Hard to Love

by K. Bromberg

  But somehow, I’d find it for him. Somehow, I’d dig deeper again and again until he’d give me that slight nod of his chin that told me he was satisfied. No words of praise, just that nod and—

  “Again,” Kellen says when I walk back to the fault line. Another ball comes at me to hit.

  And then another.

  I work tirelessly, ball after ball, shot after shot, backhand after backhand, with Kellen’s name an endless curse on my lips and what I swear is alcohol sweating out of my pores.

  It doesn’t help that Vivi, Jordan, and I may have had a hotel room party where we drank a bit too much to celebrate the fact that Carson sent Finn back to wherever he’s from for the night.

  A small and unexpected reprieve that I took happily.

  But now I’m paying for it. Big time.

  Winded, nauseous, and clueless over how long we’ve been at it since there is no sun above to guestimate time, I lean over and brace my hands on my knees to catch my breath.

  “Game on, Stevester. Let’s go.”

  The words hit me like a ton of bricks.

  Words that have been heard time and again on television during Grand Slam finals. Ones spoken to me by my father, but only ever by my father.

  Except for right now.

  And hearing them stops me dead in my tracks.

  I know it shouldn’t bug me that Kellen is using them as a means to motivate, but . . . they were his words. Only his. Something no one possibly understands.

  And hearing them right now only serves to shine a spotlight on the glaringly obvious hole that I now have to live with forever.

  One I’m not even quite sure I’ve seen to the depths of yet.

  The words cripple me when I don’t want to be crippled.

  “We’re done,” I pant out and walk over to the bench. I don’t wait to see his reaction as I put my racket into its case and zip it up. I don’t turn to face him as his footsteps come closer. All I can focus on is the anger vibrating through me and trying to contain it.

  “You okay?” he asks, but I don’t trust myself to speak so I just nod. “Your body is probably rebelling, correct? You haven’t been treating it right so it’s probably telling you to fuck off and die about now.”

  “Something like that,” I murmur, suddenly needing to get out of this place and get some fresh air.

  “You’re looking decent, but we’re going to have to catch up some. A month off is a long time to take off when—”

  “It hasn’t been a month,” I snap at him. He’s freaking crazy. There’s no way—

  “You’re right. It’s been five weeks,” a voice says from the stands at my back. “Maybe even longer than that.”

  I turn to see Finn Sanderson standing there and immediately, my back stiffens in protest at his presence while other parts of me that I don’t want to react, heat up.

  He’s the distraction I need and the perfect adversary to help take my mind off what Kellen just said and how I feel about it.

  “And how would you know?” I place my hands on my hips and glare at him. “Keeping tabs on me before you knew me? Should I worry that you’re secretly obsessed with me and that I need to fear for my safety?”

  “No, you should worry about how your backhand is late and your serve isn’t up to par, because you’ve been busy dicking around for the past five-plus weeks doing anything and everything to not prepare for the US Open.”

  “Dicking around? Interesting choice of words,” I say and take a step closer to him, needing someone to feed off my need to forget.

  His smirk is a flash, but it’s there, and then gone just as quickly. “You’ll learn I don’t mince words.”

  “Good to know,” I murmur, keenly aware that Kellen is still at my back, no doubt curious about this exchange. This is none of his business.

  Then again, it seems my business is everyone’s business these days.

  And as if right on cue, Finn shifts his attention to Kellen. “How’d she do?”

  “You could ask me directly,” I interject.

  “Now why would I do that when I can get an honest response from him instead of a bullshit one from you?”

  I glance over to Kellen who is shifting his feet, trying to figure out this dynamic. “I look decent,” I respond at the same time Kellen tries to speak. “I’m slow on my break and have a slight delay on my timing but it’s all things that are fixable with repetition and training.”

  “And are you?” Finn asks as he pushes off the wall and takes a step toward me so that now he’s in clear view, and I hate that for a brief second, I’m at a loss for words.

  I’ve seen Finn in a tailored dress shirt the first night we met.

  I’ve seen him in a polo shirt and jeans yesterday in Carson’s suite.

  Hell, I’ve even seen him butt-ass naked, but right now as he stands across the court from me in a perfectly tailored suit, there’s something about him that has me reminding myself to breathe. He may be fully clothed but there’s something about the way he wears his suit that has me recalling the feel of his naked chest beneath my palms. The feel of his hard length against my fingers. The taste of his kiss when I don’t ever remember tastes of kisses nor do I want to.

