Page 40 of Sweet Spot
“Am I . . .” I start, and my voice breaks. I feel like I’m hanging on by a thread. “Am I ever going to be ready?”
“You’ve made huge strides already. We just keep working at it.”
I nod.
“Keira?” His deep voice somehow sounds tender as he says my name.
“Yeah, I’m here. I heard you.”
I lean my head back and stare into the night sky. The helplessness and defeat that I’ve been fighting all day finally hits me. I may never get my chance. I’m not even sure I deserve it anymore. Maybe Coach Potter is right.
“You have more raw talent than any person I’ve ever coached. Ever. I can’t predict the future. I don’t know if I can make your dreams come true, but I promise that I will do everything I can to make sure you get your shot. You may hate me for how hard I push you, but it’s because I want to know we’ve done everything we can. We’re a team. If you fail, I fail.”
A lump the size of a golf ball lodges in my throat. I don’t have to ask if he means it, I heard the sincerity of his tone and Lincoln has never, not once, tried to pad my ego. It’s one of the many reasons I like working with him. But he fails if I fail? That seems like a lot of pressure for him to put on himself and on me.
Suddenly, my grumblings about his methods and how tired I am feel bratty. Although . . .
“I heard a rumor tonight that your usual training only includes aone-mile run andthreedays of weights per week.”
He curses quietly away from the phone. “Heath has a big mouth.”
I don’t argue that.
“None of my clients ever have the same regimen. It isn’t some generic thing I pass from player to player. You get what I think you need.”
“And I need to do twice as much as the others?” I can’t hide the note of hurt in my voice. Am I really that awful?
“The better the player, the harder they need to work.”
I scoff. Really, that’s the best he’s got?
“I’ll never ask you to do anything that isn’t necessary to get you where you want to be. You’re capable of so much more than you think. Get out of your own way. Can you do that? Can you just trust that I only want what’s best for you?”
I’m nodding again like he can see me. “Yes, I trust you. Tell me what to do.”
He lets out a sigh of relief. “Tonight, have fun with your friends. We’ll get back to it tomorrow.”
* * *
The next day at practice we split up into groups to play nine holes. I’m grouped with Abby and Brittany.
“You’re quiet today. Everything okay?” Abby whispers as we stand back and wait for Brittany to tee off on the third hole.
“Yeah, I’m all right.” I meet her gaze and find her staring back unbelieving. We may not spend as much time together as we once did, but she still knows me better than anyone. “I’m disappointed about the tournament and starting to wonder if I’ll ever get back to the top five.”
“You will.”
“I don’t know.” Brittany swings, and the ball sails high and drifts slightly from left to right, leaving her in good position on the green. “She’s good.”
“So are you.”
We make our way down the par five. Abby is lining up a five-footer while Brittany and I wait. She rests the club against her leg and grabs her right wrist with her left hand and winces. “Shit.”
“Are you all right?”
“My wrist is achy today. I think I’m gonna walk back and see if I can ice it.”
“Do you want us to come with you?” I offer.
