Page 51 of Iron

When his breathing slows and mine is somewhat normal, I roll to the side.

“I chartered a plane,” he says fast, trying to get ahead of my questions. “I’ll stay until tomorrow noon. You will eat,” he kisses my mouth, “and sleep,” another kiss, “and I’ll make sure of it.” He looks at me sternly, but his face is too close to mine, and I can’t help but laugh.

“I’m paying for the hotel suite though. Was doing it already.”

“Of course,” he agrees.

“Ok.”

“Good,” he says, as though that’s final. “Maybe we can make it through this way.”

36

GAVIN

Monday is a practice round day for TJ, no pressure, no scorecard, and I tag along with him and Caleb through the front nine just to be near him. It's a good course, tighter than I expected from the flat, wide-open feel of most of Idaho, with real elevation changes cut into the foothills.

“This green's a nightmare,” Caleb announces on the fourth hole, consulting his yardage book with the same seriousness he's brought to the job since Illinois. “Two tiers, both fast. You short-side yourself here and you're basically donating a stroke to the golf gods.”

“He's gotten good at this,” I say to TJ, genuinely impressed.

“He is terrifyingly good at this,” TJ agrees. “Better than I deserve, probably.”

“You deserve exactly this supreme level of competence, and not a shred less,” Caleb sniffs, already walking ahead to check the pin position.

We fall into an easy rhythm through the next several holes, TJ hitting loose, relaxed shots with nothing on the line, me offering the occasional unsolicited opinion on club selection. Caleb narrates the course with genuine enthusiasm, distances, breaks, and a story about a Canada goose that apparently stole someone's ball on the sixth hole during Sunday's pro-am. It's easy. Simple. The kind of morning I haven't had in longer than I want to admit. Just golf and good company, and no real stakes hanging over it.

By the time we reach the clubhouse for lunch, I'm in a better mood than I've been in weeks.

We grab a table on the patio, sandwiches and iced tea, TJ half-asleep in his chair from the heat and another full stomach. I watch Caleb work through his own lunch with the same brisk efficiency he brings to everything else.

“Can I ask you something?” I say, mostly out of genuine curiosity. “If you weren't out here caddying, what would you be doing?”

Caleb pauses, sandwich halfway to his mouth, something flickering across his face that surprises me, a little guarded, not his usual open-book energy. He shakes his blond hair from his eyes and peers at me suspiciously.

“Why do you ask?”

“You're good at this. Really good. Detail-oriented, calm under pressure, read people well.” I shrug. “Just curious if this is the dream, or a stop on the way to something else.”

He sets the sandwich down, glancing at TJ, who's still half-dozing, sunglasses hiding whatever expression he’s making.

“I was in nursing school,” Caleb says, quieter than I've ever heard him. “Couple semesters left. Clinical rotations, hospital shifts three days a week on top of classes. Waiting tables at night. TJ needed a caddie for Illinois, so I deferred.”

That catches me off guard. “You put clinicals on hold? Isn't that hard to just pick back up?”

He huffs. “It's a whole thing. Paperwork, re-enrollment, hoping a rotation slot opens back up.” He shrugs, a little defensive now, like he's expecting pushback. “He needed someone he trusted out here. Someone who would not make him feel like a spoiled kid or an embarrassment to hide. That mattered more.”

TJ's eyes open behind his sunglasses, and I can tell he's actually been listening this whole time, not as asleep as he was pretending.

“Caleb.” His voice has gone soft, careful. “You never told me it was that complicated to come back from. You say it was easy peasy.”

“It’s not a big deal.”

“It is a huge deal.” TJ sits up fully now, pulling his sunglasses off, something raw crossing his face. “You gave up your clinicals. For me.”

“I paused them. Temporarily. There's a difference.” Caleb's trying for breezy and not quite landing it. “Don't get weird about it, Teej, I mean it.”

“I'm allowed to get weird about my best friend putting his whole future on hold to carry my bag.”