Page 75 of The Boy I Once Loved

“Dylan-“

“Don’t,” he jumps in. “It’s fine. Let’s just have fun tonight, like the good old days. Just me and you against the world El’s.”

"Sure," I tell him with a genuine smile. If there is one thing I'm good at its pulling Dylan from his moods and making him laugh again.

“Stop laughing,” I hiss in annoyance at his smug grin.

He leans on his golf club, looking all perfect and edible. “Maybe you’ll get it on fourth try El. I mean it’s okay, there’s only a small queue forming behind us.”

I look behind him and grimace. There are two families patiently waiting for me to take the shot and move on so that they can have a go. I take up my position and glance over my shoulder. "Stop grinning arsehole, you're putting me off."

He laughs again. “Oh, yeah, because it’s me distracting you that is making you miss the hole. It’s nothing to do with your lousy golfing skills.”

I briefly look over his shoulder to see if the family behind him is watching and I give him the finger. I squint, focusing on the hole and swing my club. The ball moves along at speed and falls right into the hole.

“I did it!” I shout, turning round to him and jumping up and down. “Take that, you stupid dinosaur,” I exclaim lightly smacking the plastic T-Rex with my club. Laughing, Dylan grabs my hand and pulls me along to the next hole.

“Dylan, son.”

Both of our heads whip around at the sound of a very familiar voice. His dad. He's standing just across from us at the start of the course, and with him is I presume his new partner. Wow, she is a lot younger. Smiling, his dad strides over to us and she follows behind him, eyeing Dylan with curiosity.

“Hi Ella,” Mr James says with an awkward smile. His uncertain gaze lands back on his son. “This is a nice surprise.” He looks at his partner and places an arm around her shoulder and brings her forward. “Ella, this is Jodie.”

“Hi,” I say with a smile. I can feel the tension coming from Dylan in waves. This is not good.

Dylan’s eyes land coldly on Jodie’s prominent baby bump and he swallows. “Dad,” he says. His tone cold and unfriendly.

His dad scratches the back of his head, looking nervous. "We thought we'd try out the place. Have you two been before?"

His question is aimed at his son, but Dylan just stands there like a statue.

“No, we haven’t,” I answer. “Dylan suggested we come and try it out.”

Mr James nods his head, his eyes warily landing on his son and I can see longing there, regret, a whole range of emotions.

“Dylan we’d love to have you over for dinner sometime?” Jodie says warmly. She cups her swollen stomach and Dylan just frowns at her in response. “Ella you can come to, of course.”

I smile, feeling fifty shades of awkward. “Thanks, that sounds lovely. We’ll let you know.” I gesture behind us at the two families waiting for the next part of the course. “We should probably move on.”

His dad smiles tightly. “Of course. It’s good to see you son.” He tries one last time to get some kind of response from his son.

“Yep,” Dylan replies with a stiff nod of his head. He wraps an arm around my shoulder. “Come on, El it’s my shot.” He pulls me along without a backward glance, and I look over my shoulder to see the disappointment written all over his dad’s face as Jodie rubs his back in comfort.

Dylan is as stiff as a board as he takes his position and takes his shot. It misses by a mile and he swears and swings his golf club at the fake grass. “Fuck!”

I step up behind him and wrap my arms around his waist, trying to offer him comfort. “Are you okay?”

He sighs. “No. Can we get out of here?” I can feel the pain radiating from him.

I nod and take his hand in mine. I guide us off the course and we hand in our clubs. He’s quiet when we get back in the car and he bangs his fists on the steering wheel and rests his head against it.

“I fucking hate him,” he tells me. “I hate him, and I hate his fucking Jodie and that fucking baby in her belly.”

I stay quiet. Nothing I will say will help right now. If I try to reason with him, he’ll just become defensive and argumentative. “What do you need?”

“I need to get drunk and not feel.”

"Then let's go get hammered," I reply. If that's what he needs, then that's what we'll do.

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