home. And, if we were going to go through the pain of building it, we should at least make it something that we both want to grow old in.
We are set to move into the sprawling house on the edge of hole two at Wild Bluffs Country Club in six months. It can’t get here soon enough.
“Becca hasn’t returned his call. Can you imagine not calling a man like him back?” Izzy is still rambling as Jameson crests the top of the green, chatting with his caddy, a look of ease on his face despite the pressure of the situation.
Jameson has played so well in the last year after all of the nonsense with Alexis, Kyle, and the article, that we know there is a good chance he will take home the Green Jacket today. I’ve been in PR training the last year, and Jameson and I have slowly become more and more public with our relationship based on the guidance of Erica and her team. We still are careful about doing anything that might even hint at scandal, but it has been such a relief to be able to be seen together at his tournaments.
After the article about me last year, I was worried about stoking the fire by doing anything too “couply” when there was the possibility of press nearby. Jameson was, as I’ve come to expect, completely understanding of my unease, though it was hard for both of us to limit our interactions, especially when Jameson had a particularly good or bad round. A year later, Jameson has done a world of good for my self-esteem. I occasionally still hear Tara’s or Peter’s or his mom’s voice telling me I can’t do it all, but now Jameson’s voice follows it, telling me I’m everything he’s ever wanted.
To be fair, we are also old news now, so no one cares enough to publish an article about us if I give him a hug after a round.
Jameson lines up his shot, and, as he waits for his opponent to putt, his eyes find me in the crowd. I give him an inconspicuous wave and wink, and he unsuccessfully tries to hide his smile before turning his attention back to his putt.
The other golfer’s putt leaves him about two feet from the hole, an almost guaranteed make. I grab Izzy’s hand, forcing my eyes to stay open instead of closing under the pressure of this shot that Jameson has to make to win. I watch him step up to the ball, his black shirt pulling just right across the thick muscles of his chest and arms, and send it toward the hole.
“Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit,” Kelsey chants almost silently next to me as the ball slowly rolls across the green grass before finally making its way into the cup.
The crowd goes wild as Jameson throws his hands into the air, celebrating his victory. Despite the media representative from the course hovering nearby, I am tempted to duck under the barrier rope and run to celebrate with Jameson. Emily, the name of my representative/bodyguard, shoots me a look that clearly says “don’t even fucking think about it.” Succumbing to her peer pressure, I stay on the appropriate side of the boundary and jump up and down with my sisters while the golfers remove their hats to shake hands.
Scottie Nyram, last year’s winner, approaches with Jameson’s Green Jacket, and I stop bouncing so I can take in the sight of Jameson slipping his arms into the grass-green symbol of success at golf.
As the crowd roars, Jameson finds me again, and I can’t help but lose my breath at how handsome he looks, standing on the green of one of the most beautiful golf courses in the world, a smile on his face, sporting a Green Jacket with the middle of the three buttons done. He turns to wave to the audience, and I’m struck by how nice the center-vent in the back looks pulling just right over the man’s strong ass. Damn, the adrenaline from the day has really turned straight into desire.
Finally, Emily nods to us, and we intercept Jameson on his way to the clubhouse. I throw my arms around his neck and kiss him deeply. At a pointed cough from fun-killer Emily, I pull back and whisper against his lips, “I’m so proud of you, baby.”
His eyes crinkle in pleasure just for me, and he kisses my cheek before putting back on his professional smile for the waiting reporters.
“Go on,” I say. “Your adoring public awaits.”
I watch as the love of my life answers interview question after interview question, and, each time he is asked what caused the turnaround, how he went from rock bottom to the very top, he smiles and says, “I hit a ball into the rough and walked away with a whole new perspective on life.”
Finally, when all the interviews are done and Jameson walks out of the locker room, I wrap my arms around the man of my dreams, the one I will love wildly, forever.