Epilogue
SHELBY - THREE MONTHS LATER
To say I’ve never been nervous on a golf course would be a lie. Even to this day, as I walk up the eighteenth fairway, knowing what I need to do to win, the nerves are endless.
But these nerves? These nerves are out of control.
I look around to the gallery following me up to the final green of the tournament here in South Carolina.
It’s not a major tournament. Nothing special about it.
Just a regular stop on the women’s tour.
But what has gained me quite the following this week—besides my apparent new internet fame because of my husband and his damn YouTube show—is the record-breaking round I had yesterday.
I shot a fifty-eight.
Fifty-fucking-eight!
That kind of score is unheard of, men’s or women’s. Then, I came back today, and if I make the putt I’m walking toward now, I’ll have carded a sixty-one, which is—according to the golf broadcasters, reporters, and my husband—the best two-day total score in the history of the women’s tour.
“You doing okay?” Libby asks as she walks next to me toward the green.
If there was anyone I’d wanted to be partnered with today in this last round, it’s Libby.
Do I feel bad that I’m beating her by as much as I am?
A little, because she’s a really good person and the biggest cheerleader for everyone who’s ever met her.
But selfishly, I’m glad because she’s not making a big deal out of this.
It’s just another Sunday as the final group.
She’s not talking about my score, or yesterday’s record.
It’s just her, me, and a final round of golf.
“Yeah. I am.” And that’s the truth.
Physically, I’m fine. My shoulder hasn’t hurt all year, and I’ve played a healthy amount of tournaments.
My new and improved swing has been serving me well, and right now, even before this about-to-be blowout win, I’m in the top three in money earnings.
I’ve won three tournaments already and am one of the favorites going into the last major of the season.
Any worries I had about coming back and not being at my best are long gone.
Mentally, I’m the best I’ve ever been. I have a new caddy—Phil’s son wanted to break into the business, and he’s been a well-needed addition to my game.
I’m working with a new swing coach to make sure I’m not allowing my shoulders to start taking over again.
But luckily, that’s not cutting into my earnings, because I sleep with him every night and he works for blow jobs.
Turns out, my husband has quite the knack for coaching. It started with just watching and helping me while we were out together on the range. Then, he saw a junior golfer struggling a bit with his irons, so Beau asked if he could give the kid some pointers.
The kid lit up like a Christmas tree.
But it wasn’t brighter than how Beau looked when he got home that night, filling me in on what he did and how he adjusted him, telling me about every little trick he did to try and help the boy, who was probably around eleven.
It was adorable. I was smiling the entire time as I watched Beau talk about working with him.
Even better? Before he left the course for the day, he talked with the country club about offering a junior golf clinic.
To say that clinic was a success would be an understatement.
He had to turn kids away, which he felt horrible about.
That’s when he got the idea to hold kids’ golf camps around Nashville.
No matter skill level, financial status, or experience, Beau wanted to make it happen.
When I told him that I already secretly sponsored girls’ camps, and asked him if he wanted to join forces, I don’t think I’ve never seen him more excited for anything.
And that includes the night I welcomed him home by sitting naked on the kitchen counter, wearing only his visor.
And he was very excited that night.
He won’t say the words out loud, but I have a gut suspicion that if he wins the final major of the year—which would complete the career grand slam for him—he might step away from competing in the sport to focus on taking the clinics across the country.
Well, and of course, The Back Nine. I know I used to make fun of him for the show, but now that I’ve seen how much work he puts into it, and the money it brings in, I can’t fault him for wanting to take that path in his career.
Even if that means I have to be on it.
As we predicted, my initial episode of The Back Nine became his most watched in less than twenty-four hours. He told me my phone and email were going to be impossible to keep up with, but I brushed him aside.
If anything, he underestimated it. Because, holy shit.
Kat and Grayson did happy dances. Ethan couldn’t return phone calls fast enough to all the companies offering sponsorship opportunities and who wanted to make Beau and I their spokespeople. As for Beau? Well, his shit-eating I-told-you-so grin said it all.
After my initial hesitation—because at the end of the day I’m still me and I’m going to assume the worst before I come around to anything—I took Beau’s advice and sat down and looked at every offer.
I wanted to stay true and not sell out just for the sake of a deal.
But he showed me how I could do this while also not feeling, in my words, “icky and gross.”
I eventually signed with a women’s athleisure brand I love that’s size-inclusive and women-owned. Beau and I are partnering with a meal-kit service that specializes in dinners for two for “couples who can’t, or don’t want to, cook.”
And yes, Ethan got me a deal with Sprite, who made me specialized head covers of their cans to keep on top of my clubs.
Best. Endorsement. Ever.
Being happy is the weirdest feeling. My game is great.
My professional life has never been better.
I’m head over heels in love with my husband.
I get to see my best friend and her family all the time.
I talk to Beau’s parents again. I didn’t realize just how much I’d missed them over the years.
For a girl who’s lived her life thinking the glass was half empty, I have to admit, right now it’s pretty full.
Which…again…weird.
“I’m glad for you,” Libby says, giving my arm a pat as we approach the green. “If anyone deserves today, and this year, it’s you.”
“Thank you,” I say softly as she walks toward her chip shot, while I wait for my turn to putt.
If anyone would’ve heard that exchange, no one would’ve thought the wiser, or looked into a double meaning of her words. But I know what she means.
