Fair enough. I grabbed a soda for Dylan from the fridge and refilled our coffee mugs as Dylan showed his face in the doorway. He was nervous. And fidgety.
“Please tell me you didn’t get someone pregnant,” Ash blurted out.
Dylan thankfully looked shocked at the notion. “What the fuck—no!”
“Thank fuck.” Ash blew out a breath.
I exhaled too.
Not that I’d actually thought… While we’d had the big talk with him, I was fairly certain he was still a virgin. And I hoped it stayed that way a while longer. I’d prefer if he turned sixteen, seventeen, and eighteen first. Though, the latter might be a pipe dream. Kids grew up so fast today.
We gathered in the living room, with Dylan sitting down in one of the chairs and Ash and me taking the couch.
Dammit, now I was nervous too.
“We’re listenin’, son.” Ash brought his mug to his lips.
Dylan shifted in his seat and took off his cap. “Right, so, uh… I’ve been thinking about this for a long time. Ever since we talked about doing a college tour.” He flicked me a glance.
So it was about his future?
“I don’t want to go to college,” he said.
I drew a breath and braced myself for the reasons. Not going to college wasn’t the end of the world; Ash had opted for trade school. But he’d had a future lined up.
“I was talking to Mr. Givens at the club, and, uh…he thinks I can make it,” Dylan went on. “Like, I wanna go pro. I know I’m a bit behind, but if I put everything into it—if I dedicate myself to this, I have a chance.”
I didn’t know what to say. This was Ash’s area of expertise. He was the one who played golf with Dylan. My immediate reaction wasn’t a bad one. I was relieved and happy to see our boy so passionate about something. But was it feasible? Golf was an incredibly expensive sport.
Ash squinted at nothing and scrubbed a hand over his jaw as he processed things.
“And listen,” Dylan continued. “It’s not that I don’t value your opinion, Dad. But you’re obligated to say I can be whatever I want. So yeah, when Mr. Givens came up to me and asked why I wasn’t joining the club championship at the very least, it was the first time I actually considered I might be good.”
Ash gusted out a breath and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his legs. “Of course you’re good, Dylan. But if you want Dad and me to even consider this, you need to keep talking. You need to tell us your plan, and you better have one. Out on the Tour,goodwon’t get you a seat at the table.”
“I know that.” He sat straighter, ready to plead his case, and he didn’t get defensive, which was a big plus. “I know the odds, I swear. Slim to none. And like I said, I’m behind.”
“I’m sorry for interrupting, but what’s your handicap now?” I asked.
“Five.”
I turned to Ash. “Isn’t that amazing?”
“As his old man? It’s fuckin’ exceptional,” he replied. “I’m damn proud of him. But he wouldn’t even qualify for the mini tours. He has a long way to go.”
Dylan swallowed and nodded with a dip of his chin. “I’m not saying it’s gonna be easy. I’ll need a professional instructor and an average of approximately three hundred rounds a year. I need to drop my handicap, obviously—it should be at plus-one or plus-two. But you also know that handicap isn’t everything, Dad.”
Ash inclined his head, conceding. “I’m aware. And you’re consistently lowering your score. We wouldn’t be having the conversation if I didn’t see the potential. I do—I see it. But I also see that you’re struggling to maintain Cs in school, and you’re still in high school. I’ll tell you one thing right now. We’re not letting you tank your grades so that you can play golf.”
Absolutely not. College was one thing. He could attend later. But he was graduating high school with decent grades. That was a must.
“I agree with Dad,” I said. “But I’d say there’s room to negotiate here. If you maintain your grades and we keep seeing this nicer attitude you’ve had lately, we will support you—within reason. We’re not emptying our bank account for an instructor next week. You need to work for it. You have to show us you’re serious about this.”
Ash nodded along.
“You’re also not allowed to burn yourself out,” I added. “You need your eight hours of sleep every night—so if you’re planning on hitting the range before school in the morning, you better go to bed early.”
To Dylan’s credit, he didn’t look defeated or annoyed. In fact, he had hope and determination written all over him.
