Fangirl Down (Big Shots, #1)

“I’m not so sure, Wells . . .” Jim trailed off. “I mean, it’s the Masters, right? You need her.”

The numbness crept into every corner of Wells’s body as the crux of the matter washed over him like a ten-story wave. “She doesn’t think I can do it without her.” His legs wouldn’t hold him anymore and he dropped into one of the chairs. “And why would she think any different when everyone has been telling her for weeks that she’s responsible for my comeback. I reinforced that. Didn’t I? I leaned on her too much and now . . . she’s going to give up the Golden Tee to caddie for me. Is that what’s happening here?”

Wells was going to be sick. You selfish piece of garbage.

Jim broke into his shame spiral. “She’s trying to get an extension from the course—”

“An extension won’t matter. It’s only temporary. After the Masters, it’ll be another tournament. Another one after that.” It hurt to breathe. “She’s too loyal to leave me.”

Just like she’d always been.

Standing on the sidelines, his stubborn fangirl to the bitter end, no matter how badly he played. Holding up her sign. Wearing his discontinued merchandise. Rain or shine. Of course she wasn’t going back to Palm Beach to leave him to compete in the Masters alone, especially after his continual bad behavior when she missed two measly days in California. How had he not seen this? How had he not recognized the pressure bearing down on Josephine?

No. He couldn’t let this happen.

He wouldn’t let the woman he loved give up her dream out of loyalty to him.

Otherwise, he was never worthy of that loyalty in the first place.

“I’ll make sure she’s home,” Wells said, raggedly, ending the call.

And then he spent the night planning the hardest conversation of his life.

*

Wells wasn’t in bed when Josephine woke up.

She frowned into the pillow, rolled over to stretch her sore muscles. If they continued having sex at this rate, she was canceling her gym membership.

“You don’t have a gym membership,” she yawned to herself, sitting up. Wanting to sneak one more look at the pictures her father had sent of the Golden Tee under construction, Josephine picked her phone up off the nightstand and scrolled through her camera roll, her stomach a combination of dread and excitement. More than anything, she wanted to show these pictures to Wells. He would be happy for her. He’d be interested and he’d probably have great suggestions, too, but . . . she was avoiding the conversation.

Not only with Wells.

She was avoiding it with herself.

She’d written an email to the owner of Rolling Greens asking for an extension on opening the doors of the new and improved Golden Tee, but although the owner had been following her journey with Wells on television, he’d apologetically declined. In fact, he’d seemed even more eager for Josephine to return to Palm Beach, now that she had some notoriety behind her, hoping it would earn him some clout with club members.

What was she going to do?

She didn’t know. Every day, she woke up thinking the answer would have made itself clear, but she quickly became absorbed by Wells, by the magic they made.

By love.

Their relationship wasn’t some temporary flight of fancy. It was built on rock. And she became more and more positive of that every minute they spent together. They’d seen each other at their worst and best, and they supported each other unconditionally. This man was the one great love of her life and she wanted to stay with him a little longer. She just needed to make sure Wells was solid and wouldn’t self-destruct at the first sign of adversity.

Then she would go.

Yeah right.

She looked at the completed construction pictures on her phone one last time, no choice but to acknowledge the wistfulness in her chest, before setting it back on the side table, facedown. Quickly, she finger-combed her hair and pulled on Wells’s discarded T-shirt, detouring to the en suite bathroom to brush her teeth before venturing out to the living room.

She stopped short when she found Wells sitting on the couch. Shirtless in sweatpants.

The television wasn’t on. He wasn’t reading or looking at his phone.

He was just . . . sitting there.

A finger of alarm traced down her spine, but she shook it off.

Maybe he was visualizing the course at Augusta. That wouldn’t be unusual.

“Morning.” She circled the couch and sat down beside him. “I’m usually the one who wakes up first. Everything okay?”

He didn’t answer right away. “I don’t know.”

Nerves crept into her throat, but she laughed through them. “Why does it feel like I just walked into a breakup?”

Wells flinched. Just the slightest gathering of his shoulder muscles—

And the air evaporated from Josephine’s lungs.

“Oh my God,” she managed, pushing off the couch onto legs that were suddenly nothing more than cooked spaghetti noodles. “A-are you breaking up with me?”

Wells shot to his feet as well, looking pissed. “Are you serious, Josephine? I am not breaking up with you,” he gritted out. “Don’t even say those words out loud.”

The roiling in her stomach settled. Slightly. “Then what’s wrong?”

“What’s wrong?” He shoved five fingers through his hair and took a deep breath, visibly calming himself down. “You’ve been hiding the screen of your phone, staring off into space when you think I’m not paying attention. And I think part of me knew what was going on, especially after days passed and you hadn’t said one word about the Golden Tee. So I . . . called Jim last night.” He took a step toward Josephine, where she’d frozen in place by the glass door that led to the balcony. “When were you going to tell me that the Golden Tee has to open its doors by next week, Josephine?”

It was all real now.

More than just words on her phone and a problem for tomorrow.

It was big and messy and she had to deal with it out loud. Right now.

“I’m going to call the owner of the course today and try to make him see reason.” Her voice was veering toward high-pitched, apprehensive, but she couldn’t seem to control it. “I can’t miss the Masters, Wells.”

“Josephine,” he said calmly, though his eyes were anything but. “You should be in Palm Beach, getting the shop ready. I would have gone with you. I would have helped.”

“I know,” she whispered.

“Then why stay quiet about it?”

“I don’t know.”

“Yes, you do. We both know.”

Josephine shook her head. She even had the impulse to run. Just run straight out the door and not have to hear anymore.

“Yes, we do,” Wells continued in a gentler tone, closing the distance between them and cradling her face in his hands. “You’re afraid to tell me you’re not going to be caddying for me anymore. Let’s just get it on the table, belle. We don’t hide from each other.”

With those meaningful words in her ears and his familiar, beloved hands holding her cheeks, coupled with his nearness and the scent of him, Josephine was about to have a moment of weakness. A really, really big one. Someday she would look back and excuse herself for being a woman so in love, she was willing to give up everything to maintain the feeling. Keep the connection burning bright. To continue living the fairy tale no matter what it cost. To do what was best for this person she cared about, adored, needed.

“I’m sorry I hid it from you. It’s just that . . . I’ve been thinking. Maybe I could hire a manager for the Golden Tee, so I can stay on tour with you.” She forced a laugh, even as tears sprang to her eyes, and staunchly ignored the stab of self-betrayal in her abdomen. “I mean, I would look really cute in that white caddie jumpsuit at Augusta.”

Wells looked . . . frozen.

“Hire a manager?” His hands fell away from her face and hung at his sides. “You must really believe I can’t continue winning without you. If you’re willing to do that. Let someone come in and live your dream. You would hate every second of it.”