The golf course looked like it was covered in glitter that morning. A shimmer blanketing every surface, everywhere I looked.

Tate looked like he was surrounded by a halo as he walked toward me. Just me and him again. It would always be me and him.

"I figured it out," he told me.

This was perfect. My life was perfect. I felt it. I knew it.

He twirled me around and kissed me. One eye was a sapphire and another a chocolate diamond. "I love you. Everything is okay. I'm okay. I did it."

"I love you, Tate. I knew you would." I smiled. My entire body was warm. We were fusing together.

I'd never seen Tate look so happy. "I can give you everything. I want to marry you, Devin. I want to be the father of your children. I want to grow old with you."

It felt too perfect. I frowned. I looked around.

Why were we the only people on the golf course?

No. I told myself to cling to it. I looked back into Tate's face.

"What'd you say?" I asked.

His mouth moved but no words came out.

"Tell me again," I begged. "Please."

But his features blurred.

No! I screamed in my head. Don't! Stay here, I tried to will my mind. It's perfect here.

Then I startled awake back to imperfect reality.

My face was still puffy. My body felt stiff. I'd cried all my tears out. There was nothing left. I was glad though because I wasn't going to subject Tate to my tears anymore after that.

I rolled over onto my stomach and buried my face in my pillow. I needed to talk to him—sober, obviously.

I moved slowly around my room.

My espresso machine purred awake. I chose a pretty ice blue capsule and popped it in the machine. When it was finished, I popped in another. I needed the pick-me-up. My eyes looked like bloated sinkholes.

After I showered, I agonized over what to wear—possibly stupidly—because it seemed like a major decision. Color, length, and cut all seemed to say something, but I wasn't sure what I wanted to say.

Dress was we're thinking about the same thing.

Pink was press my body against his.

Low-cut was render him powerless.

I mean, there was no situation-appropriate outfit. I needed sensible (which wasn't really me).

I dug around in my suitcase and pulled out the thing I'd brought in case of an emergency—skinny jeans and a cute white blazer. I was cookie-cutter business casual, but still—I'd say I looked damn cute.

Now I just needed to fix my face.

A few makeup tricks and a nice curled blow out later, I was ready to venture out into public.

Of course, the golf course was not coated in glitter. Nothing was luminescent.

It looked the same as the day before. Maybe a little less idyllic.

I tried to blend in with the small crowd that had formed. The team started to trickle out onto the course, and Seth and I found each other immediately.

He looked around before he cast his worried gaze to me and took long, quick strides to reach me.

"Tate's not with you?" he asked, running both his hands through his hair at the top of his head.

I think I somehow knew Tate disappeared again. The look in his eyes when I'd walked off the elevator the night before was haunting me. Like he already knew he was going to do something stupid, and he was going to break both our hearts.

"No," I stressed. "Why would you think that?"

Seth cursed under his breath. "He tossed and turned for forever before he made a comment about how he couldn't even sleep without you next to him anymore. I thought he was going to see you."

I laughed to keep myself from crying. Weirdly, I thought they might have been happy tears. "You shouldn't have let him leave, silly," I joked.

"He's a grown-ass man," Seth muttered, not responding to my humor.

"Don't worry about it. He'll be here," I said confidently. I looked at the time on my phone. "He technically has another fifteen minutes, right?"

And strangely, I was confident. Tate would never not finish a tournament. He wouldn't leave his entire team hanging in the middle of it.

"Yeah," Seth confirmed, checking his watch.

"He'll be here then," I repeated and shrugged. "And he'll ignore us."

I should reconsider a career in fortune telling because that's exactly what happened. Tate walked in thirteen minutes later with his golf bag slung over his shoulder, and he didn't set his eyes on either one of us once. I knew it was because he needed to win and letting in reality would break his concentration.

He looked passive. His eyes held what looked like a tinge of a headache, and he kept rubbing his neck muscles like he couldn't quite let his shoulders relax.

I would have to find a different way in.

So I gave Tate his space. Well, as much as I could. I still had to follow him and take his photos like I was attached to him with a thirty yard string.

To keep my emotions in check, I just kept reminding myself that Tate was doing what he thought was best for me. He loved me. I knew that. And for some reason, he thought he had to let me go because he loved me.

When you love someone, you don't really own them. As much as both of us liked to fantasize and as much as Tate was demanding and assertive, he knew that.

But I got a say in what was best for me too. He didn't get to make the decision for the both of us without letting me in.

So, after we won, I knew what was coming. He didn't want to let me in. I wasn't sure he would ever tell me if he got his way.

I could feel his eyes on me—the intense heat of them from across the eighteenth hole—as I packed up my camera equipment.

I took a deep breath and stood.

I love you, he mouthed. I'm sorry.

And then he was gone.

| ⛳️ |

I dragged Seth into my hotel room by the shirt.

"Are you sure about this?" Seth asked me for the hundredth time.

"Yes," I huffed. "I'm not letting him go that easy. If he thinks I'm going to be the smiling, say-okay-to-everything girl this time and fly back to Florida without him, then he's incredibly stupid. I don't think he intends to come back to school." I pushed Seth toward the stiff muted blue chair in the corner. "Sit."

