15. Shelby #2
Beau has given me a lot of shit over the years for many things.
He’s always known what nerve to touch to get the biggest rise out of me.
But never in that time has he ever said shit about a shot like this.
A chip. The best part of my game. Something I can do in my sleep.
And one thing I don’t have to change because of my shoulder.
“Too far, Devereaux.” I step up to him, getting right in his face.
“I don’t know what the hell crawled up your ass today, but you better fucking fix it.
Because right now? My shitty playing isn’t the story of the day.
It’s you. So get over whatever tantrum you’re throwing and buckle in for the last few holes. ”
I see a glimpse of remorse in his eyes before he takes a step back, his head hanging. “Hit the ball, Belle. Just…hit the ball.”
I don’t know what is going on with him today—and I plan on finding out—but I can’t worry about that right now.
Turning to Chad, who already has my wedge ready for me, I glare at him but keep my voice controlled. “Is it the right club this time?”
He rolls his eyes. God I want to punch him. “Yes, Shelby. It’s the right club.”
“Right club?” Beau says in surprise, shooting a look at Chad. “What’s she talking about?”
“Don’t worry about it,” I say, not having the mental capacity to referee these two. I just need to hit this chip shot so we can one-putt and move on.
Luckily, my chip does exactly what it needs to do and rolls four feet from the cup. Beau’s goes a little bit past it, but since we’ve used most of my chips today, this doesn’t seem to bother him.
“Did he fuck with your clubs?” Beau’s low growl surprises me as we walk to the green.
“I said don’t worry about it.”
Beau and I argue. A lot. We’ve been furious with each other for a multitude of reasons. The look in his eyes right now, knowing I’m covering for Chad? It’s murderous.
“I’m going to ask you again, Shelby. Did. He. Fuck. With. Your. Clubs?”
We stop at my ball and wait for Phil to pull out the pin. “And I told you, I have it handled. I don’t want you to worry about it. I can fight my own battles. As I’ve told you. Many times before.”
That makes him laugh. “Of course. Shelby can never let anyone help.”
“And what are you going to do? We’re in the middle of a golf tournament. Just drop it.”
I step back, letting Beau line up his putt as I try to get a read on the green.
I realize he’s going to miss it maybe before he does.
His face has more pigment in it than the hot pink shirt he’s wearing.
He can’t stop shaking his head, and if he holds his putter any tighter, he might break it in two.
“Damnit!” he screams the second his club touches his ball. He hit it too hard. Way too hard. Like, rolling off the green hard.
“Move,” I say, pushing him back as I set my ball down.
“Don’t start,” he says, bumping my shoulder as he walks past me.
“I didn’t start it. Like many times in our life, this is all because of you.”
“Me? Where do you—”
Before he can finish his thought, Phil is stepping between us. “You two need to stop whatever the hell this is and play golf. Cameras are everywhere, and the fans are straining their ears to figure out what you two are yelling about.”
We stare at each other for another second before turning away, a silent truce for a fight we know we’re going to be continuing later.
I take my time lining up the putt. Sure, it’s only four feet, but that’s a lot of green if you rush it. And we can’t bogey another hole. I don’t know what the next two days are going to bring, but we won’t have a prayer of making it to Sunday if we keep giving away shots today.
The course is silent, like it always is when someone is about to take any shot. It lets me get into that final, perfect headspace for me to make a perfect putt.
Like the pendulum on a clock, I take my putter back, and just as I’m about to push it forward, I hear the loudest, longest, most obnoxious cough I’ve ever heard in my life. And the putt falls short by six inches.
“What the—”
I stop myself from swearing, because if it was a fan, they didn’t do it on purpose. Things happen. Coughs come out of nowhere. But when I realize who’s coughing, because he still is, I forget everything. Where I am. What I’m doing. That this is supposed to be a good-news only tournament.
Because I’m going to fucking kill Beau Devereaux.
“You!” I scream, throwing my putter onto the green and marching up to him, giving him a slight push. “Really? Coughing in the middle of my shot? Nice thing to do for your playing partner who is keeping your ass alive right now.”
“I inhaled a bug, Shelby!” He’s still coughing, which is great for the act. He’s really selling it. “Why would I want you to miss?”
“I don’t know! Because you’re you!”
“Unbelievable!” he says, taking off his hat and throwing it down on the ground. “I’m sorry, okay? What else do you want me to say?”
“Oh, I don’t know? Sorry for being an asshole. A cheater. A constant pain in my ass for thirty years?”
“You’re insane,” Beau says. “Everyone’s always out to get you. Nothing can just be an accident.”
“Preach!”
I snap my head to Chad, who has all the audacity but none of the common sense.
“Really, Chadwick? You want in on this?” His bluster fades as I march toward him, leaving my argument with Beau on pause. “Because I’m not sure you do.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Oh, maybe that your method sucks. You’re a shitty teacher. And yes, you did fuck with my clubs today. And that’s just the surface, Chadwick.”
I see Phil gearing up to step in between all of us, but he’s no match for Beau, who comes storming over.
“I told you not to show up. Just remember, you earned this.”
I let out a scream, and the crowd of people I forgot are here let out a gasp as Beau clocks Chad right in the face.
“What are you doing?” I shriek, pushing Beau. “Punching him? What is that going to solve?”
“I did it last night. Felt good. Figured I’d do it again.”
I look at Chad, who I think is actually crying, before turning back to Beau. I had a feeling he punched him, but now that I know, I can’t believe he did it. “You idiot! That’s why your hand was red? What the fuck, Beau?”
I’m so mad I can’t see straight. I don’t know who I’m mad at or what I’m mad for, but I’ve been a volcano all day, and I’ve officially erupted.
“Yes it was me. How are you mad at me for that too?”
“Because!” I scream, giving him a shove in the process. I don’t know exactly why I’m mad, I just am. “I just can’t with you!”
He shakes his head at me. “Let me guess…even when I’m defending you, I’m still the cheater in your eyes.”
“Once one, always one.”
“Exactly. Same can be said for you.”
“What the hell does that mean?”
He steps so close to me our chests touch. “Your entire life you’ve been worried about people out to get you. You don’t even realize you’re the one who’s been in your way the whole time. So, once a cheater, always a cheater? How about, once a victim, always a victim.”
In the history of all the things Beau and I have said to each other, we’ve definitely said harsher words. Called each other worse names.
But this? Right now? It’s the knife in the chest I wasn’t prepared for.
Which is why I attack.
I push him, hard. He doesn’t go anywhere, but I try again. And again. He’s sill not moving, so I do the next best thing—maneuver myself behind him and jump on his back, howling like a banshee in the process.
“Take that back!” I scream.
“Get off me, Shelby!” Beau tries to peel my legs off of him, but I’m wrapped around him like a monkey, beating on his shoulders.
“Apologize!”
He doesn’t. And I don’t know what he says. Because the next thing I know, arms wind around my waist and someone yanks me off of him, dragging me literally kicking and screaming off the green.