“Don’t,” I cut him off, shooting a glare in his direction.
“Right. We don’t talk about that qualifier you lost two years ago, or why you lost it, or who made you lose it, because it was a blip on the radar, and that tournament didn’t count for anything. This, my friend, was not a blip on the radar.”
I sigh in annoyance, because I already know how significantly I messed everything up today.
“Can we talk about what happened at the turn to the back nine now?” Bodhi asks after a few quiet minutes of us both just silently staring out at the setting sun and listening to the crashing waves in the distance.
I was having one of the best days of golfing in weeks. Six under par going into the back nine, and all I had to do was keep up the momentum, keep my head in the game, and I would’ve had this win in the palm of my hand. And then my dad decided to get in my ear when I switched out my driver for my wedge. My shot had landed right at the edge of the fairway by the spectator rope and entirely too close to where my dad was standing. It made it pretty easy for him to whisper his bullshit at me while my back was to him and I was trying to decide what to do with my shot. My game went downhill fast after that. Hearing his constant nagging and annoying comments every time I needed to go near the spectator rope, which was often since all my fucking shots went into the rough after that, just made things worse. When one of my shots splashed right into the center of the water hazard on the last hole—something I haven’t done since high school—my dad wouldn’t shut up about how epically I screwed up today. I completely lost my composure for the first time in my career.
“Dale Campbell decided the 10th hole was the best time to tell me, ‘Don’t mess anything up today. Be on your best behavior, and for God’s sake, smile more. The reality show will be using footage from today for the pilot episode.’”
Bodhi’s mouth drops open in shock just as widely as it did when I broke my club in half.
“That dick,” he mutters. “I was busy talking to one of the other caddies a few feet away; otherwise, I would have punched him in the mouth for you. You told him no about the reality show. Many times. Over several months and very loudly with a lot of swearing.”
“I know. It’s bad enough I haven’t been able to go out in public without cameras following me around in years. I don’t need one inside watching me eat, sleep, train, watch Netflix in my underwear, shit with the door open, or have sex.”
Bodhi snorts.
“Fuck off. I have sex,” I mutter, crossing my arms in front of me.
“Okay, sure.” He laughs again.
“Shut up. It happens.”
“Yep, gotcha.”
“Sometimes. Every once in a while….” I trail off, trying to remember the last time I had a day off or even enough hours to myself where I had the energy to do anything other than sleep or make mental lists of all the reasons why I hated my life.
The only sex I’ve been having lately involves my hand and fantasies of the blip I’ve banned us from ever discussing.
“I can’t believe he did that to you in the middle of one of the biggest tournaments of the summer. No wonder you told him to eat your shit. No one else’s shit would do in a situation like this.”
Bodhi shakes his head, and the serious look on his face makes me laugh. Some of the panic starts to slip away when he speaks again.
“What do you want to do?”
For the first time since I woke up this morning, my mind goes completely blank. No one’s ever asked me that question before. Not about anything serious. And I know Bodhi is dead serious, and he’s not just talking about what I want to do for dinner when we get off the green. He’s asking me what I want to do with my life.
I’ve never been given any other option besides golf. I was born with a natural talent that I’ve been told over and over again I should be grateful for. It’s allowed me to travel the world, it’s provided me with more opportunities than I could have imagined,