It’s still a decent pay day, but I’m not even thinking about that right now. My mind is on Holland and where his head is at.
“I’m so hungry,” Jennah laments.
I close my eyes and start saying Hail Marys,like my mom does fifty times a day.
My heart tugs uncomfortably in my chest, and I feel an inordinate need to find Holland right now, to check in on him. I’m chalking it up to my coach instincts, but deep down, I know it’s more than that.
All week, I’ve observed him. Like I usually do, sure. But it’s like I have a new set of eyes. I’ve looked on as he’s carried himself with confidence, yukking it up with the other golfers and the fans. I’ve seen the man I know well. But I’ve also seen moments that have surprised me. Like when I caught him talking to a group of food service workers at the clubhouse after his practice round on Wednesday. Or when he walked into our meeting room as I was finishing up a call with my mom, and when I hung up, he immediately asked how she was doing. He gives me a hard time when I coach him, like always. But he also holds eye contact and nods along. He listens to me. He’s been going out of his way to make sure theMEMwomen are having a good time. He’s taken on the role of tour guide and golf teacher, explaining the rules and the process to the women with good humor and patience. As much as it goes against everything I’ve been trying to cling to from a professional standpoint…I’ve developedunprofessionalfeelings for Holland. Right now, I want to see him. To make sure he’s okay.
“I’m going to the bathroom,” I announce, and I don’t wait for a response from producers before I duck out of the room.
Once in the hallway, I pull my phone out from the fanny pack I’ve been wearing at my waist. A quick scan shows I have texts from my mom and dad and Poppy, but I ignore them all for now and pull up Holland’s contact information.
Mallory
Where are you?
It’s a long shot that he’ll answer. He could still be in the clubhouse, turning in his scorecard. Or he could be in interviews. He’s supposed to connect up with us after, but I have no clue how long that’ll be.
My phone vibrates, and I glance down.
He’s responded with a dropped pin.
I follow my map to his location—a garden shed behind the clubhouse. I glance around to make sure no one is following me or paying me any attention before I open the door a crack and step inside the darkened space.
“Bradley?”
I hear a grunt and audible breathing and then a strangled voice. “H-h-h-ere.”
My heart quivers, and as my eyes adjust to the dim light of the shed, I walk to the corner where he’s sitting on an overturned five-gallon bucket. He’s got his head between his legs, and he’s gasping. I immediately drop down to my knees.
“Breathe with me.” I count in and out, just like I did night one of filming. “Good. That’s good. Again.”
We go through several rounds of breathing before Holland lifts his head, letting it fall back and rolling his neck from side to side.
I stay quiet. Not sure exactly what to do or say. Not sure what to make of the painful knob of emotion that feels like dough pressing into the crevices at the back of my throat.
When Holland straightens and looks at me, there’s devastation in his gaze. Devastation and hopelessness.
“I guess everyone knows I’m a fraud now.”
I frown, shaking my head. “That’s not true.”
“I choked, Mal. For all the world to see.” He rubs his hands across his face. “In front of theMost Eligible Mistercameras and the women too. I’m going to have to relive this all again when the show airs later this summer. I’ll be a laughingstock. Worse,even…which of those women are going to want to be with me now?“ He sounds disgusted with himself.
My body is moving before my brain has a chance to catch up. I lean toward him and wrap my arms around his shoulders, tugging him to me in a hug.
I’m not thinking about the professional boundaries I’m crossing. I’m not thinking about how this would look to anyone who might peek into this shed. I’ve very, very much not thinking about how there’s a little voice inside my head that cried,Me! I’ll be with you!in response to his question.
All I’m focused on right now is Holland and how I want to shoulder some of the burden he’s carrying.
He’s stiff in my arms, and I can tell by the sharp intake of breath that I’ve surprised him. It takes him a couple seconds, but then he relaxes and drops his head onto my shoulder.
I squeeze him harder, and he brings his arms up and wraps them around my back.
We stay in this embrace for a couple minutes. I don’t have any words, and I don’t think Holland wants words right now. Nothing I say is going to change how he feels in this moment. It’s his single greatest professional defeat to date. This one is going to sting for a while.
Eventually, he pulls back, and as I lean away from him, his gaze searches mine.
