IF Zed had received a message ordering him to grab his coat and go to the parking garage from anyone else, he would have rolled his eyes and ignored it. He did have a sense of self-preservation, after all. But from Mac, one could hardly expect anything but the unexpected. So, when prompted, Zed did just as he was asked, making his way down to the garage.

The sight of Mac stood beside his gunmetal Porsche was an odd one, to say the least. He was tapping the same manic tattoo into the hood of it that he always did during particularly stressful situations. The hair on his head stuck out wildly in every direction; clearly a direct result of roughly carding his hands in it, several times over. His eyes were afire as they fixed intently on the lift, his gaze remaining locked there even as Zed emerged. He seemed to have a hard time breathing, or seeing anything, for that matter.

Making his way over to his colleague's car, Zed became acutely aware that something was deeply wrong. A frown creased his brow as he spoke tentatively. 'Mac, are you all right?'

He ignored the question and unlocked the car with a chirp. 'Get in.'

'That doesn't answer—'

His tone was steely and his eyes lively. 'Get. In.' Without another word, Mac climbed in, turned the key, and revved the engine as if in warning.

Though he was far more worried now than he had been upon first entering the garage, Zed climbed in, if for nothing else but to make sure that Mac wasn't alone in a motor vehicle in his current state.

Neglecting to buckle his seat belt, or even to check if Zed had buckled his, Mac backed out of the parking spot and the garage with far more speed than necessary. They had been doing nearly thirty miles over the limit on the motorway for about half an hour before Zed summoned the courage to attempt conversation. 'So, Mac. Not that I don't appreciate this spontaneous road trip, but where exactly are we headed?'

The CFO did not offer a reply. Instead, he put on the same sort of loud rock music that he had listened to on his birthday. Taking the very loud and rhythmic hint, Zed leaned back in his seat, resigning himself to silence for the remainder of the car ride.

From the huge sign anchored on the ornate set of gates that they sped through, their destination seemed to be a place called “Stoke Park”. Why they had left work two hours early to go there, however, was beyond Zed's wildest imaginings.

As soon as he had parked, Mac sprung from the car like a bullet from the barrel of a gun. When he didn't return, Zed decided to follow him to the boot, entertaining a number of possibilities as to what he would find Mac doing. He had never expected, however, to find him hurriedly shedding his jacket and tie, rolling up his sleeves, and exchanging the discarded articles of clothing for a golf bag. Zed hadn't even had the chance to open his mouth to speak when his employer slammed the lid shut, stalking off in the direction of a wide open field. He had to jog slightly to keep up with the brusque, unrelenting pace that Mac now adopted.

Once they reached the driving range, Mac thrust a hundred pound note into the attendant's face, grabbed as many buckets of balls as he could carry, and unceremoniously dumped his bag at the nearest vacant stall. In the blink of an eye, he took out his favourite club and began to shower the range with golf balls, using all the fervency of machine gunfire.

As Zed took in the frantic spectacle in front of him, he was both terrified and entranced. Mac was like a shark; beautiful, and yet supremely dangerous when in his element.

With each swing, a new wave of relief seemed to overtake him; as if he was driving his problems off into the horizon. By the time he'd made his way through the second bucket, he had grown calm enough to simply stand for a moment, eyes fixed on the green.

'Mac,' Zed said quietly, once he was fairly sure that the other man wouldn't take the club to his head. 'Why are we here?'

With a deep sigh and a moment's pause, he met Zed's eyes for the first time since they had taken off on the spontaneous trip. 'I needed to blow off some steam, and we both know how well it works out when I try to outdrink myself.' He smiled weakly.

'That we do,' he replied somberly, though he offered a ghost of a smile, himself. 'What's got you so high strung, then? Is it anything that I can help with? Because I would be more than happy to—'

'We lost the Newcastle deal.' His solemn words cut through Zed's rambling like a hot knife through butter. 'They decided to go with Angel Corps., instead.'

'Oh.'

'Oh,' Mac echoed, all of his previous attempts at appearing animated were completely absent, now.

The silence that followed was heavy but, surprisingly, not uncomfortable. If asked, neither man could say how long it had been. Though, that hardly mattered.

'So, you like golf?' Zed asked finally, popping the bubble. Though, of course, he already knew the answer, along with his rather strong feelings about cats.

'A bit, yeah.' The smile from before resurfaced, now a bit brighter. 'Helps me clear my head. It's the only thing my father ever taught me that didn't have anything to do with business.’

'You do realise that's a bit cocked up, don't you?'

Mac laughed, darkly. 'Yeah. I know.'

'Alright, good. Just checking.'

The pair of them broke into brilliant smiles and then fell back into the comfortable silence from before. Mac returned to driving, this time for leisure rather than necessity, and Zed went on watching for a reason that he couldn't quite pinpoint. All he knew was that doing so made him feel warm and serene. But it was probably nothing, he thought. Probably.

After several minutes, Mac finally noticed Zed's gaze, making him jump when he spoke. 'Are you just going to watch or are you going to hit a few?'

Zed suddenly felt his face grow red hot as he turned to grab a fresh bucket of balls. 'Yes. Right. Sorry.' Grabbing a random club from the bag, he took a ball and placed it on the green. With considerable effort, he carefully lined up his shot, found a rhythm, then swung with all his might— missing the ball entirely and nearly hitting himself in the head. Lucky for Zed, Mac's back was turned, meaning he missed the epic failure, entirely.

