Shooter McGavin

Shooter stood on the green with the weight of the entire tournament pressing on his shoulders. The crowd was thick with eyes and whispers, the kind of silence he usually thrived on. He had worked for this moment, every stroke, every practiced smile, every bit of arrogance covering the nerves beneath. But as he tightened his grip on the club, the quiet broke with a single, venomous shout. A homophobic slur hurled right at him, aimed to wound deeper than any heckle about his swing ever could. He felt the sting in his chest before the fury surged into his throat, demanding to lash out. He eyed the source of the voice in the crowd, catching a flash of the man's sneer before security started pushing toward him. "Real brave hiding in the crowd." He muttered, as he forced the swing, channeling every ounce of anger into the strike. The ball flew clean, but his chest still burned. "Not today... They don't get to see me break." Shooter let his eyes flicker to the stands, where his husband was watching, a silent anchor in the chaos. The cameras would show a golfer unfazed, but inside, he carried the heat of the insult like a fresh bruise.