Sweet Spot

by Rebecca Jenshak

  Me, the ball, and my golf clubs. They’re all I focus on. They are all I need.

  I’m in a later starting group, so I’m able to watch some of my competition. Among them are girls I’ve played against, girls I’ve looked up to, and a few I’ve never heard of before.

  A senior at Arizona State, Martha, is putting up a strong performance. Each swing looks better than the last. She’s unbeatable, or that’s what everyone whispers as they watch her dominate for the first hour of the day. She has skill and confidence that makes others feel timid and weak.

  In hindsight, I probably shouldn’t have watched her because, by the time it’s my turn to tee off, even I’m shaken by her strong showing.

  I step up, place my tee and ball, and let out a deep breath. I stare down the fairway to the flag, visualizing my ball exactly where I need it to be—where I know I’m capable of hitting it.

  This is it.

  I scan the crowd without realizing I’m looking for him, but when I don’t see Lincoln’s dark head, frustration and anger sets in. Not at him, but at myself for being disappointed about anything during the biggest moment of my life.

  I’m angry for most of the front nine, but it works for me. I hone it into a focused desire to do well despite his absence, to do well for myself.

  It’s so disgustingly hot out and that pisses me off too, so I add it to the list and let it drive me to work even harder.

  I first notice Coach Potter walking along the course at the tenth hole. I shouldn’t be surprised he decided to deign me with his presence. He’ll want to be here in case I pull off a miracle so he can pretend he’s a loving and supportive coach.

  I falter at twelve with a bogey, but I’m able to recover on the last five and finish five under and tied for second place.

  I sign my card in the clubhouse and make my way toward the player rest area. I have a short break before my second round, and I need to eat and drink a gallon of water. It’s only gotten more humid as the day progressed.

  I check my phone, trying not to be sad that Lincoln hasn’t texted. I know it’s possible he isn’t tracking the tournament, though some part of me refuses to believe that. That part is still hopeful and closely tied to my need to believe what Lincoln and I had went beyond obligation and a casual fling.

  My body aches, and I’m so tired when I spot Potter waiting for me with a big pleased smile on his face that I don’t bother to try to avoid him. I’m so hot, but my skin feels dry instead of sweaty when I wipe my hand across my forehead. I suck in a deep breath that doesn’t do anything to get oxygen to my lungs.

  Coach Potter rests an arm around my shoulders, and I try to move out of his hold, but there’s nowhere to go and my legs are shaky underneath me. God, if he’d just stop touching me, maybe I could catch my breath.

  My mouth is gritty, and my throat aches as I try to swallow. Dots blur my vision. I really need to eat something.

  If I could just get to a quiet area and relax for a few minutes, then I would be okay. My stomach twists violently, stopping me in my tracks. Bile rises, and I heave. My throat is so dry it takes three attempts to bring up my breakfast.

  I’m aware that I’ve puked on Potter’s shoes, but the pain is so intense I can’t even be happy about it. My legs give out, and I collapse.

  I’m out only a few seconds, I think, but when I open my eyes again, two people in tourney polos are carrying me into a private room. Potter elbows his way into the room behind them.

  A lady, who introduces herself as Mary, assures me she’s a doctor and then asks me a bunch of questions. I answer in a daze. There’s a real threat of puking every time I open my mouth.

  “Can I have some water?” I croak.

  One of the polo dudes hands me a bottle of water, even going as far as to unscrew the cap for me.

  “Keira, I think you have heat stroke,” Mary says. “I have a car waiting for you.”

  I lift my head and see the seriousness in her expression as she places a cool washcloth on the back of my neck. “It’s just a precaution.”

  I want to put up a fight, but I can’t seem to form the words. The room is spinning, and it feels as if I’m burning from the inside out.

  I’m helped to my feet and taken out a back exit to a waiting car. I have enough wherewithal to realize I probably need to text my parents and let them know what’s happening, but I can’t remember if I actually do it.

