Page 78 of Wedge

Later, much later, back in our room, the adrenaline finally starts draining out of both of us, leaving something quieter behind. The marsh is black outside the window, a few far-off lights blinking on the water.

“Tour card,” Stephen says again, lying beside me in the dark, like he’s testing the words for durability. “You realize what this actually means, right? Real tournaments. Real prize money. Real everything.”

“I know.”

“You pick the events. That’s yours.” A beat. “I’m still your caddie, though. If you’ll have me.”

“You’re still my caddie.” I find his hand in the dark, lace our fingers together. “Assuming you still want the job.”

“Baby.” His voice goes soft, certain. “I want any job that keeps me standing next to you. I’ll just have to not get fired.”

He curls around me, big spoon, snakes a hand into my briefs and holds me.

“Looking pretty badass,” Stephen chirps as Jeremy and I emerge from the bathroom.

Jeremy blushes and runs a hand over the top of his head. It could use a pro trim, but it is spiky and aggressive, just like he wanted it. I ran some product through the long strands so they’d stand up proudly, and he has a photo on his phone of what I used.

“You did that,” Jeremy says, still touching it like he can’t quite believe it’s real, grinning at his reflection in the window glass. “I look like an actual person for once.”

“You looked like a person before,” I say. “Kind of stuck up preppy boy. Now you look like the person you are.”

“Semantics.” But he’s beaming, phone already up, snapping a picture from three different angles before he even sits down. “My dad’s going to lose his mind.”

“Good mind-losing or bad?”

“Unclear. Exciting either way.” He tucks the phone away, still touching the ends like he’s checking they’re real. “Worth it. Even if he flips out.”

Stephen hands him a coffee, still grinning at the two of us like we’ve pulled off something genuinely impressive instead of just a bathroom haircut with a shaver.

“Big statement for a Monday morning,” Stephen says.

“Big week for a Monday morning,” Jeremy fires back, and something about the way he says it, easy, a little proud, tells me the mohawk’s about more than just hair.

I pull him into me for a double-pat hug, and he wraps me up tight, double-pat back.

He turns to Stephen and offers his hand. “Thanks for letting me borrow him this morning.”

“I share,” he grins, “A little.”

Jeremy turns bright red, then clears his throat. “I think that’s my cue. Great tournament. Can’t wait to play with you again.”

“Text me,” I return. “Come visit us in Denver.”

31

STEPHEN

The office Ben’s set us up in for the day is nothing fancy. It’s a conference room borrowed from a hotel near the club. Beige carpet, a long laminate table, a pitcher of ice water sweating onto a paper coaster, Florida sun coming in hard through half-closed blinds and laying stripes across the wood. The vents hum overhead. But it feels enormous with the three of us in it and a stack of folders on the table that represent Adrian’s future.

“Sure you want me in every meeting?” I ask him quietly before the first one starts. “I can wait outside. Less complicated.”

“No.” He says it fast, certain, no room for negotiation in it. “I want you here. Every meeting. All of it.”

“It’s your career, baby. I don’t need to be in the room for all of it.”

“I know you don’t need to be.” He squeezes my hand under the table. “I want you to be. You’re part of this now. I’m not doing the version where you wait outside.”

Ben doesn’t argue, just shuffles the folders and calls in the first rep. Some apparel company Adrian’s never heard of, quick and painless, a modest offer that Ben promises to counter.