After many handshakes with the caddies, Carlos took the bag on his shoulder and led Reggie to the registration room where he’d register himself and sign his score.
“Now we really need a good icy beer, s**t,” the caddie mumbled as soon as Reggie finished. “You need it…”
Reggie shook his head. “No, I think I’ll have a Red Bull. I need the energy.”
He turned for a last look at the eighteenth fairway in the distance, where soon Hardy and Lee would appear. He sighed, aware of how seeing Russell in a few minutes would affect him.
They were heading to the clubhouse entrance when an official in a dark suit stopped them. “Please, to this side, Mr. Weston.”
Reggie turned to Carlos, who gave the man a big smile. “Sure, sure, we’ll follow you,” the caddie said.
They were escorted to a little VIP