  Potter slides into the back of the car with me, and I can’t help but think his presence isn’t helping at all.

  32

  Lincoln

  I’m on the phone with a client when I get the call about Keira. The fact that Gram knows before I do would be obnoxious if I weren’t so pissed that I wasn’t there. I wrestled with going all morning, finally deciding it was best for Keira if I didn’t show. She didn’t need any distractions.

  “Is she okay?”

  Gram does her best to sound calm, but I can hear the worry in her voice. “I’m not sure, but they took her to the hospital.”

  I grab my keys and head out the door at a run. “Which hospital?”

  I jump into my SUV and am starting it and slamming the gear into reverse before the door is even closed. Dark clouds hang low and rain spits onto my windshield just hard enough that I have to use the wipers.

  I don’t remember the drive over, parking, or running through the hospital, but I’m panting when I get to the emergency room. The woman behind the front desk looks at me as if I might be the one in need of help.

  “Keira Brooks.”

  “Are you family?”

  “No.” I grind my teeth.

  Her flat smile tells me I’m not getting back there. “If you have a seat, I’ll let the nurse know Miss Brooks has a visitor.”

  A woman in scrubs stands holding the door to the emergency room open as she calls the next patient. Fuck it. I run past her.

  “Sir. Sir. You can’t be back there, sir.”

  Over the intercom, they call for security, which means I have to find her fast.

  “Keira,” I call out.

  Curtains are pulled, giving privacy to patients. There are a handful of nurses and doctors who have stopped what they were doing to stare at me, so I stop in front of them, asking, “Keira Brooks?”

  My heart is pounding so hard I might need to lie down in one of these beds. But only after I find her.

  A big dude in a security uniform approaches before anyone answers. “Sir. I’m gonna have to ask you to leave.”

  “Keira,” I shout a little louder, desperation and panic clear in my tone.

  This time, she responds. “Lincoln?”

  I run toward her voice and find a doctor giving me a disapproving look as he holds the curtain open. Keira’s in the bed behind him, and Coach Potter in the chair beside her. I bypass the doctor and his dirty looks, ignore fucking Potter’s existence altogether, and go to her side.

  “Oh my God.” I lean down and lightly run my hand across the top of her head, breathing her in.

  “Sir.” The security guard stands outside the curtain.

  “I’m not leaving.”

  “Sir, we—”

  “It’s okay. He’s okay,” Keira speaks up. Her voice sounds small and weak, but the security guard reluctantly retreats.

  “What happened? Are you okay?” She’s hooked up to an IV, and her face is flushed red, but otherwise, she looks okay.

  “I got overheated and dehydrated. I’m fine.”

  The doctor clears his throat. “Fine might be a stretch. Your potassium was dangerously low. Fortunately, everything else looks okay. We’re going to move you up to a room so we can monitor you a little longer. If everything looks stable later tonight, we can get you discharged.”

  “No.” She moves to sit up, but I can tell it pains her. “I have to get back to the course before I’m disqualified.”

  “Uh, actually, I just got word that there’s a weather delay. So, everyone who was slotted for this afternoon will tee off first thi
ng in the morning.” Potter reads from his phone.

  The doctor looks to Keira and speaks sternly. “You need time to recoup. We’re giving you fluids, but you were severely dehydrated.” He shakes his head. “Even for someone young and active, you aren’t going to feel one hundred percent for a few days. Don’t push too hard or you’ll end up right back here.”

  “But she could play tomorrow?” Potter asks. “We have a chance to win.”

  “We?” I ask, not hiding my disdain.

  He glares at me but doesn’t answer, so I focus my attention back to Keira.

  She lets me hold her hand for the next few hours while they pump her with fluids. She dozes on and off, but it feels like every time she gets comfortable someone wakes her up to check this or that.

  It’s after seven before the doctor releases her. A nurse makes her sit in a wheelchair so she can wheel Keira out to the parking lot, and Potter and I flank her on either side.

  “I’ll bring the SUV around.”

