Page 37 of Before We Fell

“Walk it.”

He rang me up for the green fees and I was slipping my wallet into my back pocket when another guy right around Jordan’s age sauntered in like he owned the joint.

“Yo,” he called to Jordan. “You ready to get your butt whipped again today?”

“Smart-ass,” Jordan muttered. His voice low enough it was definitely directed at me. “He’s never beaten me.” Turning, he spoke louder to who I now assumed was Ryan. “Yeah, we’re ready. Noah, Ryan. Ryan, Noah. Noah’s joining us on the course today.”

“Cool, man.” He held out his hand and I shook it. “Noah Wilkes, right?”

Damn. Small towns where everybody knew your name really sucked sometimes. “Yeah. Nice to meet you.”

His eyes narrowed and there was something else in his gaze. Knowing. Not pity. Hardened. A look I’d seen in my life a few times from men who had seen too much in life, which meant he knew about Amanda but also knew death enough not to bring it up.

“All right. I’ll kick both your asses out there, then. Let’s hit it.”

“For the record,” Jordan said, grinning at me over his shoulder as he led the way back outside to where my bag was. “Ryan sucks. He’s all bluster and sand traps. You could be picking up golf for the first time and still have a chance at beating him.”

“Thanks for the tip.”

“I heard that,” Ryan called and re-adjusted a ball cap on his head. “And you should know Jordan’s full of shit.”

The letters CPD were embroidered on the front and his earlier look made sense. He was a police officer. Which meant he definitely knew about Amanda and Jake. Hell, my parents had gone to the local police department after their murders to see if there was anything the locals could do to help. Which was all hope and impossibility mixed together. But it meant there was still a chance Ryan knew more about Amanda’s death than I did.

Good mood tanking fast, I grabbed my bag and slung it over my shoulder. “Lead me to the first tee and we’ll see which one of you is full of it.”

Like Jordan predicted,Ryan got his ass kicked on the course. Even after not playing for a year, I still creamed him, shooting only four over par. Jordan won over all of us coming in at two under. Ryan took it easily, punching Jordan on the shoulder and declaring, “I’ll get you someday.”

To which Jordan had batted his hand away like Ryan was a pesky fly. “Sure you won’t.”

Their camaraderie on the course made the hours go by faster. They were both good golfers but didn’t take themselves seriously. They spent as much time laughing and ribbing each other over poor shots including me easily into their twosome.

It was refreshing and made the hours go by that much faster. So much so that when it was done, I didn’t hesitate to accept Jordan’s offer for lunch at the resort restaurant, on him.

It was easy to see their friendship was one that was long-lasting, both of them admitting they’d been friends their whole lives, and while I drank my water, I couldn’t help but wonder what my life would be like had I returned to Carlton earlier.

I could have come home after law school, set out a shingle and opened my own practice. There were two in town already, but one handled mostly family law cases and the other handled contracts and land disputes, some Wills and other mundane stuff. Things that had never kicked my passion into gear like the courtroom.

I’d never wanted to be cramped into the small town, yet Jordan and Ryan made it not seem so bad. And even though golfing and lunch with them was easy and enjoyable, it made me realize I hadn’t had a friendship like this in a long time, possibly since leaving town.

My social calendar in St. Louis was filled with galas and fundraisers where the entire purpose was to be seen and make connections. Golf outings were done to schmooze your way into a better light in front of a judge, build rapport with other lawyers so you could claim a favor or give one when needed. I was passionate about the law. I defended any person accused of a crime to the best of my ability because I firmly believed way too many damn people were convicted on the basis of public opinion and not evidence before ever stepping foot into a trial.

I’d defended men and women from crimes where circumstantial evidence was the same as one plus one equaling four. Admittedly, I’d also defended men I knew down to my bones were guilty as sin and gotten them off. I was equally respected and hated. I was even feared or admired.

But genuinely liked? Damn, I hadn’t had that in a long time, and I hadn’t even realized I missed it much.

A waitress appeared at our table, large oval tray balanced on her shoulder with one hand and slid Jordan’s plate in front of him first. “Your usual, boss.”

“Thanks, Catherine,” he murmured, sliding his silverware out of the way.

She set down a giant bacon cheeseburger in front of Jordan and then handed out my buffalo burger and onion rings and Ryan’s grilled chicken salad, vinaigrette salad dressing on the side. His order alone earned a fair enough amount of ribbing from both of us.

He frowned at his food then looked at mine and Jordan’s next to him. “Damn,” he muttered.

“That’s what you get for marrying a crazy woman,” Jordan said.

“Not my fault she’s on some insane, low-carb diet kick and insisting I join her,” Ryan replied.

I dipped a ring into a small bowl of sauce. “She’s not here though now, is she?”

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