The True Cowboy of Sunset Ridge (Gold Valley #14)(88)

“Mallory,” he said. “You are exceptional. All on your own. We’re not the same person, but we don’t have to be.”

“But...”

“Does he love you?”

“He says that he does. I’m afraid. I’m afraid that I’m not going to be enough for him. I just...everything I’ve tried at I’ve fallen short.” The words stuck in her throat. The whole truth.

“Remember,” Iris said. “Remember what I said to you? About how sometimes it’s that right kind of love. Maybe you have to trust that you’re that for him. Because my cousin... He has kept himself separate. From everyone and everything for years. If he said that he loves you, then it’s real. And you have to trust in your love for him.”

“What if I can’t? Because if he hurts me then I’m going to... I’m never going to recover. I... I chose Jared for a lot of reasons, but one of the big ones was... I didn’t worry about being special enough for him. I didn’t fear losing him, and I always knew he’d be back. I always knew that I had the upper hand, that I was the better one in that relationship. And I can’t... I can’t control this. He wants everything from me. And he even has a baby. I love her so much. I love him so much. And it’s like my heart is being pulled out straight to my throat, and I’m just afraid that I’m going to get hurt.” It sounded so lame. It sounded like an excuse, because it was.

“Life doesn’t come with guarantees,” Griffin said. “It’s the love that makes it worth it.”

She broke down. And she told him. Everything. About the baby. About how she’d been alone in her pain, her failure, her misery.

And he held her while she cried, and Griffin wasn’t disappointed in her.

“I just wanted to do something right. And I knew it would have upset them at first that I got pregnant so young, but I thought once I had the baby and gave them their first grandchild, and showed I was responsible, they’d accept it. And I just... I couldn’t even do that right, Grif. I couldn’t keep my baby alive.”

“Mal,” he said, his voice rough, breaking. “I know how that feels.”

She shook her head. “You went through so much worse.”

“No,” he said, his voice rough. “Grief is grief. Loss is loss. You don’t need to hide yours. Honey, don’t make it second best to me. You’re not. Your feelings aren’t.”

His words rocked her to her core.

Because it was true.

She’d been so sure she was second—and she’d decided her loss was second too—that it didn’t matter, or that worse it was her fault.

She was the one who’d decided, before anyone else could, that she didn’t deserve the support. That she wasn’t worthy of it.

And that was how Mallory found herself driving back down the freeway. She didn’t sing. She went with the radio off. Because she didn’t really feel rebellious so much as desperate. She felt sad, unable to sort through her emotions.

Underneath them though, underneath was fear. And it drove her fast and far.

By the time she arrived at her parents’ house just outside of San Francisco, she was gritty eyed, starving and emotional. And when her mother opened the door, she burst into tears.

“Come in,” she said, ushering Mallory inside.

“Please tell me it’s not that ass again,” her dad said.

“No,” she said. “It’s not. It... It’s me,” she said. “I...”

“Come sit down,” her dad said.

She ended up sitting at the kitchen table, cups of tea in front of all of them, though she felt like she wasn’t strong enough. Not for the conversation they had to have.

“I know that I was a surprise,” Mallory said.

“Today?” her dad asked.

“No. I mean... Me. As a baby. And that Griffin is so much older than me and...”

“You’re a blessing,” her mom said.

“I... You said that. You have. But I just always felt like Griffin was... Like he was the gold standard. Like maybe you would’ve been better off with just him. Because I struggled to do so many things that he did easily.”

“Mallory,” her mom said. “You made our family complete.”

“No, I...” She put her hands up against her eyes. “I need to finish what I’m going to say. Because I’m not trying to make you feel bad. But... You say all these things, and you said all these things. But it doesn’t change the way that I feel. Every time I would bring home a report card and it was Bs and Cs you would tell me I just needed to keep working and it would get better. Because Griffin had straight As and... I just could never be that. And I felt like I wasn’t being good enough. But I was good at other things. I gave my friends lots of advice I... I got important in my group of friends for being mature. And that made me feel special. I was important because I had a boyfriend.”

“Oh, Mallory,” her mother said. “Is that why? Is that why he was so important to you?”

“That is a longer story.”

And over hours and tea, long into the night she told her story. About Jared. About loss. About how she had hoped that it would make her special. And about how she couldn’t figure out how to tell them when it was over. About the great conflicting fears she’d had inside of herself. Because it was impossible to explain and rationalize even in her own head, the shame that she had felt combined with being certain that once she’d had the baby everything would be okay. And then when that baby was gone, the crushing failure that she wasn’t good enough. And that all it had been was a mistake. A punishment maybe.