A sound leaked out of her that sounded like air escaping a crushed balloon and that’s exactly what she was. A piece of Mylar that had been filled past maximum capacity. As soon as Wells said the word “pressure” out loud, she recognized how much she’d been carrying around. But she was way too stubborn to let it all go. “I love the Golden Tee. I want to enrich my family’s legacy, but . . . this can be my dream, too.”
“Josephine. Stop.” He took her by the shoulders and shook her a little. “Listen to me. You’re the most constant person I’ve ever met. You show up—relentlessly—for the people you care about. You showed up for me over and over and over, well past the point you should have. Because you are so fucking loyal, you don’t know how to quit.”
“I’m not quitting!”
He dragged in a breath. “Then you’re fired.”
The blow hit her out of nowhere, like a line drive to the stomach. Even as she reeled, however, her heart wouldn’t quite let her believe what she’d heard. “Yeah, right. How many times have you said that? You’re full of it, Wells.”
He appeared winded, like he’d just sprinted the full length of a course. “I mean it this time, Josephine. You’re fired. You’re no longer my caddie. I’m sorry.” Wells reached for her and she flinched backward, numb, only remotely capable of feeling her hip ram into the wall. “I don’t know any other way to do this. I’m doing what’s best for both of us. You need to go run the pro shop of your dreams. And me?” He seemed to be struggling for an admission. “I think I need to know I’m capable of winning without you. No, we both need to know that. Otherwise, I’m always going to be an obligation, not the man you want to spend your life with.”
A massive rupture took place in the middle of her chest. All she could hear was choices being made on her behalf—and she resented all of it. She’d claimed her independence a long time ago and no one took that away from her. No one. “Spend my life with you, Wells? You’re firing me.”
“Christ. I’m not firing you as my fucking girlfriend, Josephine. I’m in love with you.”
Her heart got trapped in her mouth, but it was too broken and bleeding to get any enjoyment from those words. “I can’t believe you’re telling me this now.”
“Yeah, I was hoping it would be a little more romantic, too!” Wells shouted, suddenly looking haggard. He paced away, hands dragging down his face, before wheeling back around. “Don’t you think I want to be selfish? Don’t you think I want to say ‘Yes, great idea, hire a manager’ so I can keep you with me on the tour? Of course, I do. I hate being away from you, Josephine. You know that. This is your fault for teaching me how to be selfless and wise and considerate. I want you to have your dream more than I want mine now.”
Oh God, she could feel herself entering the bargaining phase of grief and she couldn’t do anything to stop herself from going there. The more he spoke, the more she loved him and the more she was determined to stop him from being his own worst enemy. “You threw a reporter’s camera in a pond last week. You’re a beast with the media. We’ve come so far in just two tournaments, Wells. Imagine what we could do with one more? Maybe two.”
There was so much affection in his eyes when he looked at her, she almost had to kneel down to shoulder it all. “You will never leave me, belle. I have to do it for you.”
She shook her head, tears splashing down her cheeks. “No, you don’t.”
He closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them again, a fine sheen had developed. “I had no idea what unconditional love looked like until you, Josephine. You taught me how to be like this. And I will love you whether or not you’re helping me win some fucking game. We. Are bigger. Than a game. Someday, when you’re done being angry with me for this, I will be waiting to show you that. I’ll invent new ways to show you.” He covered his eyes with a hand and took a long shuddering breath. “But right now, you have to go.”
The words were hardly out of his mouth before Josephine was moving blindly through the apartment, scooping her things off various surfaces, the floor, her legs almost too unsteady to hold her up. Was she mad at him? Unspeakably. He had no right to cut her off at the knees like that. Who did he think he was, making choices for her? Calling her father?
Throwing in her face how easily she’d been willing to abandon her own dream.