Besides, that information wouldn’t go any further than Buck and the tour chairmen.
“Her family’s pro shop was devastated by this storm and she’s just . . . good. All right? A good person. But I can just tell she’s also clever at reading the course.” Wells’s mouth nudged up at one corner. “She used to whisper conflicting advice to me from behind the rope. One time, she outright argued with my caddie—”
“Wait. Whoa whoa whoa, slow down. You’re talking about that fangirl who used to hold up signs for you down in Florida?”
“She’s not just some fangirl. She’s smart. And dedicated. Or . . . she was.” The throb behind Wells’s eye intensified. “Look, she’s in a bind. If I can finish in the money a few times, she can see her way out of it.”
He could practically hear Buck processing the whole explanation. “Let me get this straight. You expect me to believe you’re coming back on tour . . . purely out of goodwill. You want to help a fan rebuild her pro shop?”
Yes.
And maybe, on some level, she makes me want to try again. One last time.
Wells made a sound in his throat.
Buck’s fingers tapped on an unseen piece of furniture. “I’ll tell you something, but you didn’t hear it from me.”
“Done.”
“The tour has been quiet this year. Viewership is down. There’s no . . . Cinderella story. You know how the fans eat that kind of thing up. After all, you were the Cinderella story once.” He paused. “Against my better judgment, I’ll take this to the commissioner. Down-and-out golfer makes his return for a good cause.”
Wells dug his fingers into the center of his aching forehead and rubbed. “If that’s the story you need to go with to get me back in the lineup, so be it.”
He ignored the voice telling him he’d live to regret that decision.
*
Bright and early on Tuesday morning, Josephine set down her suitcase on her parents’ front stoop and willed herself to ring the doorbell. She had so much to tell them—and they weren’t going to believe a word of it. Probably not until they saw her on television, broadcasting live from the Texas Open in San Antonio in two days’ time.
It had been one week since Wells Whitaker blew back into her life and possibly changed it forever. Being offered a caddie position on the PGA tour was not something that happened to everyday people. In the golf world, caddying for a professional golfer was like finding a pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. Golfers made, in scientific terms, a fuck-ton of money. Winning a major tournament, such as the Masters, paid out 2.5 million dollars for first place. Heck, coming in fortieth place earned thirty grand.
Caddies took 10 percent of the cut, in addition to their salaries.
Every night this week, she’d lain in bed well past midnight staring at the ceiling, spinning fantasy scenarios in her head. What if she could actually help Wells get his missing stroke back? What if he finished high in the money a couple of times? Not only would she be able to afford to rebuild the Golden Tee, but she wouldn’t have to beg her endocrinologist for spare medical supplies. She wouldn’t have to choose between groceries and rent money.
This unexpected fork in the road could be life changing.
Or, leaving Palm Beach when she could be finding a realistic solution to her family and personal problems could make things exponentially worse. She was putting her faith in Wells and it could cost her a lot of valuable time and effort.
There must have been part of Josephine that still believed in Wells, though. A piece of her that had never lost hope or counted him out, because staying home felt like a bigger risk than leaving. And man, she wanted him to win again so badly, the possibility was like a chocolate bar with almonds dangling in her face. Eating it could throw her blood sugar out of whack, but indulging in the anticipation tasted so good, she couldn’t help but reach for it.
Her mother opened the door, pink towel in place around her head. “Joey-Roo. What are you doing standing out here?” Evelyn Doyle leaned to one side. “Is that a suitcase? Did you come for a little staycation? I have sugar-free cookies in the pantry.”
She kissed her mother on the cheek. “No, not a staycation.” Josephine picked up the suitcase and followed her mother inside. “But, obviously, I’ll take some cookies.”
“I always keep them on hand!” Evelyn yelled, hustling through the über-Floridian living room toward the kitchen. The entire house was decorated in various shades of yellow and green, indoor plants in abundance, ceiling fans whirring lazily. A moment later, her mother emerged from the kitchen, shaking a white-and-blue box. “Yum yum!”