Chapter 30

“This chick actually thinks she can win?” one of the guests snickers as I head back to the golf cart where Hugo sits behind the wheel. “Honey, prepare to have your mind blown.”

When I sit in the passenger side, Hugo glances at me. “You’ve picked a… different way of handling this.”

“Without security, I had to think of my feet,” I explain.

Hugo considers this. “I appreciate your ingenuity. And your confidence. Are you so sure you can beat them?”

“I have to,” I say.

“They could be professional golfers,” Hugo suggests.

“They aren’t,” I reply. “Professional golfers would never treat their caddies this way.”

Hugo hums, accepting this, and drives us to the next hole.

The hole for our challenge is a par 3. This means that the hole should be completed with only two swings and a putt, for 3 strokes total.

The distance from the tee to the green is not overly long, so most golfers opt out of using a driver. Yet the first rude guest to the tee carries his driver in his hand.

He swings off the tee, and the ball goes sailing past the green and into the rough on the other side. He could still hit the par, but he’s at a disadvantage. The ball is much harder to hit out of the rough, then off of the fairway.

The next three rude guests learn from the first one’s mistake, and leave their drivers in their bags. Yet while the more appropriate clubs might give them the correct distance, the clubs can’t compensate if the golfers don’t hit straight.

Two of the rude guests sent their balls wide, one wide left and the other wide right. The last one lands the ball on the fairway, but he’s dangerously close to a bunker. He’ll have to chip the ball high or end up in the sand.

Hugo goes next. He hits the ball with an expert form, and it lands safely on the green a couple of feet from the hole. It’s a good shot. If he can make a putt from that distance, he can score a birdie, that is, a stroke under par. A very good score for a golfer.

Fortunately, Hugo is not one of my competitors.

He passes me on the way back to our golf cart. I’m standing there, my club in hand, headed toward the tee box.

“Kick their asses,” he says to me as we walk by each other.

I was already fired up, but now I’m doubly so.

With my 7-iron in hand, I ready my ball on the tee. I know the distance is 180 yards. A 5-iron would give me more distance, but I’m more comfortable with the 7. I haven’t played this specific hole in many years, but I know this distance from hitting balls at the range. I know what I can do.

I line up the shot and swing. The clubface connects perfectly with the ball. It might be the best swing I’ve ever done. The ball lifts and flies down the fairway, straight and true.

When it lands, it bounces once on the green, then rolls straight into the hole.

My mouth falls open. I nearly drop my club.

That’s a hole in one.

“Holy shit,” says one of the rude guests.

Another throws his club to the ground.

“Fucking cheater!” cries the third, though the forth turns to the third and yells.

“Moron! How exactly would she have cheated? We all saw it go in!”

“I believe,” I say with confidence, “that this makes me the winner.”

Given they’ve all already finished one stroke without having put the ball in the hole like I did, they have no way of beating me. By making that hole-in-one, I’ve already won.

The caddies have been staying back for most of the excitement. While they carried the bags of the rude guests, they made no suggestions for clubs or anything like that.

I motion toward them now. “As per our challenge, you will now apologize to these country club employees and then see yourselves off the premises without further issue.”

“Now, see hear,” said the loudest of the rude guests.

Hugo comes to stand beside me. Crossing his arms, he glares at each of the guests.

“I am the one who provided Mrs. Graham with the guest list,” he says, displeasure clear in his voice. “When I did so, I had no idea that the list included children. Perhaps you would like to be omitted from future events?”

The rude guests paled. The loudest shut his mouth.

“At this rate, you’d be lucky if me or my news network want anything more to do with you,” Hugo continues. “But your next behavior will go a long way in deciding that for sure.”

The rude guests glance at each other. Then, after a moment’s pause, they go to the caddies and say, “Sorry.” It’s a pathetic kind of apology, clearly not meant. But it does fit the rules of competition we agreed to. I never told them the apology had to be genuine.

After the apology, the rude guests start for the clubhouse. The caddies, carrying their bags, first nod at me and then follow them.

Hugo and I get back on the golf cart.

“I have to finish playing through,” Hugo says.

On the green, Hugo sinks the putt, giving him a birdie and a good score for the hole.

With his birdie and my hole in one, this makes our score a tie for all of the holes we’ve completed so far.

As we compare scorecards, Hugo starts to smile.

“You truly are a talent,” Hugo says. “I thought I was good, but here you are matching me step for step. I must say, I’m impressed.” He lifts his gaze and subtly glances me over. “There’s a lot about you that has impressed me.”

It’s nice to have my ability acknowledged, after so many years of Garnar putting me down at every turn. If Garnar is to be believed, there’s nothing I’m actually capable of doing. I’m a failure at everything.

Yet here Hugo is, handing me a genuine compliment as if it’s the easiest thing he could do.

I should accept the compliment and move on, and I do, telling Hugo, “Thank you.”

But deep in my heart, the words secretly make me miss Miles. I wish he was here to see my success. He doesn’t even know I can play golf. Would he be surprised to see me hit that hole in one? Would he cheer for me? Would he wrap me in his arms and swing me around so that we both laughed?

Would he give me compliments and make me blush?

Immediately, I shake my head, internally scolding myself. What does it matter what he would and wouldn’t do? Miles isn’t here. I pushed Miles away, so he likely won’t ever be here beside me, playing golf, watching me do well.

I need to forget about Miles. It’s so annoying how he keeps popping up in my mind at these inopportune moments.

It’s almost as if, try as hard as I can to forget him, he always worms his way right back into my thoughts.

“8 holes left,” Hugo says, reclaiming my attention. “How about we make this more interesting for the two of us?”

I lift my brow at him. “What do you have in mind?”

“A competition between you and me.”

Interesting. Focusing on that could keep my mind off of Miles, at least.

“What are the stakes?” I ask.

Hugo’s eyes sparkle as he smiles at me. Oh, he’s up to something.