Chas woke up bright and early the next morning, and it was out to the driving range. For the first time in the past week, John wasn't there to make sure no shots went awry.

But he was far from alone.

A small gallery of people had found out his daily routine- a few fans, a couple reporters, and a few of his competitors- and they were already there, some hitting a few balls themselves. When he walked up to one of the small covered cubicles and filled his bin with balls, it was like the flags for silence had gone up.

He tried to ignore them, going about his usual routine, working from his pitching wedge up to his driver. He hit about two hundred balls before deciding to head out and play his eighteen holes for the day- and his gallery followed.

Do these people not have lives? He thought as he shouldered his bag and headed for the course. The course wasn't all that crowded- most people had taken the commute three hours north already to the course where the tournament would be played. Chas, however, didn't have that luxury. He'd only been able to scrounge together enough money to stay one night at a hotel up there, so he'd have to drive there in the morning.

He wouldn't even have time to take a practice round on the tournament course, on grounds he'd never played before. He would have to go strictly by the yardage book and his caddie's knowledge.

If he didn't end up without a caddie, like yesterday. Damon had qualified for the tournament too, and Chas knew he couldn't convince John to do it again, so if his caddie abandoned him there he was screwed.

He played a casual round of golf with Damon, though it was a little unnerving to have people following him around, deciphering his every move. Damon said very little during the round, as if afraid to break Chas's concentration.

Or maybe he's mad at me, Chas thought, the nervous thought jarring his putt, sending it five feet past the hole. He heard a murmur from the people watching, and he took a deep breath, trying to keep his frustration in check.

They're just going to stand around and pinpoint all my faults. I'd like to see them try this, he thought angrily as he sank the putt for par.

Better get used to it. It's only gonna be worse at the tournament.

That Evening

"Thanks for coming, Mr. Kramer. I can't wait to talk to you about all this," Lewis said, pulling out the chair for Chas and shaking his hand before sitting down. Chas looked around nervously at the expensive surroundings, fidgeting with his tie as he sat down.

Well, not really his tie. The only reason he had a suit in the first place was because some guy forgot his suit bag in Chas's cab once. Chas figured that he'd never own a suit his size otherwise, and since there was no way to return it, he washed it and saved it.

"What kind of wine do you prefer?" Lewis asked, looking down the wine list. Chas stuttered a bit, and Lewis chuckled and waved his hand dismissively.

"Right, right, I remember. Poor kid. Well, I'll order a nice blush wine or something."

"Sir…I'm underage…"

"Uh huh, I know."

Chas blinked in surprise as Lewis ordered the wine for them both, and the waitress readily filled their glasses, without hesitating or asking for ID. Lewis smirked and leaned forward. "In this kind of world, kid, the right contacts can make anything happen. Wine is a perk."

He paused long enough to sip his wine, and then he flipped open his notebook. "So, let's get started. Where did you say you worked?"

"I'm a cab driver."

"Full time?"

"You could say that."

Lewis nodded. "What about family? What do they think of this?"

"I live on my own, Mr. Gerard," Chas said, blushing. Lewis looked up.

"Sensitive topic?"

Chas shrugged. "Not really. My parents were, uh…they were into drugs and all that. I got out as soon as I could."

"You go to school?"

"I'm saving up money right now. I've been thinking about college, but I haven't really decided yet."

Lewis smiled. "Single?"

Chas paused for just a moment, and he thought of John.

Wait, no. One drunken fuck does not make him your boyfriend, Chas. It doesn't make him anything. Why would you even think that?

"Yeah, I'm single," he said quietly.

Lewis took notes for a few minutes, and then he paused to think, tapping his pencil on the table as the waitress set down their salads.

"How do you think you'll do tomorrow?" He finally asked. "It's a pretty tough course up there, I've heard."

"I can only take it one shot at a time and hope for the best. That's all I've ever done," Chas said, and Lewis seemed to love that answer. He nodded, writing furiously.

"Are you intimidated at all, going head-to-head with the three time champ William Dextera?"

Chas paused a moment. Sure, he was intimidated as fuck, but he couldn't let that show too much. That would only make him more nervous. "Well…of course it's a little nerve wracking. I mean, he's the best player I've ever gone up against. But…like I said before, I'll take it one shot at a time. Play my own game. If it happens, it happens…and either way, I'm just glad I've made it this far."


Chas left the clubhouse mentally drained. Lewis had grilled him for over two hours about his plans for the future (especially about the temptation to go pro), about his personal life, about his game philosophy…it was ridiculous. Chas just wanted to play golf, not turn it into a college course.

