“Mmm-hmm,” Rodney vibrates. “I saw you at the driving range this morning. It was ugly.”
“Fuck off.” Landon swings, and the ball soars into the trees.
“That wasn’t even in the general direction of the green!” Rodney explodes.
Landon turns around with a red face.
“Cut me some fucking slack. I’ve never done this before!”
“Obviously. That was just insulting. Bagger Vance is rolling over in his grave right now!”
Me and Telly can’t help but snicker from the cart. This round is going to be comical if Rodney keeps riding Landon like this.
Three holes later, Landon is about ready to strangle Rodney. Or beat him to death with a club. He hasn’t let up on him for a second, and the tension is running high.
“These two be acting a fool.” Telly shakes his head as Rodney tries to direct Landon while he putts.
“I couldn’t have said it better myself.” I laugh as I remove my sunglasses to clean them. Just then I hear “Fore!” and before I know it, I’m choking and sputtering for air on the ground.
“Jesus Christ! You only call ‘fore!’ when you drive!” Rodney roars as the three of them hover over me. “You’re a menace to society holding a fucking golf club.”
I clutch my neck as the throbbing pain blinds me.
“Here.” Telly comes and goes in a flash before pressing a handful of ice to the side of my neck. He must have grabbed it from the cooler on the cart. “Can you breathe, Q?”
I suck in a few deep breaths as my vision clears. “I’m good. Get me up.”
Telly and Rodney haul me off the grass as I press the melting ice to my jugular.
“Q, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to . . . Rodney just pissed me off, and I fucking swung.”
I hold my hand up. There feels like a lump forming in my throat. “It’s okay,” I assure Landon. “Karma, I’m sure.”
All three of them look at me oddly.
“Did the ball hit your throat or your head?” Rodney asks.
“Throat. For sure.” I drop my hand, and they all grimace.
“Shit, that looks like the most painful hickey on Earth.”
“Crap.” I pull my phone out and switch the camera view. Jesus. My neck is an angry black and blue, and if you look close enough, you can even see indentations from the divots on the golf ball.
“Keep some ice on it, Q. You,”—Rodney points to Landon—“I’m confiscating your clubs. You’re a cerebral hemorrhage waiting to happen.”
I wince, unpleasant memories from high school flooding me. I actually suffered from a cerebral hemorrhage and almost didn’t live to tell about it.
“That’s bullshit. If you would just lay off and let me play . . .” Landon rushes him, and Telly gets between them.
“Yo, chill. This is supposed to be fun. It’s my bachelor party. Things are just kicking up. I don’t want you at each other’s throats all weekend.”
“Me neither,” I second the motion. “Especially if there will be casualties involved.”
“Sorry. His swing is just so insulting.” Rodney rakes his hands through his hair.
“Your fucking face is insulting,” Landon mumbles under his breath, but we all hear him perfectly clear.
Telly breaks the tension with a loud belly laugh. “Stop playin’ already. I want to finish this round. I’m kicking all your asses.”
