Page 129 of Fangirl Down

They laughed. Wells didn’t feel anywhere near better. But he wasn’t alone.

And that was something.

“I’m going to head to my room,” Wells said, standing up and laying some cash on the bar. “If you think giving me a little sympathy means I’m not going to gun for you tomorrow, Calhoun, you’ve wasted your time.”

Calhoun held his hand out for a shake and, though he narrowed his eyes skeptically, Wells gripped the man’s hand and shook. “I’ll hate your guts through every hole,” the blond man said. “But if I said it hasn’t been inspiring watching you rise from the grave, I’d be lying.” He shook his hand one final time. “Good luck tomorrow.”

“Same to you. You’ll need it.”

Calhoun chuckled. “Enjoy your bath.”

Wells decided to let Calhoun have the parting shot. His spirits were rapidly dimming and he couldn’t think of a good rejoinder, anyway. The simple act of standing up and operating his wallet was as complicated as performing open heart surgery on rollerskates—andthey were each missing a wheel. He just wanted to go somewhere dark, lie down, and think of Josephine like the heartsick bastard that he was.

Before he left the bar area completely, Wells nodded at his former mentor. “See you, Buck.”

“Night, Wells.” He started past the older man, drawing up short when the man caught his elbow. “Let’s have lunch sometime. All right?”

Some part of Wells wanted to break out the bitterness.Now that I’m winning, you want lunch, huh? Nah, I’ll pass.But his eyes were a little more open tonight. Maybe clarity was a side effect of ripping out his own heart and throwing it into the ocean. It was possible—more than possible, really—that Wells was the one who’d been doing the wronging in the relationship with his mentor. Not the other way around. And if that was the case, he needed to own it.

“Yeah, Buck. I’d like that.”

Chapter Thirty-Five

Josephine polished a pint glass and set it on the wooden shelf behind the register, turning it so the course logo was facing forward. Without pausing for thought or rest, she flew to the next box of inventory, slid the X-Acto knife out of her back pocket, and sliced the tape, ripping the cardboard flaps wide. And did her best not to stare at the growing mountain of flowers, teddy bears, and bubble bath sets sitting just inside the door. Every time she turned around, another gift was being delivered. Accepting them was easy, but allowing herself to interpret their meaning was harder. She wasn’t there yet.

So she kept stocking. Kept pushing.

She was so close to having the whole shop set up. They’d open the doors tomorrow.

Right on time.

She wouldn’t have spare moments to think about what was happening in Georgia. In fact, she didn’t even want to know. It was day three of the Masters. Jim had let it slip on the phone this morning that Wells had made the cut and Josephine had been almost alarmed by the rush of giddy pride that had rocketed through her bloodstream, but beyond that, she didn’t even know his current score. That was fine. She needed to focus on the shop.

He didn’t want her there. Otherwise shewouldbe in Georgia.

End of story.

But as much as Josephine wasn’t in Georgia, Wellswasin Florida with her in so many ways. As agreed upon, half of his winnings from Torrey Pines had been transferred to Josephine from his accountant yesterday, and after reeling over her new financial security, she’d promptly enrolled in a health insurance plan. As soon as she paid the first premium, she’d burst into noisy tears. The upheaval of relief made Josephine wonder if she’d suppressed her worry over not having insurance for so long, she’d gotten used to living with the stress. And that realization was something she desperately wanted to share with Wells, which left her very conflicted.

Mad at him. Missing him. Mad at him. Grateful.

Josephine finished the glassware display and moved on to stacking boxes of golf balls, arranging them according to brand. When the letters on the box started to blur a little, she remembered her glucose monitor had been going off for fifteen minutes and forced herself to pop some tabs, chewing almost resentfully.

Breaks gave her time to think, and she really, really didn’t want to think.

Thinking made the center of her chest feel like the Grand Canyon, just a yawning, arid place with acres of scorched earth and sharp plants.

Tell me you fucking love me.

For some reason, that was the part of their argument she replayed most. Because it was so Wells. SolikeWells to demand something delicate with the roar of a king. That’s what he’d been doing all along. Shouting his insecurities at her and disguising them as arguments. And she loved him so much for it. She loved him so much she could cry enough tears to fill a lake, just for missing his presence. The scruff of his chin, the scent of his deodorant, the roughness of his hips, those epiphanies that struck his brown eyes when she said something that made sense on the golf course, his villainous frown. His deep voice, his grudgingsmile. The way he praised her, challenged her, coveted her. Spending a single second missing those things felt like a year.

And apart from that, apart from the razor-edged pining in her chest, she wondered if maybe, just maybe, he’d truly done the right thing. She was hurt and bitter and still in shock from the man she loved banishing her, but the Golden Tee would be empty right now if Wells hadn’t sent her away. It would be a shell. Or maybe the course would be showing it to prospective replacements. People who wanted to give it a different name, maybe do a wholenewrenovation.

That would have killed her.

Missing Augusta was killing her, too. Slowly and painfully. Their cable had been installed this morning at the shop and the desire to turn on the television was high. But no, she was too afraid to find out he’d backslid and needed her.

Not when she wasn’t there to help.

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