Mallory grabs my hand and entwines our fingers, squeezing my palm softly. “Holland, that’s awful.”
I don’t look over at her. I nod up to the sky. “Nothing has ever felt worse than having my voice stolen from me, both by the speech impediment I was born with and because of those bullies.”
“I’m so sorry.”
I sigh. “Yeah. It wasn’t good. I stopped asking questions even though I was struggling with school work, so my grades slipped. I stopped talking altogether. My parents freaked. To that point, they knew about my speech impediment but thought I’d grow out of it. But it was getting worse, so they got me in witha speech pathologist. She helped some, but the only place I’d talk was on the golf course or in front of Candace Patchcab and Daisy.”
Mallory arches her eyebrows.
“I didn’t have to worry about impressing them. I’d go visit them in their garden and read them their romance novels. It was good practice for speech patterns and loosening up, without any stakes. Those two, more than anyone else in town, have seen me at my worst and always had my back. I owe them a lot for putting up with a petulant, terrified boy and not pitying him or treating him any differently than they treated anyone else. Candace was all hard-nosed and gruff. Daisy was kind and hospitable. Together, they listened to me struggle over words and blush over scenes, but they were there for me when no one else knew how to be.”
“Wow,” Mallory whispered.
“I guess you could say I owe my current self to them, romance novels, and golf.”
“Quite the combination,” Mallory says with a smile. “Tell me about golf.”
I blow out a breath. “Golf was something I could do that I was good at. I started lifting weights to improve my game. I grew eight inches between eighth grade and freshman year. Cy got me into a bunch of junior tournaments, and I won…a lot.
“Because I was confident on the course, my words seemed to flow more easily. As my confidence with golf grew, it seeped into everything else I did, but the damage was done.”
“How do you mean?” Mallory’s voice is quiet and even.
“My parents were so worried about me that they coddled me. Everything I did well, they made this huge deal out of celebrating. They were trying to do anything to improve my self-esteem. But as a result, Mack felt like the black sheep of the family. I can totally see that now, but at the time, I didn’t care. I was so caught up in my own stuff that I didn’t think about how he was feeling. It wrecked our relationship for a long time, and I’m only now trying to repair it.”
“I’m sure he appreciates that.”
I nod. “I do too. I miss my brother. Neither one of us is blameless for the way our relationship devolved. I was self-absorbed and clueless. He didn’t communicate how he was feeling. But we’re working on it.”
“That’s good. Poppy actually said something about how you two were talking more,” Mallory says.
“Yeah. We’re in a much better place.” I nod, and then I turn to look at her. “I’m trying to get in a better place myself too.”
“How so?” Mallory keeps my hand cupped in hers.
“Golf gave me confidence. I was good at it, and people praised me for being good at it. So I kept trying to be good at it so they’d heap on more praise, you know?” I press my lips together. “But this whole time, I’ve been hiding my shame and low self-esteem behind a façade of self-confidence. If I’m good at golf, people will like me, and tell me I’m incredible and amazing, and all that. Basically, I wanted to hear the opposite of Pig Brains.” I offer her a sad smile.
“Oh, Holland.” Her eyes are glassy, and I have to look away.
“I’m realizing that’s why I’ve been such a serial dater. I’ve craved the affirmation. I’ve craved the attention. I liked having women on my arm because it was like a big middle finger to those boys in middle school. But they weren’t my biggest problem. My problem is that I don’t always believe in myself. Deep down, I’m still the terrified seventh grader, worried about when the curtain will fall away and everyone will realize I’m just Porky Pig, hiding out back here, sometimes afraid to speak.”
I see her shaking her head in my periphery. “You are so much more than golf, or your stutter, or any of it.”
I blow out a breath and turn to face her. The compassion in her gaze makes my throat clog with unshed tears. “It sounds totally cheesy to say this to you, Mallory, but it’s been you who’ve helped me start believe that.”
“Me?” she squeaks.
“I don’t want to freak you out. I know I keep saying that,” I chuckle. “But when you came on as my coach two years back, you didn’t take any of my crap. You didn’t coddle me. You didn’t pity me. You’ve treated me as an equal. What I’ve always appreciated about you is that the way you treated me didn’t change whether I won or lost. Golf was golf to you. And I was me—the annoying player who paid you enough to somehow keep you hanging around.”
“You—“
I lift my free hand and place a finger to her lips. “Let me finish. Please.”
She nods, her eyes wide.
“You’ve been unwavering these past couple of years. I respect you more than pretty much anyone else I know. Your work ethic. Your poise. Your brain. All of you. You’re brilliant and accomplished, and I’m a dumb jock who barely graduated high school. And yeah, you’re gorgeous, but I haven’t let myself think about that too much, because I respect you too. I never thought I’d ever have a chance with you. Didn’t stop me from teasing you and trying to get a rise out of you. Have you ever readAnne of Green Gables?”
Mallory gasps, but with my finger hovering over her lips, she doesn’t speak. She nods. I start tracing the curve of her mouth, and her eyes flutter shut.
