Where is she going with this?
“Sure can,” he says, rocking back on his heels.
She takes a deep breath and side-eyes me again before turning her full focus to Cy. “Then I’ll be honest with you, since you’re going to be seeing a lot of Holland and me off camera. I think it’s better if you know the truth. The two of us are only ever goingto be coach and player. Production and the show want to make this into more than it is, but we have a professional relationship. That’s it.”
Cy bounces his head up and down a couple times, like he’s digesting her words. He squints at me and smiles before looking back to Mallory. “In any case, Holland is lucky to have you. You have him playing well. What’s on the practice schedule today?”
“Putting. We need to get him more comfortable from inside ten feet.”
Cy nods. “He’s always liked the longer putts. Has a thing for the drama of it all.”
“Hey now! Let’s not forget that I’m great at longer putts. I thrive on that drama.”
“Why does that not surprise me?” Mallory mutters.
Cy laughs. “I can see why he likes you.”
I clear my throat.
“As a coach, I mean,” Cy amends. “You don’t take his crap, do you?”
“Not if I can help it.”
11
The Hate Kiss
Holland
Mallory and Cy wander ahead toward a line of carts, and I follow with my clubs. Cy leaves us to it, and Mallory and I go through an hour of short shot simulations. Putting, chipping, reading the greens.
I can’t say I’m improving with my putts within nine feet, and Mallory is getting frustrated.
“A lot of this is mental,” she says as I miss a putt an inch to the left. “You got to get out of your own head about this.”
I drop another ball to the green and go through my pre-shot routine without responding to her. This one I drain.
”Iamout of my own head,“ I say smugly.
“You sure about that? Because you’ve got a lot of things vying for your attention right now. A lot of people asking a lot of you.MEMis a distraction, Bradley, whether you like it or not.”
“Plenty of professional golfers have personal lives, families, relationships. Why can’t I?”
“I’m not saying you can’t. I’m saying being on the show isn’t normal. It’s a lot. It’s okay to acknowledge that.” She’s staring at me with wide, serious eyes. There’s no taunting in her gaze. “As your coach, it’s my job to check in and make sure you’re handling everything okay.”
I don’t respond to this, because I don’t know what to say. I appreciate her concern…I do. She’s right. Sheismy coach. But I’m all out of whack where she’s concerned. Because I want her to care about me as a person. It sort of feels like maybe she does a little bit? But then she pulls back and hides behind a shield ofprofessionalism. I don’t know whether I’m coming or going with her. If I’m in my head about anything, it’s her.
“Alright,” I say, steering us back into familiar territory. “I bet you I make the next four putts in a row.”
She crosses her arms. “You do that, and we can be done for the day.”
I nod, focusing in. I make the four putts and turn to her with my arms held wide, basically saying,what else do you want from me?
“Good.” She motions for me to pack up my bag, not giving me any reaction otherwise. “That’s good for today.”
I shove my putter into my bag and take off my glove, ramming it into a side pocket before I hoist the bag into the back of the golf cart. I take my seat behind the wheel and wait for her to join me. She’s scribbling down something in the notebook that gets tucked inside my scorecard billfold. Probably some reminder about my form. I’ll look later.
“You sure you’re good?” She drops into the seat next to me and hands over the billfold.
