back to Peyton. “What?”
“Kara, you’ve got to admit it, he’s a little more . . . uptight about things than most.”
An up-and-coming young golfer whose name I could never remember came from behind Peyton, punched the side of his arm. “Keep making those putts and you’re a shoo-in next month.”
Peyton turned away from me and shook the young man’s hand. “Yeah, but I’m watching you carefully . . . you’re coming up behind me way too fast.”
The golfer smiled, hiked his bag up over his shoulder. “See you tonight?”
Peyton glanced at me, then back at him. “Yeah, sure. . . .”
The man walked off, and Peyton pulled me into a long kiss. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying to be cruel about your dad, really. I have just truly never seen anything like it.”
“It’s his way of . . . keeping some control over his life. Ever since Mama . . . left us.” A wounded piece of me attempted to rise behind my chest with tears; I pushed it down and touched Peyton’s arm. “Where are you going tonight that you have to miss family dinner?”
“They’re every week. We won’t be able to go every week after we’re married. . . . You know that, right?”
“No, I don’t know that. Family dinner is very important to us. It keeps us . . . I don’t know . . . together, I guess.”
“But when we’re married”—He snuggled up to my neck with his lips, then whispered in my ear, “we’ll have our own family dinners.”
A smile spread across my face, and a tingle reached beyond my neck to my stomach.
“Well,” I said, “where will you be tonight?”
“Ah, big party for Lee Pennington’s birthday.”
“Oh?” I raised my eyebrows. I’d been working for the tour long enough to know where Lee Pennington liked to celebrate. “Nice, Peyton. Great way to spend a night without your fiancée.”
“It’s not a big deal, just a party.”
“Probably at a strip club,” I said between clenched teeth. I felt repulsion toward him I didn’t want to experience, negativity I wanted to deny. I’d loved him since the first moment he’d told me he loved me, and I wanted to feel jealous, not repelled. I closed my eyes and found that place of adoring him, then opened my eyes. “Don’t go,” I said.
He kissed me. “Why don’t I meet you later tonight?”
“Babe, you’ll be out so late,” I said, unable to hide the barbs that had entered and attached themselves to my words like sand spurs to the cuff of my jeans.
“I’ll try and call.” He had reached for my hand, when three men came from the side and grabbed him. “Come on, buddy . . . let’s get outta here.”
Peyton turned to me, mouthed, “I love you,” and sauntered in his adorable way toward the locker room with his golf bag over his shoulder. A green grass stain ran along the side of his khakis.
I turned away and blew a long exhale through pursed lips. My stomach gripped in a fist. I wasn’t sure why, but I felt off-kilter. There was something I should be looking at, but I didn’t know where to find it. I rubbed my eyes. I was letting the chaos and being overextended affect my feelings, then was placing them smack on top of Peyton. I loved this kind man who’d wrapped his arms and his life around me.
I sat down at a wrought iron table on the round stone patio at the back of the clubhouse, propped my chin in my palm, and dug my elbow into the tiny holes of the iron.
I’d been watching these pro players for years. I knew about their long hours on the road, their late nights with the guys. Right now, with my stomach in a tight lump, my throat constricted, I couldn’t thread the positive feelings through my insides to where love resided. Then I remembered all the things I loved about Peyton: the way he walked, talked, touched me, loved me. I dwelt on the way he made me feel the minute he came in a room—how he filled my heart.
I stood, stretched, and headed home to family dinner—one of the mainstays of life I cherished.
CHAPTER FOUR
The following morning I rose early and finished my three-mile run before the sun met the horizon. I stood on what felt like the edge of the world, but was merely the community dock. This was the only quiet time I would have all day. My breath came quick,