Page 72 of The Perfect Putt

“I really am proud of you, man. I’ve been waiting for this day for a long time.”

“Same here,” Jada chimes in with a soft smile.

“I wish I would have done it sooner,” I say, hating that I waited until someone I cared about got hurt before acting. I could have avoided all of this.

“What matters is that you did it,” Ellie says, giving me a look that says I better not try to argue with her. And while usually a look like that would inspire me to push her buttons, I’m too tired. It’s been a long day.

I went into today four under par, and came out one over par. I barely made the cut to go to the next round because I was so distracted with worry for Ellie and anger toward my parents. It’s going to take a lot of work to pull me out of this hole.

Ellie hugs me again, and I soak in the comfort and peace her touch brings me. With my parents gone, and her by my side, I know I’ll play better the rest of the weekend. But the question is: will it be enough?

Day four of the U.S. Open

I step up to the tee box. Hole eighteen of the last day of the U.S. Open. After getting my feet back under me yesterday, then grinding hard today, I’m nine under going into the last hole of the weekend. And based off of what Fitz has told me about the other golfers’ scores, I think I’m about to win.

It’s been a grueling tournament. Without Ellie here to force me to relax at the end of each day, I’m not sure if I would have taken a full breath all weekend. Even just having her nearby while I’m playing has helped me. Glancing at her after each putt has grounded me and given me the energy I needed to come back after such a huge setback. If I win, it will all be because of her.

Yesterday, I managed to get my feet back under me after playing so terrible the day before. I went into today four under. Zane six strokes ahead of me. But I just put my head down and focused on my game and Ellie. In doing that, I’ve played better than I ever have. I even hit a hole in one on a par three. Now, all I need to do is sink this putt, and I win the U.S. Open.

“It’s just another hole, like every other one you’ve played today. No need to change your mindset now, just play your game and the rest will take care of itself,” Fitz says, then pats me on the shoulder and gives me the space to hit.

I take a deep breath in, then let it out. Just like any other hole. I adjust my grip, then bring my club back and swing it through. The ball sails straight down the middle. I grin as it lands three hundred yards down the fairway.

Fitz takes my driver from me, wearing a matching grin.

“Just a chip shot,” he says as we walk. “Easy as Diane’s key lime pie.”

I smile, knowing that back home in Coastal Cove Diane and Paulie are huddled around their TV, watching me play the best round of golf I’ve ever played in my life. The thought boosts my mood even higher. I feel as though I’m in the clouds instead of on the course.

We make it down to my ball and Fitz hands me a pitching wedge. I get set up and don’t wait long before I hit it. The ball bounces up onto the green, eliciting cheers from the crowd. If I make this putt I make birdie.

My nerves spike a little, but when Fitz hands me the putter, I glance at the crowd and see a familiar set of warm brown eyes. Ellie is smiling bright, practically glowing with pride. Just looking at her makes my nerves settle. Her confidence in me hasn’t wavered once this entire competition. Not even when I was struggling. In fact, it seemed she believed in me more then, instead of less. I ground myself in that, in her love, before positioning myself in front of the ball.

Another deep breath. The crowd falls silent. Anticipation is so thick in the air I can practically taste it. I tap the ball with my club. Then hold my breath as it rolls–almost in slow motion–toward the hole. When it falls in I almost don’t believe my eyes. I just made U.S. Open history. No one has ever hit ten under. The crowd roars around me. Fitz yells his congratulations while shaking my shoulders. I laugh in disbelief.

Like every single putt since day one, I look for Ellie. She smiles at me and takes a step forward. I nod and start moving toward her. She picks up into a jog and jumps into my arms. I spin her around.

“You did it!” she cheers when I put her back on her feet. “I knew you would.”

“I couldn’t have done it without you, Red.”

She looks like she might protest, so I capture her mouth in a kiss. Immediately she melts into me, kissing me with reckless abandon. As I hold her tight, I know without a doubt that Ellie Hart is the woman for me. She’s the one I want by my side for everything–good and bad. I want to celebrate with her in my arms after every win. I’m convinced there’s nothing better.

I hear my name being called, and Ellie must hear it too because she breaks our kiss.

“You should go,” she says, gesturing to the officials and reporters waiting on me. “Go, I’m not going anywhere.” She smiles up at me and I know she means it.

She’s stood by me and stood up for me this week, and I know she would do it again. I’d do the same for her. Never would I have thought that the sassy, golf-hating woman I met at the club a month ago would be the one I’m not wanting to let go of now. But here we are. Not perfect, but perfect for each other. And I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Epilogue

Ellie Hart

October, three months later

“I don’t understand why you want me to go look at something I can’t afford,” I say to Molly as she drags me toward a little white brick building not far from Coastal Coffee.

I came by for a coffee during a break from work, and she bombarded me, saying I had to come see this new building that opened up down the street. Since I have an email alert set for commercial real estate in Coastal Cove, I already knew about it. It came on the market a few days ago. But I have at least a year of saving before I can afford a place like that.

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