Page 54 of True Abandon

Since we get many travelers here on business, the golf club at the Kauai Princess has a four-seater cart that is available by reservation only. It was ordered last year when a U.S. Ambassador requested it so his high-profile discussions could still be had while traveling from one hole to the next. There are two rows of seating and four golf club holders in the back.

The men sit in the back row with Mark behind Shayna and Jax behind me. I take off down the plumeria-lined path to the first hole. The sun is bright, and there isn’t a cloud in the sky.

“So, Jax,” I hear Mark say in the back. “How did you and your girl meet?”

I interject. “We’re not a—”

“She was friends with my little sister.”

Shayna gives me a nudge. “Oooh, hot, older man—the best friend’s brother—sounds scandalous. Did you tell your mom you were sleeping over your friend’s house and then sneak away to make out with him?”

“No.” I lie. I catch Jax’s eye.

Jax continues, “The first time we met was at Carvel.”

I shake my head. “No, it wasn’t. It was my freshman year of high school at your parent’s house.” I turn to Shayna, “I was doing a group project with his sister and some other kids.”

Jax ignores me and continues talking to Mark. “It was a year earlier. I was fifteen, and a group of us were getting ice cream. My lacrosse coach took everyone out because we won our first divisional game. I’d gotten this huge, mint chocolate chip ice cream on a waffle cone. I was walking away from the window when I saw this little girl on the side. Her head was down and her lower lip poked out—it was absolutely heartbreaking. I heard someone ask if she wanted ice cream, but she had forgotten her money at home. My heart broke. I mean, she had these puppy dog eyes and the saddest, little smile on her. I didn’t have any more money; otherwise I would’ve bought her a cone, so instead, I gave her mine.”

“Oooh, that’s the sweetest story ever,” Shayna beams.

I look in the rearview mirror and see Jax holding up a finger. “No, it’s not. She took the cone and shoved it in my face—said she didn’t take charity.”

Shayna turns her body toward Jax. “What did you do?”

“I wiped the ice cream off, looked right into her eyes and kissed her on the cheek. I may have only been fifteen, but I knew a spitfire when I saw one—she was definitely a girl I was never going to forget. When she showed up at my school two years later, I had to get to know her.”

I thought he forgot that memory. It was my first kiss.—even if it was only on the cheek—it was a big deal at the time. A boy had kissed me.

I chance a glance in the rearview to see Jax’s head lowered and a soft smile on his face. I shake off the feeling it gives me and put my eyes on the path as I turn toward the tee at the first hole.

“That’s so romantic,” Shayna says. “Have you been together since you were fourteen?”

I stop the car and give Jax a heated warning with my eyes—we agreed not to talk about our past. It was part of the deal—a very important rule he is breaking.

The understanding of what I’m conveying in my stare resonating in his words. “We fell out of touch for a long time. I just happened to have run into her here on vacation.”

“So you were Draking?” Mark uses the term like it's a common phrase and then explains, “It means you were wallowing over a girl. You know, like the singer Drake.”

I turn to Shayna. “The GPS will assist you with your swing. Would you like me to show you how to use it?”

Turns out, Mark and Shayna are excellent golfers. They belong to a club near their home in Atlanta. Jax takes a few practice swings before hitting the ball. From the fairway, Mark and Shayna are talking about Jax having “crushed it” hitting it straight down to the green and near the flag.

“Your turn, Trish.” Shayna’s words cause me to turn around. The three of them are standing on the side, apparently waiting for me.

I hold up a hand as I explain, “I don’t golf.”

Trish points to the golf bag. “But you brought clubs?”

I curl an arm around my side and wave them off. “I don’t feel like it. I’ll just watch.”

“No way,” Jax says, walking to the cart and pulling the driver out of the bag. “What I do, you do.”

With a hand on my hip, I argue, “I’m here. You have hours of me, here on the golf course. I don’t have to actually play.”

“You’re intimidated,” he says entirely too loudly.

“No, I’m not.”