Page 92 of Sweet Spot
I click refresh on the browser again just for fun. The golf ball stick figure with a sad face frowns back at me. Once upon a time, I sat on a call and smiled at that graphic. How clever, I thought. That’ll make people feel better when they can’t access the site. Now I wanted to smash the cute cartoon figure in his adorable face.
Stand, pace, check the time, sit, click refresh, ask Will for update.
I shower, leaving my phone sitting on the counter and the ringer turned up so loud it’ll likely let the whole neighborhood know if I get a call.
Keira’s probably already at the course warming up. I know she’s going to play—it just isn’t in her to give up. I hate the way my skin prickles with guilt not being there with her. I’m not even sure she wants me there, but it doesn’t change how awful I feel for missing it anyway.
Dressed so I can leave for the course as soon as I’m done working, I head back into the office. Will sends me an update that they think they’ve figured out the issue and I need to jump on a call with him and the rest of the team to lay out a plan.
I’m back to pacing with my club in hand, but with a slightly less ragey grip, while Will outlines the problem and possible solutions. Finding the issue was only step one.
We brainstorm, me mostly just listening. I hire the best, so I don’t have to be an expert on everything, but right now I’d trade my left arm to be a computer engineer.
“Worst case scenario, how long until we’re back up?”
Will takes his time answering. “I’m not sure. An hour, maybe longer.”
I kick the closest thing to me, which happens to be one of the many boxes stacked up in my office. The box on top of it falls to the floor with a metallic clank, contents spilling out in my pacing path.
“Shit,” I mutter and squat to clean it up.
Trophies and medals from tournaments dating back all the way to my first junior tournament are spread out in front of me. I pick up the closest one, a medal from a high school tourney, running my thumb along the raised lettering.
I right the box so I can put everything back and dig through the papers at the bottom. Receipts and warranties—stuff from our filing cabinets that Lacey must have found and put together for me. Most of it’s trash, but Pop’s familiar handwriting makes me pause.
A few days after my first pro tournament, when I was still wallowing in self-hate for all the stupid mistakes I’d made, he’d stopped by, told me he was proud of me and handed me this folded piece of paper.
“Focus on remedies, not faults.”
Pop wasn’t much for speaking his heart, but that single line said it all. It was everything he believed about golf and about life. When you screw up, take a moment to be sad or pissed, and then figure out how to fix it.
And I had. It was exactly what I’d needed to stop obsessing and get back to work.
“Lincoln? Boss man?” Will’s voice brings my attention back to the call.
“Yeah, sorry, I’m here.”
I carry the paper with me to my desk and sit behind my laptop to get back to work. I’m asking questions and taking notes, but my eyes continually drift back to Pop’s words.
Focus on remedies. Simple advice that I’d put into practice in every aspect of my life.
Except one.
Fuck.
I’d let all my faults get in the way of the thing I wanted most. Keira.
And of course I want to be with her. Despite everything. Because of everything.
I want her more than I’ve ever wanted anything. Ever. Period.
I fold the paper and slide it into my pocket as I stand. “Will, I gotta go. You guys got this.”
There’s silence on the other end of the phone for two long seconds. “You’re dropping off?”
“Yep. I have somewhere important I need to be.” I smile as I picture their surprised faces. But no one is more surprised than I am. “I trust you to find the best solution. Do what you can and I’ll check in later.”
I just hope I can get there in time.
