Page 95 of Sweet Spot
The eighteenth hole is a straightforward par four. She needs to birdie in order to win outright.
The other girl, whose name I should remember but don’t, drives the ball well. Not as long or consistent as Keira, but her short game is as good as anyone I’ve seen. She’s made more saves with chips and putts today than should be humanly possible.
Weston? Waston? Watson? Yeah, that sounds right.
Keira goes first. Her drive is a little shorter than she’s capable, but it lands just off the center of the fairway. Watson pulls out a monster, and for the first time today, her drive is the longer of the two.
Keira looks angry as hell as they walk down the course. The crowd keeps cheering them on because, no matter what happens in the next few minutes, it’s been a great tournament and they’re going to see more of these ladies.
Their approaches vary only on direction. Both of them get up just off the green, but in the fringe. Watson has a slightly better lie in that she’ll be putting on a mostly flat area. Keira’s closer but will be working downhill where the slightest miss can end up rolling to no-man's-land.
Watson takes her time lining up her shot, and we all hold our breath as her ball inches toward the hole. There’s a collective “oooh” as the ball hits the rim but fails to fall in. She knocks it in for par, securing a tie unless Keira can make the next shot.
The pressure of the moment hangs in the air. Watson stands off to the side, and even those who have counted Keira out are watching. All eyes are on my girl.
Putter in hand, she walks to her ball and crouches behind it to get a good look at the angle. When she stands, she wobbles off balance, and the lady next to me gasps and clutches my arm.
“Sorry,” she says and removes her hand as soon as she realizes what she’s done. I nod my acceptance of her apology, but I kind of wish she’d keep squeezing my arm to distract me from how weak Keira looks.
I’m fighting every urge to charge onto the course to make sure she’s okay. My pulse thrums and anxiety vibrates inside my chest.
Keira takes a moment to regain her composure, but her body’s failing her and that’s gotta be messing with her mind.
“Take your time, baby.”
The forearm-clutching lady beside me doesn’t look at me as she says, “You know Keira Brooks?”
“She’s my . . .” Girlfriend? It doesn’t seem like enough. “She’s my everything.”
I feel her eyes on me briefly, but when Keira gets into position to take her putt, everything else ceases to exist.
Keira stares at the line and adjusts her grip, but instead of taking the shot, she steps back. The indecision has us all worried. Everyone’s rooting for her at this point, the underdog who didn’t let anything stop her.
When her eyes lift and find mine, they are brimming with worry and nerves. I do my best to reassure her, nodding and smiling. If she had any idea how confident I was in her ability to make this shot, she wouldn’t have any room for doubt inside her.
Win or lose, it doesn’t matter, but I want her to win for herself. I want her to feel that ultimate satisfaction of having her hard work pay off in a big, big way. No client has ever made me this proud, no woman has ever made me want this much.
She holds my gaze for a few seconds more and then her eyes close and her chest rises as she takes a deep breath. When she opens them, she moves with purpose into position, allows a second to adjust, and then takes her shot.
I’m pretty sure the world stops. I know my heart does. The ball rolls along the green to the hole in no hurry. It teases us, drawing out the seconds and the suspense, until I feel like I might faint.
I switch my gaze to Keira just before the ball makes its final decision.
The crowd roars, my heart restarts, and Keira raises her hands in victory. Tears stream down her face as she tilts her head back and looks to the sky.
The woman next to me nudges me with an elbow. “Congratulations.”
“Thank you.”
Keira hugs her caddy, shakes hands with Watson, and then heads off the course. I walk along the rope just ahead of her. Though she doesn’t see me right away, her eyes scan until she finds me. Her smile hits me in the gut, and we move toward each other at a jog. My hands wrap around her waist and hers find my neck.
“You did it.”
She’s still crying, happy tears that mark her face and slide down to her upturned lips. “Was there any doubt? What happened to all thatit’s your destiny?”
“That was before I realized some idiot rushed in here minutes before you were supposed to tee off and unloaded on you, not to mention the whole recent hospitalization thing.”
“I had to win. It had to be today.”