  She stands, and I lead her to a bench to wait while I get the car. Rain comes down in a steady pour and it doesn’t look like it’s going to break anytime soon.

  “I already called a cab to take us back to the hotel,” Potter says.

  Keira looks between us. Even on my worst day, I’m a hell of a better option than Potter.

  “You can’t stay at the hotel. Come with me. You’ll be more comfortable at my place, and I can keep an eye on you.”

  She stares at me blankly.

  “Nonsense. I’m staying at the hotel too and I can keep an eye on her.”

  “Like you did today?” I step to him. I’ve easily got three inches on him and I use every single one to make him feel small and worthless. “Where the fuck were you? Why weren’t you looking out for her?” I hate him for letting it happen, but only a fraction as much as I hate myself.

  I can see the anger on her weak frame as she says, “I’ll be fine at the hotel. I don’t need either of you.”

  The weight of that statement slams into me. I kneel in front of her and take her hand. “Come with me. Please. I’ll take you to Gram’s if you prefer. I just need to know you’re okay and that someone is there if you need anything.”

  Potter scoffs. “She just needs a little rest. She can do that at the hotel and I’ll be there if she needs anything else.”

  I wouldn’t trust this guy with a pet goldfish, let alone my favorite person in the world.

  She bites her bottom lip but doesn’t outright turn me down, so I take that bit of leverage and run with it. I dial Gram and put the phone to my ear. She answers on the first ring as if she were waiting for news. It seems right somehow that she’s concerned too.

  “Gram, I’m gonna bring Keira to your house for the night. That okay?”

  “Yes. I’ll get the spare room set up and make soup. Do you think she could eat some homemade bread? I’ll make some anyway, just in case.”

  Keira watches my face as I smile and nod. “That’d be great, Gram. Be there soon.”

  “Ready?” I stand and hold out my hand. She puts hers in it slowly, and I lean down and sweep her legs out from under her so I can carry her to my SUV. I don’t say another word to Potter before we leave him standing there to wait for his cab.

  I hold her hand as I drive, but neither of us speaks. I want to tell her everything is okay, but nothing is okay, and I won’t make things worse by lying to her.

  When we get to Gram’s house, she’s standing at her door, waiting for us. Gram pulls her into a hug, and Keira surprises me by wrapping both arms around my grandmother and leaning into her. Her shoulders shake and sobs wrack her tired body.

  Gram meets my eye and pats Keira lovingly. They stand that way for several long minutes before Gram leads her into the house. I follow, chest aching at not being the person she wants to lean on.

  I don’t want her to cry, but when she does, I want to be the one to wipe her tears.

  “Lincoln, can you check the soup and the bread, I’m going to get Keira settled.”

  I stand alone in the hallway as Gram and Keira go into the spare room and shut the door. After checking the food, I grab a beer from the fridge, open it, and take a long swig before abandoning it on the counter.

  Pacing the hallway, I wait for either of them to emerge or to call out for me. Anything would be better than standing here helpless.

  When Gram finally comes out, she turns the light out and closes the door quietly. As I step forward, she stops me with a shake of her head. “She’s resting.”

  “But—”

  She shakes her head again, and I know my grandmother well enough to know she’s as likely to let me through as she is to stop trying to find my next wife. I drain the rest of my beer, grab another, and follow Gram into the dining room. She instructs me to sit and then puts soup and bread in front of me.

  “I’m not hungry.”

  She raises a brow and waits.

  Grumbling, I pick up the spoon and take a few bites. I taste nothing, which is a real tragedy because I’m sure it probably tastes amazing.

  “How is she?”

  “She’ll be okay. You did the right thing bringing her here.”

  “She wants to play tomorrow.” I wave a hand outside. The rain has slowed, but still pelts the ground. “Assuming it isn’t further delayed.”

  Gram nods. “She told me. I don’t think anyone is going to be able to talk her out of that.”

  “I should have been there. If something happened to her . . .” It’s hard to breathe as I contemplate that.

