Alicia Martinez is determined to keep a low profile. After a tough year, she deletes all of her social media and retreats to the small coastal town of St Andrews in the hopes of starting over - and avoiding her tumultuous past.
Oliver Hogarth is a...
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Alicia froze.
She had pictured this moment a thousand times before. Greg, finding her at a bus stop. Greg, appearing in an aisle at the grocery store. In her most vivid nightmares, Greg broke into her family's house at night while Alicia was forced to watch from hundreds of miles away, powerless to stop him.
She'd always imagined bravely standing up to Greg. Telling him firmly that he needed to leave, that she didn't want him in her life anymore.
But when it came down to it, Alicia couldn't move at all.
"What the hell?" Antony squinted at the approaching figure. "What does that dude think he's doing?"
She shook her head.
The commentator's microphone crackled. "Sir, please remove yourself from the course at once. Play is still ongoing."
Greg ignored him.
He looked almost exactly the same as she remembered. Reddish-blond hair. Dark blue eyes. An upright walk, as if a golf club was glued to his back. She used to love that walk; she thought it made him look confident. Now, it made her skin crawl.
"Alicia," Antony murmured. "He's coming this way."
"I know."
"Don't worry." Antony swung the iron. "Fans get crazy sometimes. I'm sure security will deal with him."
"You don't understand." Her lips felt numb. "Greg's not a fan."
"Wait. You know him?"
"Yes." She licked her lips. "Or at least, I thought I did, once."
Antony's eyes darkened. He shifted slightly, moving subtly in front of her. Security was already swarming the course, like black ants crawling over a rotting kiwi, but they weren't fast enough; Greg was running towards them, now.
And then another figure joined the fray.
"Oh, no," Alicia whispered. "No, no."
Antony's club hovered in the air. "Holy shit. Is that Ollie?"
It was.
He was sprinting across the golf course, his blue eyes narrowed in determination. Further back, she could see Brooks shoving people aside, desperately trying to get over the fence. He shouted something at Oliver, who ignored him.
"Gentlemen." The microphone crackled again. "I must now ask both of you to remove yourself from the course immediately."
Oliver launched himself at Greg.
They collapsed in a tangle of limbs. Oliver kneed him in the stomach, and Greg made an oof noise, sprawling backward. Fury was painted into every line of his face.
The microphone whined. "Gentlemen, I really must insist—" The commentator paused. "Good lord. Is that Oliver Hogarth? The bassist in The Patriots?"
