Page 94 of Sweet Spot
The crowd quiets until the only sound is the whisper of a breeze and my own breathing. Lincoln’s voice is in my head, encouraging and pushing me.
I check my line one last time and swing.
The crowd claps as I watch the ball flight. It’s shorter than yesterday’s drive and slightly off target, but it isn’t awful.
My second shot brings me onto the green, but I have a slippery downhill twelve-foot putt. I miss it but manage to leave myself in decent position and save par.
The next three holes are about the same. I’m playing safe, but it still feels as if I’ve run a marathon, and my throat burns from sucking in air. I’m still tied for second place, but there is only one stroke that separates us.
Lincoln stands, hands crossed over his chest, white hat pulled low so I can’t see his eyes with the shadow, but I still know he’s looking at me.
Hole five is a par three at one hundred fifty-three yards. Yesterday, I hit my nine-iron low and controlled and then was able to make putt for birdie, but it was risky. The greens are playing fast today, and a bad bounce could put me in an awful spot. I can’t miss long.
I waver between clubs, ultimately sticking with the nine-iron. My caddy nods. He’s one the tourney provided for me, so we haven’t chatted much, but he seems to approve.
I tee my ball and stare the flag down. I strike the ball flush, and it flies high and straight. The crowd claps heartily and then groans as it rolls off the green. I end up with bogey.
Going into the back nine, I’m tied for third place. The crowd builds at each hole. The earlier tee times are finishing, and there are only three groups left ahead of us.
Lincoln walks alongside me from the rough, looking just like the boyfriend on the sidelines I always wanted.
Coach Potter is in the crowd too, hanging back as he plays the role of supportive coach. One thing is certain, no matter how today ends, I’ve decided I’m taking a page from Abby’s book and quitting the team. Four months working with Lincoln was more helpful than all the coaching Potter’s done his entire career. Times ten.
After drinking some water and taking a few deep breaths in the shade, I pull out my scorecard and course map so I can study the tenth hole. I don’t need to since I have it memorized, but it gives me something to focus on.
It’s a par five with an elevated green. There are two bunkers running along the right side of the fairway, and trees line the left just beyond the rough. It’s a beautiful sight, but there are so many ways to screw it up.
When I shove the scorecard back into my pocket, my fingers graze the piece of paper Lincoln gave me. I don’t take it out, just hold it in my hand. I know how much his grandfather meant to him, and the fact he gave this to me touches me deeply.
I think about the words scribbled on it and how hard I’ve worked to get here, how hard Lincoln worked to get me here. He may be unwilling to take credit, but I wouldn’t be here without him. I think he wants this for me nearly as much as I want it for myself.
My driver is heavy in my hand as I stare between two points on the fairway. One safe option and another fifteen yards beyond that, if I strike the ball pure, it should give me a chance to get home in two.
Oh god. I’m gonna go for it. I think this and try to talk myself out of it, but know it’s as good as done. All out. Not just for me but also for the man who apparently loves me.
I haven’t let the words sink in yet. They’re too big coming from him.
The crowd’s interest has waned, but Lincoln’s still watching. He adjusts his hat, giving me a better view of the smile on his lips. It’s encouragement in the exact moment I need it. If I don’t make a move up the leaderboard now, it’s going to be too late to make a run.
There are two spots, but I don’t just want to qualify, I want to win today.
36
Lincoln
Something changedin Keira on the tenth hole. She stopped holding back. There’s no indecision in her club choice or her swing, and she moves down the course like a machine.
It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. I can’t take my eyes off her, not even as the ball flies through the air. I judge the lay by the cheers and the hint of a smile on Keira’s lips. Then she’s all business again and practically sprinting up the course.
The energy of the crowd buzzes as she and the girl she’s paired with arrive at the eighteenth hole. Keira only needs par to tie for first and secure a spot at the Open.
She glances around as if she’s seeing her surroundings for the first time in a while, and the crowd roars as she scans it slowly, hopefully letting the moment sink in. I can see her exhaustion as her chest rises and falls with a deep breath.
She’s tired. She has to be. The fact that she’s pushed through after her body was so depleted yesterday is catching up to her. The adrenaline is probably wearing off too. You can only ride the high for so long.
“You got this, baby,” I quietly mumble, lift my hat, and run my fingers through my hair before putting the hat back on. I’m more nervous watching her than I ever was for my own events.
I stay in her line of vision, always where she can find me if she needs a familiar face. I’m honestly not sure if my presence is helpful or a hindrance after I ran in and professed my love seconds before the biggest day of her life. Not my finest moment, but I couldn’t hold it in a second longer.