  “Lincoln, honey, I don’t know what happened between you and Keira or why you weren’t there today when I know there’s nowhere else you’d have rather been, but I have a sneaking suspicion it all leads back to one thing.” She pauses to look me square in the eye. “Lacey.”

  I groan. Here we go again.

  “You have to stop beating yourself up for things that happened in the past and start living your life. It wasn’t your fault. I know it, Lacey knows it, heck, you’re probably the only one who doesn’t know it. But that isn’t the point. You either need to believe that or decide to forgive yourself anyway so you can move on.”

  “I’m a workaholic with a schedule that makes it damn near impossible to date, let alone be in a serious relationship.”

  “Then why are you upset?”

  I grind down on my molars.

  “Keira isn’t Lacey. Don’t make the mistake of pushing her away because you’re scared. You’ve never been a coward. Don’t start now.”

  “What if I hurt Keira the same way?” I shake my head, the thought physically painful.

  “You won’t.”

  “How can you know that?”

  “Because you’re too smart and too stubborn to make the same mistake twice.”

  I wish I could believe that.

  After dinner, Gram makes a plate for Keira and takes it into the spare room in case she wakes up hungry.

  “Are you staying?” she asks as she turns out the kitchen lights.

  “Yeah.” I grab the throw blanket off the back of the couch, and Gram brings me a pillow. “Thanks.”

  She kisses my cheek, gives me a sad smile, and heads to bed.

  Once I’m settled on the couch, I stare up at the ceiling as silence falls over the house. I think about what Gram said, trying to make it fact in my head and heart, but I know to my core I didn’t do right by Lacey.

  I didn’t fight for her or for us. I was relieved when it was over because it was one less responsibility and distraction. That’s a shitty realization—to know your marriage has gone up in flames and you’re happy about it.

  Nowhere near sleep, I throw off the blanket and quietly head down the hallway. I rest my hand on the wooden door and try to talk myself out of going inside. I rap my knuckles lightly and then push the door open just enough to see through a crack. The room is dark, save for the dim light coming from the lamp on the bedside table that casts her small frame in shadows.


  She’s turned away from it, and the comforter is askew and bunched up at her feet. Moving to the bed in two long strides, I settle in behind her and pull the blanket over us. Wrapping my arm around her, I breathe easy for the first time in days.

  33

  Keira

  I already know he’s gone before I open my eyes. His scent lingers, but the bed is entirely too cold and quiet without him. I don’t know when he joined me, but I woke in the middle of the night with Lincoln wrapped around me like a cocoon.

  I should have told him to go so I wouldn’t have to feel the sadness of losing him all over again, but instead I let myself enjoy one more night in his arms.

  A plate of food and two water bottles sit on the nightstand, and I down one of the waters before getting out of bed. I tear off a hunk of bread and chew it while I put on my shoes. My body is achy, and I definitely don’t feel one hundred percent, but I’ll survive. I have to. I need to block out the pain, swing by the hotel, shower, and get to the course.

  “Good morning. I made breakfast,” Milly says as I tiptoe through the living room, trying to make an escape.

  I turn, plastering a thankful and convincing smile on my lips. “I have to get going. Thank you so much for letting me stay last night. I feel much better after a good night’s sleep.”

  My eyes dart around the living room, kitchen, dining room, and then finally the patio, but I don’t see Lincoln anywhere.

  “He isn’t here.” She sets a plate on the dining room table. “Come on. You’ll be dropping at the third hole without a good breakfast.”

  “Where is he?” I follow the scent of hash browns and eggs.

  “Some sort of work emergency. He said to tell you that he’d see you at the course.”

  Work. Of course.

  “You didn’t need to do this but thank you. It smells delicious.”

  Milly doesn’t linger in the dining room while I eat, which makes me insanely grateful. I don’t really feel like talking or thinking about anything except golf. I cried ugly tears last night in front of this woman, letting all my fears about golf, Lincoln, life pour out of my eyeballs.