Page 30 of Sweet Spot
He pauses at certain spots to highlight things I’m doing wrong and offer advice on how to correct it. Three minutes and twenty-five seconds of painfully honest feedback with absolutely no attempt to try to sugarcoat my weaknesses. It’s a little hard to take, but I hang on his every word anyway.
The video ends as abruptly as it started, and I hit replay. Each time I watch it, which is basically every time I rest, I’m filled with the same overwhelming desire to do more, try harder, dig deeper.
As I’m finishing, Abby texts back to thank me and tell me she had a good warm-up and she’s about to tee off. She also assures me that Coach is still a dick—as if there were any doubt. Sometimes, it’s good to know I’m not the only one who feels that way though. Apparently, he spent most of day one with Cassidy and ignored the rest of the team.
I head to the outdoor track for a mile run. Today is supposed to be light conditioning, and I guess it is since I’m running one mile instead of two like yesterday, but it sure doesn’t feel easy.
Two hours, a shower, and a quick nap later, I head to the driving range, only to have it start to rain. Big, cold drops soak my clothes and hair. I shoot a glare at the dark clouds that are ruining my training session.
Seriously? It couldn’t have rained while I was running earlier?
I try to keep going even as my teeth chatter, but I can’t video my swing in this condition, so I head to my dad’s.
“Hey, sweet pea. You look like you ran over. Coming down pretty good out there.” He glances out the window from the recliner.
“I got caught in it at the driving range.” I take off my shoes and then go to my old bedroom to swap out my shirt for a dry one.
Back in the living room, I take a seat on the couch and wrap the throw blanket hanging over the arm snug around me. “Did you eat lunch?”
He nods to the counter. “Yeah, I ordered pizza a couple hours ago.”
“Any left?” I stand and walk toward the kitchen.
“Mm-hmm. A slice or two.”
It’s cold, but I devour a slice of sausage pizza while I open the fridge and rummage around until I find a Diet Mountain Dew. I hide them in the vegetable drawer and behind condiments he rarely uses.
“Dad, do you still have my old golf mat and net?”
“They are in the garage, I think.”
I take my soda with me and sigh as I see the disorganization of the garage. It’s clear where I got my messy tendencies.
I manage to find them, and I’m standing on a ladder, hanging the net from the hooks in the ceiling, when Lincoln calls. I hesitate to accept the video call and seriously think about sending him to voice mail, but somewhere deep down (like really deep down), somewhere that can forget what a sadist ass he is and how sore I am, I know I need him.
“Hello?” I answer, putting it on speaker and setting the phone on the top of the ladder so I can continue to hang the net.
“Keira?”
I move my head in front of the phone so he can see me. “I’m here. One second.”
“What in the world are you doing? And why do you look like a wet rat?”
I ignore the last comment because I totally do, and he looks perfect as usual. “I’m trying to hang my old golf net in my dad’s garage. It’s raining out.”
“It is?” It sounds like he moves around before he speaks again. “Huh. It’s raining here too.”
“Where are you?” I ask, glancing at the screen and staring past him at the background. Blank, white walls that tell me absolutely nothing.
“At home. Let’s see this net.”
I get the last loop over the hook and step down the ladder. I switch the camera so it’s front facing and show him the setup.
“How old is that mat?”
“I don’t know. Maybe five years. I got it and the net for my sixteenth birthday.”
“Well, you won’t need either today.”
