Page 73 of Pros Don't

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Hole Ten

Holland

We got back into Cashmere Cove before noon yesterday, but Noah talked to Vivian about me taking the rest of the day off from filming. Now, it’s Tuesday morning, and my firstMost Eligible Mistercommitment isn’t until later tonight when I’m going on a one-on-one date. I’m not sure who they’ve selected for it, but I’m guessing I’ll find out soon.

Inez left a cinnamon roll outside my apartment door this morning, and I’m grateful I didn’t have to go and be seen by anyone in town inside the café. I feel like a fragile failure. I blew my biggest career opportunity to date.

I pull into the parking lot at the golf course, and I don’t see Mallory standing in her usual spot, waiting for me, and my stomach rolls. What if she quit? What if she’s giving up on me? What if she’s done with the show? What if she left, and I’m going to find some note inside, telling me she’s had enough?

My heart lurches at the thought, because the only real feelings I’ve had through theMost Eligible Misterprocess have been for her. When she hugged me on Sunday evening in the dingy storage shed, I dared to believe that maybe she was starting to feel things for me too. She’s light years out of my league, but I would give just about anything for the chance to work toward being the kind of man she deserves.

Then I went and pushed her away.

I was a jerk when she was trying to comfort me. That’s the long and short of it. When she brought up my stutter, I completely shut down. Worse, even…I lashed out. She didn’t deserve that. How could she have known that I still carry the scars of humiliation over not being able to speak and express myself without having some kid call me names?

It was the pity from her that made me snap, the reminder that she has her life together and I’m an imposter who has ridden a wave of success, and now what? I don’t want her to see me as incapable. I don’t want her to see me as weak or to see how much any of this affects me. I conquered my speech impediment. No one knows about it, and that’s how I prefer to keep it.

But it’s like when something less than ideal happens to me, I’m right back in middle school, afraid to speak my mind, forced to nod or shake my head out of fear of what awkward noise might come out of my mouth if I open it. There’s something so powerless about not having a voice or feeling like you can’t use your voice. Deep down, a lot of times, I still feel like that powerless little kid. I lashed out at Mallory from a place of deep-seeded pain, and—spoiler alert—I need to deal with some of those skeletons in my closet. I thought they were dead and gone, but apparently, they’re zombies, all too happy to come back to life and antagonize me.

I sigh as I run my hands around my steering wheel. I have to face Mallory at practice, and I owe her an apology. I’m guessing there will be groveling involved. If I want to explore a relationship with her, and I do…I really do…I’m going to have to be honest with her about my stutter and my insecurities. I’m going to need to own up to my childish behavior, tell her how I feel, and see if she’ll give me another chance.

She said she wasn’t in the place for a boyfriend, but there have been signs that have given me some hope. In either case, my stomach has been in knots all morning—made it hard to enjoy my cinnamon roll. My phone buzzes. I glance down at a text from Vivian, letting me know who I’m taking out tonight. I grit my teeth at the name.

I slam the door to my car, grabbing my club bag and tromping toward the clubhouse, hoping beyond hope that Mallory is somewhere inside and is willing to hear me out and not hold my most recent childish behavior against me.

When I walk through the doors, Cy is standing behind the counter. He offers me a sad smile, but his eyes don’t hold pity. My old coach knows me well.

“You’ll get ’em the next time, Holland,” he says.

I nod. “Appreciate that. Has Mallory been here?”

Cy nods. “She was in early. Told me to tell you she’d be waiting on hole ten.”

“Great. Thanks.”

“You’ve got the course mostly to yourself today. I had a single show up about ten minutes ago. Didn’t recognize him, but he said he was going to play the back nine, so he should be out of your hair by the time you get over there.”

“Cool. That’s good.” I turn to go, hoisting my club bag over my shoulder. “Hey, Cy. How did Mallory seem this morning?”

He cocks his head. “What do you mean?”

“Like, was she in a good mood?”

His face breaks into a grin. “You worried she’s going to work you too hard?”

I’d love for her to work me too hard.

That’s not a helpful thought, brain.

“Curious what I’m up against,” I say out loud.

“She was all business. Cordial. Didn’t seem to be happy or upset. Just pretty even.”

I sigh. The Mallory that gets presented to the outside world. We’ll see what I find when I get out to hole ten. I’m hoping against hope there’s some emotion there. I don’t even care what it is. It’s indifference that’ll drive me mad.

I decide to walk out to the far side of the course instead of taking a cart. It’s a gorgeous morning, and I need all the time I can get to clear my head and prepare my apology.

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