Leon

The next morning, bright and early, I'm at the golf course with James, Scott, and Kit. The morning sun has chased away any remnants of last night's storm, so the weather is already beginning to heat up beneath the hot summer sun. As is the game; James and Scott are beginning to become frustrated with the fact that Kit and I are dominating the game. This might sound a little sadistic, but I'm enjoying watching the frustration build up in James. He's like the storm that was brewing last night – ready to explode at any moment.

"I think we're the only two playin' this game," Kit murmurs as we watch James try to shoot his ball out of the bunker.

I wipe the sweat off of my forehead and the back of my neck with a towel I brought. Already, my golf shirt is sticking to my sweaty skin – and it's not even nine o'clock.  "Yeah," I reply. "Next time, it'll have to be just you and me if we want to have a real game."

"Hey, assholes," Scott calls from the bunker. "We can hear you!"

"Good," Kit shouts back. "Maybe you'll take the constructive criticism and get somethin' done about your lack of skill."

Scott scowls at us before turning back to James.

"So," Kit continues. "How was Eliza doin' last night?"

I play stupid, despite the blush I can feel creeping across my cheeks. "What do you mean, man?"

Kit punches me in the bicep. "Don't play daft with me. Nobody takes that long in the bathroom."

"Avoiding the alcohol last night, were we, Kit?" I tease, punching him back.

"Just a smidgen," he smirks.

I sigh, adjusting my ballcap. I can't tell him about what almost happened. About the tension between Liz and I. "She was in rough shape when I found her," I say. "I went out there to make sure she was okay because no one else seemed to care." I shoot a glance at James. "I thought weddings were about marrying someone who loves you."

"James does love Eliza," Kit replies. He sounds mildly defensive. "He just wanted to give her some space. It's what they do when one of them is mad or upset; they allow the other to blow off some steam before they talk."

I resist shaking my head. I know Liz and I have changed drastically over the past two years, so maybe he's right. The Liz I remember, however, only pushes people away when she's upset because she wants them to put up a fight and stay to talk to her. And I think she still leans that way a little – her comment about James is enough to back up my thesis. And maybe I'm being pigheaded when I say this, but I don't think Liz is as happy with James as she says she is.

"Okay," I sigh, watching James sink a bogey for the second time in a row. "I'll remember that for next time. But the reason I took so long was that our conversation shifted from her parents' divorce and how she was doing to my mom and the complications between us."

Kit sets down his water bottle on the golf cart. The look on his face is sombre when he meets my gaze. "How did that go? She must have been devastated. You used to tell me she loved your mom."

"It hit her pretty hard," I sigh, twisting my golf club in my hands. "We hugged it out, though. I don't know if she forgives me completely, but I'll take the fact that she hugged me instead of attempted to strangle me as a step in the right direction."

Kit chuckles and claps me on the back. "That's my man. Good for you for steppin' in and makin' things right. I'm proud of ya."

For some reason, hearing Kit say those words makes me happy. Ever since we met, Kit has been like a brother to me. I like that he's proud of me.

"Man," Scott says before we can continue this conversation, "it's so fucking unfair that you two were trained for this game. It gives you an advantage."

"Says the man who looks like he's on steroids," Kit drawls.

Scott flexes. "That, my Southern friend, is jealousy."

Kit taps Scott on the shins with his golf club. "Takes two to tango, my Canadian friend."

As we load up our equipment onto the golf cart, I try not to think about last night too much. I'm worried that Liz told James about last night. About the tension. And that's the real reason behind why his temper is stirring – she's normally a very honest person, so I wouldn't be surprised if she did tell him. Then again, he could also be upset because I went out to talk to his fiancée when he didn't. Or maybe he really is petty enough that he's literally jealous of Kit and I's golfing skills.

At the next hole, Scott goes first. He has a wicked shot with lots of power to his stroke, but his aim is off by afar. The ball lands in the fringe, causing him to curse under his breath.

Kit is up next and as he's getting set up, James sidles up next to me. "So," he says, "how long have you being playing golf?"

"Since I was seven," I reply. I quickly do the calculations in my head. "That's seventeen years."

James loosens a low whistle. "That's insane."

I shrug. "That's what happens when you grow up knowing the owner of this golf course. Mr. Mahurin always let me and his son, Talbot, play for free when we were kids. I guess I developed a passion for the game, which eventually led to me getting a scholarship in Nova Scotia."