Seth raised his eyebrows but knew better than to fight me. "This is a side of you I haven't seen," he joked.

"No more people pleasing."

I didn't recognize the ferocity in my own voice.

I found my computer bag resting against the side of the dresser and slid out my laptop. I spun around, lay down on my stomach on the bed, and looked up at Seth as I opened it and smirked.

"Now, let's find him."

Seth nodded and started typing away on his phone.

I focused back on my screen. First things first—I googled Tate Thacker. How else was I supposed to start?

I sifted through page after page of college sports articles. I'd click on one in hopes of reading a quote or finding a picture, but I wasn't getting anywhere. There wasn't any personal information that I could use in them.

"Are you finding anything?" I sighed.

"Nothing useful," Seth replied. "I'm only finding college articles. We need to find high school and junior golf stuff. Like go way back."

"Way back," I confirmed with a nod.

I tried searching Tate's name with old years but didn't get very far. I gave up after the twelfth website I clicked on was just a page listing Tate's final score in some random tournament. "We need specifics," I muttered.

Then it popped in my head. The Charleston Spring Classic—Tate's first tournament. I'd read it enough times on the medal hanging from my bed post.

In the search bar of their website, I typed in Tate's name.

He must have played every year based on the number of articles that contained his name. I scrolled to the very bottom and clicked on the first one from sixteen years earlier.

There it was in the middle of the page—exactly what I hoped to find—a photo of Tate looking pissed and a man smiling with his arm around him. A man who looked exactly like an older version of Tate with two deep brown eyes.

I smiled at baby Tate. A familiar warmth spread out from my heart, filling my chest. He had the medal (my medal) around his neck and was holding a small trophy, seemingly very angry that it wasn't bigger, though he was attempting a small smile.

But the man looked so proud. His smile was radiant and reached his eyes. That same smile that made Tate look like a different person.

I twirled my laptop around. "This is definitely his dad, right?"

Seth's eyes widened when he looked up from his phone. "It has to be. Is there a name?"

I'd been so awestruck, I hadn't read the caption. But there it was, right under the photo.

Thacker, pictured with his father Richard, places second in the 23rd Annual Charleston Spring Classic.

"Richard Thacker," I said excitedly.

"Easy enough."

I'd never seen a picture of a young Tate. He looked scrawny but tall for his age. He'd grown into his facial features so well.

His dad must have been at least six-five. He loomed over Tate. I was shocked at how much they looked alike. The same parted straight brown hair, the same straight nose. I chuckled under my breath at the light blue polo he had on. I got the feeling that while they were very similar, they were probably also very different. His dad looked like he smiled a lot.

Seth let out a triumphant breath. "I think I got an address."

"What would we do without the internet?" I laughed. "Let's go."

The car ride was silent. I was jittery, and words weren't going to help. The confidence I'd found back at the hotel was slowly vanishing as I watched our blue dot get closer to the address I'd punched into my phone.

When the blue dot was on top of our destination, we pulled into a brick driveway. The house was a raised, beautiful, creamy white brick with a garage to the left. Even though it was a bright sunny day, the enormous trees provided a lot of shade.

"Do you think this is it?" I asked Seth.

The driver looked at us both in the rearview mirror, sensing the ever-mounting tension. He put the car in park.

Seth took a deep breath. "Only one way to find out. Do you want me to come with you?"

"No, I don't think so. Just wait until I make sure and then you can go."

Seth nodded but covered my hand resting on the seat when I started to open the door. "I think it's probably... I don't know. A lot more than we realized."

"I know," I said.

I think I'd known that since I'd woken up from my dream. Whatever it was, it was more serious than I'd thought. I'd overlooked the intensity, casting it aside due to Tate's constant demeanor, even though he'd tried to tell me so many times without telling me.

I took the steps up to the front door slowly. It had a geometric wooden pattern with large clear panes of glass. I could see the pristine living room that looked straight out of a magazine—oversized beige chairs, a white fabric sectional, and plants in every corner.

My finger hesitated on the ornate gold door bell. It felt hot from sun. I prepared myself—for what I would say if this was the right house and what I would say if it was the wrong house.

But it was the correct address because the same stunning woman appeared from the back left when I rang it and heard the chime echo inside the house.

My veins constricted, my arms and legs started tingling. I hadn't expected to see her. I had no idea what I had thought I was getting myself into, but I had stupidly assumed it would just be Tate there. Now I had no plan, no words came to mind.

She smiled through the glass when she recognized me and opened the door.

"I'm Lillian," she said softly, warmth spreading from her voice.

She exuded motherly comfort and tenderness. She was barefoot, her long hair was twisted back in a clip, and she was wearing a navy flowing cover up like she'd just been to the beach or the pool.

I pulled at the bottom my blazer self-consciously. I was just going to have to wing it.

Her lips curved up higher when I said, "It's nice to meet you. I'm Devin, Tate's girlfriend."

She stepped to the side.

"Tate's not here, but I'd love for you to come in."