‘Agreed, Carl. And even though Kendrick is second on the leader board at the moment, it’s apparent that he’s been somewhat off his game this time.’

Ward snorted, narrowed his eyes at the screen and made a silent prayer. He didn’t believe in manifesting, but if he could retrospectively will the asshat’s ball into the sand by the power of mind alone, there’s no way he would pass up the opportunity.

On the screen, the golfer and his caddie consulted, deciding on the best approach. Then Kendrick sidled up to the ball and made a few dweeby practice strokes. The sunlight glinted off his blond hair, and Ward sat forward and leaned in towards the screen, studying the guy’s face.

Yup, the kind of face you wanted to punch.

Kendrick pulled his club back and made the shot, deftly hitting the ball. Its trajectory propelled it up, up, up – and then the spin took it straight down. Right into the bunker.

Ward jumped up from the couch and let out a whoop as if he himself had just scored a Stanley Cup winner – instead of actively rooting against another athlete in a TV replay of a tournament that finished weeks before.

‘Keep those shots coming, jackass,’ he muttered.

Speaking of . . . Ward glanced at his crystal rocks glass. It was empty. But a miss like that deserved a celebration.

He went to pour himself another two fingers of bourbon as his thoughts returned to Hannah and he wondered if she’d been there at the tournament. He scowled at the notion that she might even have been there on the sidelines, cheering for Kendrick and encouraging him.

At the very same time she’d been encouraging him, but in an altogether different way.

Ward conceded to himself now that he wasn’t just sitting there like a loser watching the replay just to wish bad vibes on Kendrick, but also trying to figure out if he and Hannah truly were still together or had been, back at the time the tournament took place here in New York. He’d been scanning the crowds whenever the cameras panned around the course and hadn’t seen her. But that didn’t mean she hadn’t been there.

The significance of Kendrick answering his call to her, and what it suggested, had sent Ward into an even deeper spiral than the one he’d already been struggling to climb out of since that night in the park. The humiliation of that evening overall still burned; public embarrassment aside, it was a night of reckoning overall. With Hannah, he’d missed the signals – or worse, misread them altogether. Had taken her interest, enthusiasm and generosity toward him to mean something more.

Again.