"You grew up here?" James blinks.

"Uh, yeah," I frown. "I'm pretty sure I mentioned that. Liz and I have known each other since we were in diapers. Ten came along in grade one. Talbot in grade three. The rest is history."

"Huh," James replies. He glances down at his golf club. "I thought you and Eliza only knew each other for a few years. She made it sound like you guys were close for a few years..." He trails off and begins muttering incoherent words.

I suppress an eye roll. That would make total sense as to why I'd come to this wedding so early. I didn't come back because I needed to talk to Liz about our long history or to explain myself. I didn't come because I'm still in love with her. I didn't come because I want her to know that even though I'm not okay with her marrying James, I will support her until the end.

No, I came because Eliza Sangster and I only knew each other for a few years.

God, the sarcasm in my inner voice is thick.

"Nope," I shrug. "She was my best friend and I've come to support her." Against my own will, I clap James on the back. "You better treat her good, Adams, or I might just have to kill you."

James laughs and allows his shoulders to relax a little. "You're not so bad, Leon. I have to admit, I was a little worried you'd come back to steal her from me. But I guess I was wrong. Sorry about jumping into conclusions. It's nice that you and Eliza are still friends."

Hah. If only he knew.

"Whatever," I reply. "No harm, no foul. As long as Liz is happy, so am I."

"Well," James smirks, setting his ball down on the tee now that Kit is done. "She's not too hard to please, which is something I love about her. I could just give her some sushi and a foot massage and she'd be happy as a clam."

I frown. "She hates sushi. If you want to make her happy, you have to get her kettle corn and lemonade. The woman has an obsession with kettle corn – it's her favourite."

James squints up at me. "I think you're mistaken, Leon. I take Eliza out for sushi every second week or so and she loves it. Sushi is her favourite food."

I think back to last Saturday when I helped her at the Farmer's Market, remembering the glare she sent my way when I was eating kettle corn in front of her and the way she inhaled her own bag of it. I then think back to that time when the fair was in town. Liz and I were twelve and we both went. We spent hours on the rides, not stopping until we were both sick to our stomachs and needed something to eat. With the little amount of money we had left from buying our wristbands for the rides, we decided to share a bag of kettle corn and a bottle of ginger ale. It was a gross combination, but it helped calm our stomachs. I distinctly remember Liz declaring that kettle corn was her new favourite food. And it has been since then.

"Sorry, buddy," I say, "but I beg to differ. Liz has loved kettle corn since we were twelve. I don't think something like that can just change."

James stands up, ball positioned, and gets into the typical golfer stance. "Look," he says, glancing at me. His eyes look extremely dark beneath the shadow of his ballcap. "I get it – you and Eliza were best friends. But people change over time. I know her better than anyone else. She's my fiancée."

I cross my arms, not liking the way be emphasized the possessive term. "Liz doesn't belong to anyone. If she knew you were labelling her, she'd be pissed."

Something flashes in his eyes before he turns back to the game. I watch as he swings his golf club back. Just by his wobbly stance and weak stroke, I can tell his shot is shit. The ball ends up on the fairway, slightly shifted to the left, and about four metres away from the green. I suck in a deep breath to prevent myself from snorting.

"Damn it," James mutters. "I suck at golf."

"Practice makes perfect," I say, pushing past him. I jab my own tee into the grass and set the ball down. Taking a deep breath to calm my nerves, I position myself for the shot. "You'll get it – eventually."

I swear I can feel the heat radiating off of James as I take the perfect shot. I don't bother watching the ball soar through the air. Based on my calculations with the wind direction and the slight downward slant of the fairway, I know I've made the perfect shot. I may sound cocky, but I know my ball is going to land on the green and then roll directly into the hole, giving me a hole-in-one.

As I'm heading back to the golf cart, club in hand, I watch James from the corner of my eye. I'm pleased to see that his jaw is clenched as he stares off into the distance. After a couple of seconds pass, I hear Scott and Kit begin to whoop and holler.

I can't stop myself from cocking an eyebrow when James looks at me.

If there are two things I can be positive about, it's the fact that I have developed my passion for golf into a skill over the years, and that Liz's favourite food is kettle corn.

"Like I said," I say, resting my hand on James's shoulder. We're adjacent to each other now, both facing opposite directions as our shoulders touch. I cast him a devious smile. "Practice makes perfect."