Page 5 of Serenity at Seagrove
Archer raised an eyebrow, putting the menu back on the table in front of him. "Yoga and mindfulness, huh? Sounds like a lot of woo-woo stuff to me."
Luna's smile faltered. "It's actually a lot more than that. I'm a licensed therapist, so the center will offer counseling and wellness programs. It's about creating a space where people can reset their lives and take care of themselves."
Archer leaned back slightly, his gaze steady on hers. "Sounds nice for vacationers, but I'm not sure how much real people need that."
Luna's cheeks felt warm, and she tried to mask her irritation. "You'd be surprised. Life has a way of throwing things at you that you can't handle by yourself, and sometimes people need a place to heal."
Julie glanced between them, her expression a mix of concern and amusement. "Archer, you'd benefit from Serenity more than most people I know."
He snorted softly. "Yeah, I think I'll stick to my physical therapy with an actual doctor, but thanks."
Tension hung in the air for a moment before he stood up, his chair scraping against the sidewalk. "You know, I'm gonna go stretch my legs by the marsh. Nice meeting you, Luna."
Without waiting for a response, he strode away, his posture rigid.
Luna watched him go before turning back to Julie, who sighed and shook her head. "I'm so sorry about that. Archer's, well, he's going through a rough patch."
"What happened?"
Julie hesitated. "Well, he was a professional golfer. A shoulder injury ended his career recently, and golf was everything to him. So now he's trying to figure out what's next and who he is without golf. It hasn't been easy for him, needless to say."
Luna nodded. She'd seen pain like this before, the kind that came when someone's identity was ripped away. "Well, that explains the chip on his shoulder," she said. “No pun intended.”
Julie smiled faintly. "He's a good guy underneath it all. Dawson's told me all kinds of stories. They grew up together. It'll just take some time for him to find his footing again."
Luna's gaze drifted towards the marsh where Archer had disappeared. Something about him intrigued her despite his rough edges. "Maybe," she said, "but he might need some help that a physical therapist can’t give.”
* * *
Archer leaned back in the Adirondack chair on Dawson's porch with a glass of sweet tea in his hand. The faint crash of waves in the distance set the stage for relaxation, but Archer rarely relaxed these days. It was a picturesque evening, the kind that would make most people feel calm, but not Archer. His jaw tightened as he stared out at the dusky horizon, his mind a mess of frustration and disappointment.
"You're awfully quiet," Dawson said, sitting in the chair beside him. Dawson, who always had an easygoing charm, looked at home here, like he belonged to the land, the sea, and the community in a way that Archer never could.
"I'm just thinking," Archer muttered, swirling the tea around in his glass.
"That's dangerous if we do too much of it," Dawson said. "What's on your mind?"
Archer's grip tightened on the glass. He didn’t say anything for a moment, but then the words seemed to come tumbling out, sharp and bitter. "You ever have everything you've worked for, everything you've dreamed about, just ripped out from under you, just like that?" He snapped his fingers for emphasis.
Dawson didn't respond at first, letting the question hang in the humid air. "Not in the way you have, but I've lost things that mattered. I've had to start over."
"Starting over, that's what everybody keeps saying.'You'll figure it out, Archer, you're young, you've got time.'" Archer scoffed. "You know what I had planned? I had the next ten years mapped out. Tournaments, majors, wins. I was gonna make history, maybe even get my name on a clubhouse somewhere, and now I can barely swing the dang club without this shoulder screaming at me. I’m in my forties with no idea what to do with the rest of my life.”
Dawson's expression stayed steady. "What about other options? Mentoring golfers? Coaching pros? You've got experience. That's something a lot of other players could learn from."
Archer shook his head. "I don't want to coach. I don't want to be a commentator or some talking head on TV. I want toplay. That was my plan, Dawson. That wastheplan."
Dawson leaned back, crossing his arms over his chest. "And now the plan changed. It happens to everybody, Archer. Life doesn't always follow the script we write, and at some point, age was going to catch up with you anyway."
Archer finally looked at him. "That's easy for you to say. You've gotthis." He gestured around the porch, the inn’s soft glow inside spilling out onto the lawn. "You've built a life. You've got roots, family, and purpose. What do I have? A bum shoulder and a bunch of trophies that don't mean anything anymore. People are already forgetting about me."
"You've got a lot more than that," Dawson said. "You just can't see it yet."
Before they could continue, Dylan came bounding out the front door. “Dad, can I go meet Jason down by the water? He saw some crazy looking crab and wants to show it to me!”
Dawson laughed. “Yeah, buddy. Have fun, but get home before it gets too dark, okay?”
“Woohoo!” Dylan yelled as he ran toward the beach.
