Total pages in book: 111
Estimated words: 107453 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 537(@200wpm)___ 430(@250wpm)___ 358(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 107453 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 537(@200wpm)___ 430(@250wpm)___ 358(@300wpm)
Garrett swings his hips, lifts his five-iron, and strikes. He’s a cobra on the golf course, hitting his target with a venomous precision.
The little white ball has no chance against him as it arcs against the blue sky of the early Sunday morning, soaring till it makes landfall maybe twenty feet from the hole.
“And that’s how you do it,” I say, resting my club against my hip so I can clap. I am impressed, but I also want him to stay in a good mood.
“Why are you not mastering the Masters?” Ledger asks—a legit question, the way our agent plays.
Garrett gives an appreciative nod. “Because as good as I am at golf, I’m even better at negotiating.”
“Truth.” He’s a legend with contracts. Sponsorship deals too. My bank account will give him a recommendation letter anytime.
Garrett lets out a deep breath and takes off his shades, hooking them on the neck of his pastel yellow polo. “So, you’re leaving this afternoon,” he says, returning to the topic of our abbreviated morning round of golf—on the first few holes we debriefed him on the plans for the trip. “And you’re sure she’s up for it?”
Even though the jet is booked, I feel a little like a kid asking his dad’s permission to go away with friends for a few days. “She is,” I say with confidence that I hope masks how awkward I feel talking to him about honeymooning with his sister.
I shouldn’t feel weird telling him. Yet I do. I still feel tense, too, even after Ledger and I talked last night. I hate feeling unsure of anything. I like knowing what I’m doing on the ice, in the net, in my life. I like things to…work out.
Ledger rests his golf club on his shoulder. “She wants to go. She put a lot of effort into planning her honey—trip,” Ledger says, quickly changing his word choice. “Said she’d saved up for it for a while before the fuckcake took off.”
Garrett lifts a brow, a small smile tipping his lips. “You’re using Aubrey’s favorite insult?”
Ledger gives a small smile. “Seems I am. Because he is. We paid him a visit last night.”
Immediately, Garrett’s grin vanishes. His lips are a ruler. He raises both hands, the gloved one still holding his club. “Do not tell me two of my clients got into a scuffle. Do not even tell me there will be video surfacing of you guys roughing him up. I don’t need you behaving like assholes.” His voice doesn’t rise. It deepens. And I know this guy. He’s the picture of unruffled chill no matter what, where, or when. But when he uses that voice, he means business. He whips his gaze from me to Ledger. “What have I told you? There are cameras everywhere. Also, no. Just no.”
These are the roles we’ve played our whole life. Garrett is the straightlaced man. I’m the troublemaker. “Dude. We only roughed him up a little bit outside an ice cream shop. Relax. I don’t think anyone was watching. Ledge, did anyone see?”
“Not that I saw,” Ledger says, selling it perfectly.
Unflappable, unbreakable Garrett draws a deep breath. “No big deal. I’ll call the agency’s PR team. We’ll sort this out. It was a misunderstanding,” he says to himself, already planning the spin.
I put Garrett out of his misery. “Seriously? I save all my fight for the ice. We brought him a cardboard dick.”
Garrett jerks his gaze my way. “What?”
I give him a brief rundown of events, and pretty soon, Garrett’s cracking up on the course. When he recovers, he grabs his golf bag, drops his club into it, then slings the bag over his shoulder. He doesn’t like to use a golf cart; his life’s mantra is why take the elevator when there are stairs.
Mine too.
“I appreciate you guys giving him a talking to,” Garrett says, shaking his head in obvious disgust as we grab our bags, too, and walk up a small hill with him. “The amount of cleanup I had to do yesterday was insane.”
“How did it all go?” Ledger asks.
“Let’s just say it’s a damn good thing Aiden’s leaving town. He’ll never be able to show his face at his dad’s pie shop again. And listen, thanks for looking out for Aubrey. She’s gotta be hurting right now. It’ll be good for her to get away. I’d go with Sophie and the girls but…”
“Lina and Rory are starting preschool this week,” Ledger supplies. “How are my godchildren doing?”
Garrett smiles proudly. “The best.”
I clear my throat. “Ahem. Lina is yours. Rory is mine.”
As we walk under a giant willow tree, Ledger stage whispers, “Right, right. You’re totally not a figurehead godfather when I’m the real one.”
“Now, now, kids, there’s enough of me for both of you,” Garrett says as we near the next hole. But he goes quiet, his brow creasing as if he’s considering a problem. “There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you guys.”