Page 57 of All Signs Point to Malibu

“All good. Just try guiding the ball with your pinky finger. Stabilize it and try to direct its trajectory.”

That’s it. Coach mode. Think of her as one of your players. You can do this. I toss the ball back and she tries again. And it’s better. And each one after that is better.

Twenty minutes later, she’s not half bad. She’s only throwing the ball about eight feet, but it’s not wobbly anymore.

“Ready for the next sport?” I ask, putting the football away.

She nods, approaching.

Nope. Stay over there.

She stops next to me and touches my shoulder as I reach into the bag for the baseball and gloves. “Thank you. For doing this. You’re a good coach,” she says with such sincerity, it has that unwelcome warmness coursing through me again.

I stand and hand her a glove. “Get back over there.”

She grins. “Yes, Coach,” she says as she jogs slowly back across the field.

And damn, if I don’t love the sound of her calling me that.

I’m in trouble.

TEN

HAILEY’S DAILY RULE FOR SUCCESS:

Risky ventures have the biggest reward—but only if you succeed.

The Malibu golf course spans two hundred acres of lush greenery with a view of the ocean in the distance. Palm trees line the exterior and an impressive clubhouse and resort offer a slice of golf paradise on the coast. The expensive membership guarantees the greens are well maintained, and carts and golf caddies are provided, ensuring you don’t need to do anything more than swing back and let it fly, all while enjoying a club-exclusive cocktail.

But that’s not the course Mr. Jensen and I frequent every Sunday.

His favorite is about a mile away. Coastal Greens is a smaller, quieter golf club with fewer frills, open to the general public. The dress code is less formal, and if you don’t carry your own clubs while walking from one hole to the next, they don’t get there. Drinking’s allowed on the green and gate attendants look the other way in regard to contraband alcohol. It’s a place for golf lovers who prefer the game to taking selfies.

I crack open a beer under the sweltering 9:00 a.m. heat and extend the can to Mr. J. He clinks his condensation-soaked can to mine and we take a swig of beer that’s gone warm already. Not exactly refreshing, but nostalgia flows through me at the taste of his favorite cheap beer.

I had my first cold one at seventeen out here on this golf course with Mr. J. He’d always wanted Liam to golf with him, a father/son bonding experience, but it wasn’t my buddy’s sport, so I agreed to learn how to play. If Mr. J felt disappointed by me filling in for Liam on those weekly outings, he never showed it. Back then, I was desperate for any real guidance that wasn’t selfishly motivated and I could always count on Mr. J to give it to me straight.

As far as fathers go, Liam had no idea how good he had it, but I certainly didn’t take the man’s advice or time for granted.

Out here on this golf course, I learned so many valuable lessons about life, hard work, and respecting women. His pickup line suggestions were obviously not to be taken seriously, but the memories made on this course over the years have stuck with me.

“Seeing much of Liam while he’s home?” the older man asks now, setting up his drive.

“Yeah... We’ve been hanging out.” I know he’s refusing to come to the engagement party, so I don’t want to bring it up, but I sense we’re headed there. The disagreement with his son has to be weighing on his mind and just like years ago when he and Liam would be at odds, it does put me in a rather tight predicament. I’ve always been diplomatic and refused to take sides in whatever argument they had going, but co-hosting the engagement party will definitely be seen as having chosen a side in this one.

But in my defense I agreed before I knew he wasn’t supportive of the relationship. Hard to say if I would have stepped into this role had I known. My respect for him is deep-rooted but so is my loyalty to my best friend.

He swings back, hits the ball and it sails through the air. “You’ve met Sonia?”

“Great shot,” I say when it lands on the green, then nod slowly. “Yeah, she seems like a nice person.” I place my ball on the tee and rotate my shoulders before getting into position.

“I’m sure she is,” he says.

I take my swing, but the slight tension in the air makes it a lousy one. The ball only goes several yards and lands way back from the green. Won’t be hitting par on this one, but today there’s more on Mr. J’s mind than golf and I want to be a sounding board the way he’s always been for me.

I turn toward him. “Heard you and Marsha aren’t able to make it to the party.” I noticed Hailey added them to the email invite list despite their insistence that they have no interest attending.

It was worth a shot.

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