The entire golf community does now.
Chad’s case is officially underway, and whoo boy…
it’s a doozy. The amount of charges that have been brought against him—both in quantity and currency—as well as his father, are mind boggling.
No one is talking about it out loud, but in the locker rooms and the hotel bars, where it’s just us golfers, for the golf world, this is our trial of the century.
But for Libby? She’s been paying special attention to it because her now former caddy was one of the many Chad blackmailed and extorted from after he needed money to pay off escorts, which Libby obviously had no idea about. She was just as blindsided as I was.
Okay, maybe not that far. To this day, I still can’t wrap my mind around how Chad did all of this because he had this weird man-crush, obsessive fan-boy love for Beau.
Like…I can hold a grudge. With the best of them.
I might be in love and happy and shit, but it’s still not a good idea to piss me off.
The hatred Chad had for me because I…existed? That’s some epic level hating.
Oh, well. I won. And he’s likely going away for twenty to forty years, depending on his good behavior, and I’m going to live happily ever after with the man I used to hate as we take over the golf world one tournament and YouTube video at a time.
That is, after I make this putt.
“Nice and easy, Shelby. Nice and easy.” The words I whisper to myself could probably be heard around the golf course, because everyone is currently here watching me, but I don’t hear a sound. “No pressure. If you miss, you’re still winning. That’s what’s important.”
I close my eyes and take one last deep breath.
When I open them, I realize I’m standing in Beau’s eyeline, who’s giving me the biggest smile of encouragement he possibly could. And I don’t know where he got it, but somehow, in the last day, he found a T-shirt with my face on it. On the back, it says “Mr. LeBlanc.”
He’s ridiculous. But he’s all mine.
I give a nod of thanks to Beau, look at my putt one more time, then go stand next to it. It’s a six-foot putt—my approach shot took the best bounce of my life and caught the hill to roll it down this close—so I don’t overthink it.
I just swing back…and swing forward.
“Get in the hole!”
I normally hate those people, but since it’s Beau who shouted it, I don’t mind. Especially when I need this to…roll…and roll…and…
In.
“Yes!” I scream out, dropping at the waist, my hands on my knees as I take in everything I’ve done in the past forty-eight hours.
And not just the last two days, the past years. It feels like everything has culminated in this moment.
I thought my shoulder surgery was going to end my career. At times, I thought I’d never play again, let alone win a tournament where I broke multiple records. Yet here I am. Stronger than ever.
I thought I was meant to be alone. Why bother with love when people leave you. That I was better off by myself. Now look at me? A wife. An aunt. A part of a family.
And it’s all because of the man who’s breaking about forty-different means of protocol as he comes barreling onto the green.
“That’s my fucking girl,” Beau yells, picking me up and twirling me around. “I’m so fucking proud of you, Belle.”
I laugh, but feel myself having a “fuck it” moment, where I don’t care if everyone here, and a national television audience, sees me kiss my husband. I just got my name into record books. I’m going to fucking kiss my husband.
And there’s no better place to do that than the eighteenth green.
“We’re going to get in trouble,” I whisper as he slowly puts me down.
“Nah. I made a few phone calls for this one.”
I’m confused as Beau takes a step back, but takes hold of both of my hands. “Beau…what are you doing?”
He gives me that smirky smile I’ve come to know means he has something up his sleeve.
“You always said you wanted me to kiss you on the eighteenth green.” He pauses, takes my chin in his fingers, and slowly brings our lips together before slowly pulling back. “But I thought I could go the extra mile.”
I don’t have time to be even more confused as Beau gets down on one knee while pulling a ring box out of his pocket.
“What the fuck are you doing?”
He laughs as he takes my hand in his. I look around at the entire gallery of people, all with their phones out.
The tournament directors are smiling. Libby and our caddies are grinning from ear to ear.
As I try to confirm if this is real life or not, I notice that Gabi and Maddox have made their way here, along with Beau’s parents.
Holy. Fucking. Shit…
“Belle, never in any lifetimes would I have ever thought we’d be here today.
I never thought you and I would even like each other, let alone somehow fall in love.
But we’re here. Together. Taking over the world one day at a time.
And well, I know we’re technically married and all…
but I was hoping maybe you’d want to do it again? ”
I gasp as Beau opens the ring box, flashing a diamond that could blind someone if the sun hit it at the right angle. It’s big, but…perfect. A solitaire diamond, princess cut, that I don’t know if I ever would’ve picked for myself. But it’s also somehow the only diamond that I’d ever want.
“Shelby Lynn LeBlanc-Devereaux, will you marry me? This time sober?”
I laugh and eagerly nod my head. “Yes. Let’s run it back, Big Boy.”
Beau and I start laughing through our happy tears, surrounded by applause from all sides, as he puts the engagement ring on my finger.
You’d think people would be confused since we’re already married, but either Beau filled them all in at some point—which he obviously couldn’t have done—or people are just happy to see a viral moment between, as Ethan calls us, “Golf’s First Couple.”
As soon as Beau’s back to his feet, I jump into his arms, kissing him again in front of a whole lot of strangers. But I don’t care who’s watching. I don’t care that I’m going to be all over the internet tonight.
Because that’s what happens when you don’t hate your husband. You love him out loud. For all to see.
Forever.