Page 21 of Wedge

“Excellent,” I say, and mean about six different things by it. “How’re you spending the next two weeks?”

He runs a final forkful of pancake through the remains of butter and syrup on his plate, saying, “Taking a few moving gigs, build up a bit more savings.”

I wince. Brutal work, but the guy’s got drive.

“Okay. Watch your back, lift with your legs.”

He stares at me, a bit disbelieving. “Really, Stephen. Are you seriously mansplaining hauling to me?”

I huff a laugh. “Okay, fair. I humped a pack for four years, though. I’ve seen what one bad lift does to a man’s back. Humor me.”

His face relaxes a bit.

I force myself to say the next part. “The other thing. That very good imagination of yours. You squared away?”

He stares at me again. I can’t tell if he is going to evade or not. “My imagination is under control.”

“Copy.” I wait a beat for him to elaborate. He doesn’t. “Door’s open if that changes. Hit the links on Saturday?”

“Yeah.”

“Good. Text me your tee time. Going to the Friday Fish Fry?”

He hesitates. “Not sure. Caleb is trying to get me to go out afterwards, dancing.”

“Thanks for the warning,” I laugh. “I’ll engage evasive tactics.”

The smile he gives me is one of those steal my breath smiles.

He heads for the door, and the bell jangles behind him. Through the window, I watch him climb into his truck and pull out of the lot, and I keep watching long after it’s gone. My coffee has gone cold in my hand.

Steady. I can do steady.

10

ADRIAN

Denver goes easy, almost suspiciously so. It’s a scramble, so I never carry a whole hole. I can slice a drive into the trees, and it doesn’t matter because Lavon’s ball is sitting pretty in the fairway, and that’s the one we all play. I can miss a putt and it’s fine, because the other rookie, some kid named Colby I met this morning, rolls his in from six feet like my miss never happened. Stephen hangs back with my bag, letting us have it, a little smile on his face every time I laugh.

I play loose, laugh more than I have in weeks, and we finish top five as a team. It’s nothing that goes on a résumé, but nothing that scares me either. Stephen calls it a good tune-up. I call it fun, which is its own kind of win.

“Don’t get used to that,” Stephen warns on the drive back, the highway sliding by in the late light, already looking ahead at his notes. “Steamboat’s not gonna hold your hand like that.”

I hear him, loud and clear.

Caleb is bouncing on his toes when I meet him at Cheeseman Park. Man has so much energy.

“Doing the road to pro. I am so excited for you, A!” he almost squeals as he pulls me into a tight hug.

“Feels weird, Caleb.”

“Good weird or bad weird?”

“So much money and Ben’s just…” I wave my hand.

“That man has tons of money, Adrian. Let him help.”

We walk to a bench and sit. The park is teeming with joggers, walkers, and dogs. A group is doing yoga on matts in the grass.