As he stepped toward his cab, he noticed someone lounging against it, casually smoking a cigarette. He slowed, but immediately recognized John's silhouette.

"What are you doin' out here?" He asked John a bit cautiously. If the guy was looking for another quick fuck, he'd come on the wrong night.

"I want to talk to you."

Chas sighed. "I've been talking nonstop for the past two hours, John…"

John thumped his hand on the cab. "Then give me a ride home. I'll pay you triple fare."

Chas would've objected, but he really needed the money. He shrugged and gestured to the cab, and John jumped in the back.

"So…why were you in some fancy clubhouse for almost three hours?" John asked, taking a drag off his cigarette.

"How did you know I was here?"

John shifted uncomfortably. "I asked around…I just wanted to talk to you, kid. Don't take this the wrong way."

"After the past few days, John, I don't know how to take anything, coming from you."

John looked like he wanted to say something, but he fell silent until they reached his apartment. He opened his door and looked expectantly at Chas.

"Just come inside for a couple minutes, Chas. Have a drink."

A pause.

"A non-alcoholic drink," John added sheepishly.

Chas hesitated, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. Give the guy a chance, Chas. Maybe he just wants to apologize.

He got out of the car, ignoring the sigh of relief from John. They headed up and into the apartment, and John made a point of getting them both water.

"Listen, Chas…I've been hearing stuff. Lots of stuff."

Chas quirked an eyebrow. "What kind of stuff?"

"Stuff about you leaving for the PGA."

Chas snorted into his glass. "Those are just rumors, John. I'm not near good enough for the PGA."

John stared him down, obviously skeptical. "I heard they made you an offer."

"That's only if I win this tournament, John, and I don't think-"

"Oh, would you fuckin' stop it with the modest act!" John demanded, hitting his fist on the table. "You're good at golf, Chas, better than anyone in this damn tournament. So tell me the fuckin' truth…if you win, are you going professional?"

Chas swallowed hard. "I haven't decided yet."

John let the silence sink in for an uncomfortable amount of time. He looked down at the floor, deep in thought, and then put out his cigarette and looked back up at Chas. "What would it take to get you to stay?"

Chas tilted his head. "What?"

"I want you to stay. I don't want you to go off to some golfing tour thing. What'll it take? A raise? I can take you up to ten bucks an hour, that should cover your expenses, no problem."

"John, I don't know-"

"Or I can maybe take you on a couple exorcisms, get you extra hours working with Beeman…'

"I'm not sure-"

"What is it that you want, Chas? Because whatever it is, I-"

"Would you listen to me for once?" Chas snapped, standing up. "I can't just decide this in five seconds, John, not even overnight! You have to give me a little time here! It's not completely about the money, you know!"

"So what is it about, then? Is this about me not letting you help out? Is it-"

"It's about my life for once, John!"

Chas said that with such passion, such fervor that it actually forced John into submissive silence. He watched as Chas paced, almost afraid to speak.

"All along, you've been thinking that this is about you," Chas started, almost desperately. "About your little revenge kick, about your apprentice, about your habits, your money, you, you, you! Have you even considered, for one second, that I just might be looking for something that's going to make me happy? Is it so bad for me to act conceited for once?"

John didn't say a word. His gaze was locked on the table, his hair in his eyes, looking like a kid who'd been put in the corner for stealing a cookie. Chas shook his head, and then headed for the door.

He'd barely heard John's chair getting shoved back before the man spun him around and pushed him up against the door. John's lips pressed against his hard, with bruising force, his hands gripping Chas's arms tightly.

Chas sighed softly into the kiss, giving in, not trying to pull away. It just felt right, despite everything going on in his mind, he couldn't bring himself to push John away.

After a few more moments of the intense lip-lock, John pulled away. Both of them were breathing hard, their warm breath mingling in the small amount of air between them. John stared into his eyes, waiting, looking more nervous than Chas had ever seen him.

"Stay."

It wasn't an order, which was a surprise, coming from John. It was a one word plea, a desperate request, not just referring to tonight but to the whole situation they were in. And for a few moments, Chas seriously considered throwing away everything and just saying yes.

"…I need time, John. The end of the tournament. I'll tell you then, I promise."

Chas was near tears of frustration as he gently pushed John away, and he slipped out the door and went to his cab before he had a chance to change his mind.

Inside, John leaned forward against the door, kicking himself for what he'd done. If only he'd controlled himself, kept his wits about him…

Now all he could do was wait.