30. Shelby
SHELBY
Beau is right. He has really, really, good sheets.
I snuggle into them, letting the cooling technology do its thing against my fresh, out of the hot shower body, as I wait for Beau to come back to bed.
We really haven't left here today, which I'm not complaining about.
Our first round quickly led to a second.
I thought he was spent after that, and he actually was, but that didn't stop him—or his tongue—from giving me a third orgasm in less than five hours. Now we’re exhausted, showered, and I'm trying to stay awake until Beau comes back with my Sprite.
Not gonna lie, if this is married life, I could quickly get used to it.
“One Sprite, in a can, because how dare I ask if you want it poured over ice, at your service.”
I roll over, a lazy smile on my face as I watch Beau walk around to my side of the bed and put it on the night stand. “Thank you. You’re the best.”
“I am? I thought I was the worst?”
“I never said that. I said I hated you.”
Beau leans down, our noses nearly touching. “Do you still hate me?”
I pretend to think about it, but before I can give him my answer, he has me in his arms, rolling me over as he falls back into bed, ending with me laying on top of him.
“I asked…do you still hate me, Belle?”
I think he means it as a joke. I mean, it’s been one of my go-tos with him forever. Somehow, in the past few weeks, it’s almost become a phrase of endearment.
But I think there’s no time as good as now to tell him how I really feel.
“I don’t hate you, Beau. I don’t hate you at all.”
“I know you don’t,” he says before gently kissing my lips. “But it’s always good to hear it.”
I lie on his chest for I don’t know how long.
The sun has set, but I couldn’t tell you what time it is.
It’s our last true off week before both our schedules get out of control, so neither of us had many plans this week.
Even if we did, I bet we both would’ve canceled them to be exactly in this spot.
Today has been…I don’t have one word that can describe it. Freeing, maybe? I let go of words I’ve wanted to say to Chad for months. I let go of my hold-up of not wanting to be more with Beau. I let go of weird fixations in my head that I had to be a certain way when it came to a sexual partner.
I just…let go.
But there’s one thing that’s still holding me back when it comes to Beau, and it’s the thing I should’ve talked to him about years ago. Especially since this entire day started because of the one man who’s always been at the center of us.
“Can I tell you a secret?”
“Of course,” he says as I roll off to his side.
“Do you want to know why I really hated you?”
I watch as he tenses next to me. I quickly kiss his cheek, wanting to ease the pain I know I’m about to cause.
“When everything happened that day, when I came out of that locker room and saw you holding the trophy, my first thought wasn’t that I had lost. There I was, stunned, and all I could see was you smiling, and everybody from the country club looking so proud of you.
If they could have put you on their shoulders and carried you through town, they would have.
And all I remember thinking is that you always tried to be my hero.
You always stuck up for me. Made sure I was taken care of, even when I told you time and time again I didn’t want you to.
And in that moment, in the biggest moment of my life, you didn’t stick up for me.
People were whispering about me, but you didn’t defend me.
You didn’t try to be my hero. And I think that hurt me more than losing any golf tournament ever could. ”
I knew I wasn’t going to be able to hold back my tears, and while I didn’t say all of that to make Beau feel bad, apparently I failed on that end.
Before I can say another word, I’m back in his arms, only this time he’s on top of me, kissing me like he’s about to leave for battle.
But what cuts me the most is when I feel the tear hit my cheek.
The one I know didn't come from me.
“I’m sorry, Shelby. I am so fucking sorry.” I squeeze him tighter, because this might’ve been my wound, but it’s his too. I know that now. Each of us gained a scar that day, one long scabbed over, but the pain of which has never truly faded.
“I know you are. Now. But back then…I felt so betrayed, Beau. By the tournament directors. The country club members who shunned me. Mr. Ashcroft, who grabbed me and told me to keep my mouth shut. That you were a good kid and I shouldn’t ruin your reputation with cheating accusations.
That no one would believe me if I claimed I won. ”
“He did what!” Beau shouts. “Chad’s father assaulted you?”
“Yes, and the next time you see him, feel free to defend my honor,” I say with a little teasing in my voice.
“But, Beau…you were the last person to have my card, and when I left it with you, it was right. And when you didn’t defend anything, I assumed the absolute worst about you.
Because back then…I thought you were my friend.
