There was no point arguing with them. They weren't going to let him sit there in peace.
He picked up his golf club and walked over to them.
The club felt foreign in his hands, lighter than he remembered, as if it belonged to someone else. He hadn't held one in years, hadn't even thought about the game in longer than he could remember.
"That's more like it," Elian said.
His voice was bright with satisfaction, the tone of a man who had won a small but meaningful victory.
They started playing, and it didn't take long before they were laughing at themselves.
The first few swings were disasters. Nicholas sent his ball careening into the trees. Elian's shot barely made it off the tee. Kasteil, despite his usual coordination, managed to hit the ground a full six inches behind the ball, sending a shower of dirt into the air. They were terrible. They were embarrassingly, hilariously terrible.