Shaking off the ridiculous swing, Zed cleared his throat, ready to try again. 'So, golf and business, huh? It's like he was breeding you specifically to be a CFO.'

Mac laughed, hitting a perfect drive dead centre. 'Close. I think I could actually hear his heart crack when I told him I wouldn't be applying to his firm. I just couldn't bear the idea of working for him.'

'I can understand that. Love my Tad, but I wouldn't have wanted him for my boss. Where does he work, anyway?'

'Angel Corps.' Another perfect drive.

Zed drove the club directly into the green. 'He— what?!'

Mac chuckled. 'Yeah. He's probably the one who undermined the deal.'

Zed's mind was reeling so much he didn't realise that he was openly staring at Mac. 'Your father— your own father— just royally screwed you and you're... just fine with that?'

Mac laughed, turning to his friend with a large smile on his face. 'What would you have me do? Go running to Daddy and beg him to give me the deal back? It's business! It happens. Besides, I'm sure it's just payback for the Westbridge deal.'

The man remained open-mouthed for a solid second before realising who he was talking to and laughing. 'Somehow... your entire relationship with your father now makes perfect sense.'

The CFO grinned, sending another ball powering down the lane. 'Don't get me wrong: I love my father. He's a brilliant man who, like me, is very caring when he wants to be.' Zed shot him a look that Mac ignored completely. 'But one of the first lessons he ever taught me was “business first, family second.” And yes, I am aware that it is bloody messed up.'

Zed drove a few more hits into the green before finally hitting the ball— all of three feet.

As he dropped another ball, Zed took a moment to look around the course. At first glance, one might think that no one else was crazy enough to come out on such a crisp November day. Yet, four lanes down, several more golfers were practising their skills. As he watched, a man started to head their direction, clearly aiming for a stall just feet from him. However, as if on cue, the attendant redirected the man to another stall, keeping the ones next to them completely clear. It wasn't hard for Zed to miss the purposeful gaze the man gave Mac as he sent another small white victim to its fate.

Zed had a hard time suppressing a grin. 'Come here often?'

'A bit, yeah. It used to be a lot less. Every month or so. But lately, it's about twice a week. Maybe more.'

'Why the change?'

Mac went quiet for a moment, clearly giving his answer careful consideration. 'I'm trying new strategies. Drinking myself stupid wasn't working, so I thought this might help.'

'And, is it?'

'Seems to be, yeah.'

Zed finally struck the ball but somehow ended up hooking it, sending it straight into Mac's stall. After a bewildered assessment of what exactly had just happened, Mac looked at his friend with a smirk. 'Well, there's your problem, mate. You're using a putter!'

Zed flushed as his boss stepped over into his lane. Mac smiled as he handed him a driver. 'I take it golf isn't really your thing, then. More of a cricket guy, are you?'

'Uh, yeah, actually. How did you know?'

Mac cleared his throat a bit too forcefully, Zed thought. 'The way you’re holding the club looks more like a bat. Here, watch me.' He stood next to Zed, holding his club in example.

After several moments of the silent lesson, Zed gave it another swing— throwing the club ten feet onto the green.

Doubling over with laughter, Mac tried to speak as Zed retrieved the ill-fated club. 'I never thought I'd see anyone worse than Ally at golf, but you take the cake!'

'Yeah, yeah, laugh it up, playboy.' Zed couldn't help but grin as he returned to the lane. 'You know, if you wanted to talk about it, I wouldn't blame you.'

'Talk about what? How bad you and Alastair Crawley are at golf?'

'No. About the break up. It hasn't been that long. If you wanted to talk, I wouldn't blame you.'

A scoff came from behind Zed as he lined up his next shot. 'I'm not a girl, mate. I don't need to talk about my “feelings”.'

Zed shot a look at Mac which said very clearly how full of shite he actually was. With a sigh, Mac leaned on his club, looking as though he was thinking very carefully about his next words. 'I phoned him. Last week.'

'Really? Why? If you don't mind me asking.'

Mac chuckled, sadly. 'I believe it's what Americans would call a “booty call”. But nothing came of it. He's dating someone, apparently.'

It was Zed's turn to scoff. 'Not surprised. But, why a booty call? You don't exactly seem the type.'

'I know, I'm just— I don't know. It sounds so pathetic to say that I'm lonely, but I guess, in a way, I am. I tried joining that dating app you recommended, but it didn't really work out in my favour.'

Suddenly, Zed was very glad that his back was turned as he felt his face flush, darkly. 'Oh? See anyone of interest?'

There was a very long, pointed pause from behind him before Mac answered. 'I spoke to one guy a few times. But it didn’t go further than that.'

Zed's nerves got the better of him in the next swing, causing him to not only miss the ball but also nearly brain himself for the second time that afternoon.

'Oh, for all that's holy, Higgins,’ Mac said with clear exasperation. ‘Here, let me.'

He stepped forward, moving opposite of Zed. Forcefully placing his hands on Zed's, he moved them into a better position. The touch was far from gentle and lasted a matter of seconds, but it was still enough to send sparks up Zed's arms.

His instructor, however, seemed entirely unaffected by the encounter. 'Now— bend your knees, put your weight on this leg, and pivot with your hips, not your arms. Give it a go.'

Using all of his brain power to steady his nerves, Zed followed the guidelines and, finally, sent the ball flying to land about twenty-five feet away.

Mac beamed proudly, patting his friend on the back. 'Now, you've got it! We'll make a proper golfer out of you, yet!'

(To be continued...)