Maybe more? I don’t know. But all I know is that when I left, it was right.
It’s why I blamed you. That’s why I couldn’t think outside of that box for so long. ”
“I know, Shelby.” Beau presses one more kiss on my cheek before slowly rolling back to his side.
“And I want you to know everything happened so fast. I truly didn't know what was going on, and before I knew it, they were shoving that trophy in my hands. I tried to tell them they were wrong. I tried to protest. I need you to believe that I did that. I wanted to make it right. But they simply told me it was a math mistake, and what was done was done.”
“Wait, what did you say?”
I know it’s emotional right now, and I’m known for only hearing certain parts of conversations, but did Beau just say that we did the math wrong?
“I said that I didn’t do enough when they told me we did the math wrong.”
Okay, now I know he said those words, and it causes me to sit straight up in bed.
“Mr. Ashcroft accused me of switching our scores. That I wrote down what you had, and vice versa. Or changing our names. He never told me specifically, but he never said anything about wrong math. Wrong math is us not knowing three plus four equals seven. He outrightly accused me of cheating and changing cards. Which is why I thought you did it since I gave the cards to you.”
Beau is sitting up now, both of our flabbers absolutely gasted.
“So let me get this straight,” Beau says, running his hands through his already messy hair as he tries to process this along with me.
“You were accused of changing the cards. I was told we did the math wrong. Neither of us were given proper explanations by Mr. Ashcroft and the other tournament directors. Which means…”
His words don’t trail off because he doesn’t know. He trails off because, like me, neither of us can believe what’s going on. I’m just the one who says the words out loud first.
“We were set up.”
“Food is here.”
Did Beau and I really need an extra large pizza, breadsticks, and wings? Probably not. But if you’re going to dissect an event from twenty years ago, you don’t do it on an empty stomach.
“Thank God,” I say, grabbing three breadsticks, one of the sides of dipping sauce, and a slice of pepperoni and mushroom pizza. “I’m starving.”
“Well…we did work up an appetite.”
I give him a look because yes, we might be happy and sexed-up, but that doesn’t mean I can’t call him out for being a horny man. “Focus, Devereaux. We have a mystery to solve.”
I feel like the guy in the meme who's in front of the chalkboard going a little crazy as Beau and I remember little details of that day. Nothing is too insignificant. Nothing is too small. But twenty years is a long time ago.
“Okay, I kept Dalton's card, and let's be real, I don't even know what happened to him,” I begin. “I doubt he was planning a massive scheme against us.”
“Couldn’t have been him. He signed off and left immediately."
“Okay. So I had Dalton’s. You had mine. Dalton had Chad’s. And…Chad had yours.”
“And why was his dad right there, ready to stop you from causing a scene?”
“Holy shit.” Everything is starting to fall into place. “You’re right. How did Mr. Ashcroft know to be there waiting for me? It’s like he knew I was going to protest. He had every argument ready. How would he have known that if Chad didn’t have something to do with it?”
“That mother fucker,” Beau says, his face turning white, then red, at the realization that Chad might have been screwing with me long before he became my swing coach. “And of course, because you were his son’s girlfriend, it made complete sense for him to be the one to try and talk you down.”
“At first I thought it was because he was trying to protect me. From what, I don’t know.
But as the interaction went along, I felt more and more like he was glad I lost. The way he talked to me, Beau…
it’s like I was gum at the bottom of his shoe.
Kept saying things like I needed to be a lady about the results, and that you deserved to win. Which just pissed me off more.”
Beau puts down his slice of pizza and slides my chair toward him, bringing me into a hug. “I hate that he made you feel that way. And I hate that I was used to do it.”
“I know,” I say, wrapping my arms around his chest before sitting back up. I love his comfort, but right now, I love pizza more. “So, if this is our leading theory, that somehow the Ashcrofts did, or were a part of this, there are still a lot more questions.”
“Exactly. The biggest being how.”
“And why.”
Beau and I sit back, pushing aside our pizza as we start to think. Which is how I know we’re both serious. We don’t mess around when it comes to pizza.
“Okay, let’s go back. I left to go to the bathroom. We had signed off on the cards. They were correct. Am I right?”
“Yes. Definitely,” Beau says. “You beat me by two strokes. We both saw it.”
“Okay, after I left, what happened?”