I followed that with looking up Keira.
Keira Brooks. Twenty-one, junior. Played on her local Valley high school team with all-state honors her junior and senior years. Since coming to Valley, she’s placed in a handful of tournaments, missed the cut at the championship last spring, and had her first individual win a few months ago.
After that, I could only find one more tournament she played where she led until the last day and then bombed with three bogeys in a row and tossed a driver into a water hazard. I laughed at that because I could totally picture it. And then saw it for myself when I found a clip on YouTube. Guess that was what she meant by losing her head.
By the time I drag myself through getting ready for the day and get in my vehicle to head back to Scottsdale, I’m behind schedule. But I can probably take care of most of the things I missed last night and this morning with a few phone calls during the drive. When I get home, I can get to my client emails, and shit, I need to check in with all my direct reports too.
There’s really no escape. Anything I put off one day just gets piled onto the next. Still, I think last night might have been worth it; although, I need some caffeine.
At the end of the parking lot, I hesitate to turn right toward the freeway. I rub at the back of my neck and let out a sigh.
It’s none of my business. I have better things to do. I shouldn’t get involved. I have my own shit to handle. I absolutely shouldn’t be angling for ways I can see Keira again. Not only would that be a bad business decision, but also a terrible personal decision.
Fuck.
I turn left.
At the Valley U golf course, I head through the clubhouse and out to the driving range, where I find Mark hitting a few balls. He leans on his driver and waits until I reach him before he says, “Hey, Linc. What are you doing back?”
Shifting awkwardly, I wonder if I made a mistake coming here without calling first . . . or just coming at all. I’m winging it, and I hate winging shit.
“I took a look at the videos from yesterday and thought it might be useful if I could sit with the boys and talk them through what I see.”
“Yeah, of course.” He gives me a weird look. “I don’t have the budget to pay for another day.”
I hold up a hand. “No, of course not, and in fact, I’m crediting you back for yesterday. We’re friends—or, at least, we used to be. I just want to help. They seem like good kids, and like I said yesterday, I really appreciate that you’ve been such a big supporter of my business. I should have offered long before you reached out.”
“All right, don’t get too soft on me or I’ll think too hard about why you’re being so accommodating. The truth is that I don’t care why. I need all the help I can get. Practice isn’t for a few hours still though.”
I nod. “I figured. Uh, one other thing. Do you think it would be okay if I offered my services to anyone that comes by today?”
His brows furrow. “You mean like a public clinic?”
“Sure. To anyone. Not all my clients are competitive athletes, you know?”
“Yeah, I don’t see a problem with that. Just tell me what you need.”
Mark and I drag a table and three chairs outside and he erects a sunshade over me while I setup my laptop.
I’m actually a little disappointed I didn’t think to do this yesterday. Yeah, it takes more time, but it’ll be easier to provide specific and hopefully helpful feedback when I can show them exactly what I mean on the video.
It’s slow for the first hour. A handful of people come by the course, but only one is interested in help.
Lou is a retired Valley professor who, according to him, is trying to figure out what to do with his days now that he’s no longer teaching. He’s a nice guy, and I enjoy chatting with him, but I cringe as I watch his swing back on the screen. There are so many problems that all I can do is help with his setup and grip. Feels like a shallow victory when he masters that and heads off to the driving range.
Mark let his team know I was here again today, so they drop in early, which is nice since I’m twiddling my thumbs and triple guessing being here.
As I suspected, showing them slow-motion clips of their swings gives them a better understanding of what they are doing wrong and where they can improve. The real challenge comes from their ability to change habits that have been ingrained with thousands of golf balls. But it’s a start.
I’m finishing the last review when she arrives with a few other girls she was with last night. Her eyes narrow in confusion and she slows her pace. The girl to her left, Erica, I think, says something that Keira waves off.
I meet her halfway.
A small smile tugs at the corners of her mouth. “You’re back.”
“So are you.”
She tilts her head toward the girls she walked away from. “We have practice in fifteen minutes. What are you doing here?” She looks past me to my tent setup and smirks. “Another clinic with the boys’ team?”
“No. Well, yes, but not them exclusively. It’s a free clinic and it’s completely open to the public.”
“The public?” Her voice lifts an octave while she puts it together. A slow smile spreads across her face.
“Maybe you could let the public know? What time is practice over?”
“Five.” She’s still looking at me as if she maybe doesn’t believe I’m for real. “You’ll still be here?”
“I’ll still be here.”
The hopeful and pleased look she gives me makes my day seem not quite so wasted.
As the girls’ team heads off to practice, the driving range gets crowded with locals. I’m too busy to watch the time pass, but two hours later, the Valley U women’s golf team starts to fill my line. Though Keira is nowhere in sight.
I’m helping the first one of his players, when Coach Potter storms over. “What’s going on here? I thought I said I didn’t want you offering your services to my girls?”
The young girl in front of me, a freshman named Clarice, wilts in his presence.
“It’s a free swing review. What could it hurt?”
“Clarice, go on now,” Potter instructs. “Practice is over for the day.”
I step to him, giving Clarice and the rest of the girls my back, and lower my voice. “I get that you want to be the end all be all to these girls, but you might consider that I have something to offer them, as do a lot of other people.”
He scoffs, shoots me a glare, and then sends one over my shoulder to the girls as well. What a prick.
“My way. My rules,” he grits out and pushes past me, telling his girls to go home and rest up.
One by one, they shuffle away, looking defeated. Once again, I look around for Keira, finally finding her on the driving range. Her gaze follows Coach and her teammates, eyes blazing with hatred I’m finding it hard to blame her for.
She walks toward us with purpose, ponytail swinging side to side with every determined step. She stops and briefly chats with one of the girls, jaw tightens, and then she marches toward me.
Her teammates watch her with something like admiration, and when she reaches the tent, she hesitates for only a second before walking in and taking a seat.
“Are you sure about this?” I ask quietly.
She meets my gaze and then lets it slide to the left so she’s glaring at her coach. “Definitely.”