Page 52 of Sweet Spot
“I’ll be there,” I assure her. I’ve already paid our tab, so I down the rest of my beer and stand. “Let me walk you up.”
She’s quiet as we take the elevator up to her floor. I want to say or do something to make her feel confident. It’s something I don’t usually need to do with my clients because I build their self-confidence through months of training, but we’ve only been working together a short time, and she doesn’t have that yet.
The doors open, and I step out with her.
“Thanks for dinner and for being here.”
“No need for thanks. Does your dad make tournaments very often?”
“No. Don’t get me wrong, he’s my biggest fan, but he only comes to the home tournaments.”
With my hands in my pocket, I linger in the hallway. “I have a call I can’t miss tomorrow morning at eight, but I’ll do my best to get to the course while you’re warming up. Try to sleep tonight, I know how hard that is the night before the final day. No matter what happens tomorrow, you proved you belong out there today. They can’t take that away from you.”
“I don’t want to just prove I belong; I want to win. I feel like I should stay up all night and visualize or practice my downswing. I can’t just sleep when I could be doing something.”
“I know.” I free my hand from my pocket and take her fingers loosely in mine. It’s only the lightest brush of skin, but I feel more connected by that small touch than I have felt fully naked with others. “Trust me when I tell you that the best thing you can do tonight is sleep. Tomorrow you can go back to conquering the world.”
She nods, and I drop her hand and step back to the elevator. “’Night.”
19
Keira
Abby ison her bed texting Smith while I warm up with some light stretching in our hotel room. My alarm goes off, signaling the five-minute warning that the van is leaving.
“Ugh, I just want to lie here another hour,” Abby says as she sits up.
It’s still dark outside, but I don’t understand why she isn’t more excited. It’s day two, the final day of this short tournament. Today we’ll play our last round. Only eighteen holes to climb my way up the leaderboard.
“The guys say good luck.” Abby stands and brushes her dark hair back into a neat ponytail and then grabs her visor and bag.
“Why are they up so early?”
“They have a special practice today to work on putting with another friend of Coach James’.”
“Why am I not surprised?” I chuckle lightly. It doesn’t bother me quite as much as it used to . . . probably because I know I’ve already snagged the best coach in the world.
Abby and I are the last to load up in the van.
“Morning,” Erica chirps.
Kim and Cassidy wave from the backseat. Kim has her headphones on, and Cassidy goes back to staring out the window. We all have our own ways of prepping on tournament days.
“Everyone ready?” Coach Potter asks from the driver’s seat. His sunglasses dangle from a black cord attached to either side so they hang around his neck.
On the ride to the course, I re-read the texts from my parents. Both sent early this morning, within minutes of each other, which makes me wonder if Dad texted Mom to remind her. Normally, I’d think it was Mom who’d have it neatly scheduled in, but there’s no way Dad forgot. He may not know what to buy me at Christmas and think Hungry Man makes gourmet food, but when it comes to supporting me and my love for golf, he’s never let me down.
Dad: Good luck today, sweet pea.
Mom: Good luck, sweetie!! I’m cheering you on from afar.
My mom included a picture of her and Bart wearing the Valley U golf T-shirts that I got them for Christmas. It’s funny because I’d bet my dad is wearing his too.
My nerves kick in as we arrive at the course and exit the van. The sun is still rising, and the morning air is brisk, so I zip up my Valley jacket higher on my neck.
“I couldn’t sleep last night,” Erica whispers as we walk a step behind the rest of the team.
“Me either.”