  Get a grip, Stevie. You don’t like suits. You never have. You like men with tattoos and shaggy hair and a touch of the reckless thrown in. You like the rebel without a cause so that it and he doesn’t interfere with your life.

  You don’t like this—styled, perfected, aloof. Cold. You’re not attracted to him—driven, domineering, demanding.

  Yet I’m staring at him stumbling over simple words and easy thoughts wondering, if I’m not attracted to men like him, then why did I pick him for my Cards O’ Fun one-night stand then?

  And more importantly, why are any of these thoughts in my head? That’s probably the most important question.

  “Stevie?” he asks. My name almost a taunt to tell him what I’m thinking so hard about.

  “Yes? What?”

  “I asked, are you?”

  “Am I what?” I hate that I sound flustered, but I am.

  “Are you going to put the work in?” He takes another step toward me, his question irritating because, what does he care?

  “What’s it to you besides a guaranteed paycheck?” I ask.

  “I have plenty of guaranteed paychecks, so yours is just unexpected icing on the cake.” His chuckle is low and discernable. “But after today, my name will be associated with yours so yes, it matters if you put the work in. I don’t like to be made to look bad.”

  I snort. “Of course. Wouldn’t want to make Finn Sanderson look shitty in the press’s eyes even though I’m more than certain your halo is crooked most days.”

  “First, there is no halo. I never claimed to be a saint and I assure you I’m not. But I’m not the face-of-a-generation tennis player like you are. Second, you’re goddamn right it’s my reputation now attached to yours whether I want it to be or not. Remember that. Put the work in or else now you answer to me.” Our glares hold for a stretch of time as the muscle in his jaw ticks. “Are we clear?”

  I take back every single one of the thoughts I had seconds ago. He’s not attractive. He’s infuriating and frustrating and arrogant and Jesus Christ, how is this ever going to work with him being my shadow?

  “Crystal,” I grit out and grab my bag, hoisting it over my shoulder.

  “Where do you think you’re going?” he asks.

  “Back to the hotel to meet up with my friends,” I say, thinking of how I’m going to strangle Vivi and Jordan for Cards O’ Fun and picking him for my dare. Without them, none of this would have misaligned the way it has. “I’ve put my time in here, have I not?” I glance over to Kellen but don’t wait for his response. “And I will again tomorrow. For now, I’m off the clock.”

  “No, you’re not.”

  “Excuse me?” I ask.

  “I took the liberty to tell Jordan and Vivi that it would be best if they head back home. That—”


  “You what?” I screech and stalk up to him, more than pissed. “Who the hell do you think—”

  “You heard me.” The lift of his eyebrows is a taunt all in and of itself. “I told them that you’ve all had your fun, and they could either be known in the media as the friends who helped destroy your career or the good friends who knew when to step away. They chose wisely.”

  “So you fucked them too?” I ask, my irrationality suddenly pulling the question out of the air without any basis other than pure, green jealousy. How did he know where to find them? How did he talk to them? How did—

  “Too?” Finn steps in to me with temper flaring in his eyes. “That would imply I’ve fucked someone in the thirteen hours I’ve had to fly to New York, collect my shit, and get back here to babysit one pissy prima donna. I assure you, to my dismay, that I haven’t. So watch what you say and who you say it to. Jealousy is a nasty bitch and it looks unbecoming on America’s sweetheart.” His eyes flicker over my shoulders where Kellen is slowly packing up our gear, definitely listening but pretending that he isn’t.

  “I assure you,” I say using his words, “I’m nowhere near jealous.”

  He snorts in arrogant disbelief and leans in so that I steel myself for everything about him. His cologne. The warmth of his breath. The rumble of his voice. “For the record, Stevie, who I fuck is none of your business. Got that?”

  I grit my teeth and stare at him with tears in my eyes, hating these weird feelings—confusion, jealousy, anguish—that are owning me right now. Feelings that don’t make sense to me but that I feel nonetheless.

  And I hate them.

  I’m sick of feeling right now.

  Sick of everything.

  “Got it,” I say smugly and start to walk past him, ready to be out of here and away from him.

  He puts his hand on my arm and I yank it back. “Where are you going? We have plans,” he says.

  “I don’t have any plans with you.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong.” He lifts a hand to wave to Kellen. “Remember? I’m your babysitter. You go where I say you go. That’s the perks of being in charge.”

  And when he takes my bag from my shoulder to carry it for me, he’s lucky I don’t take a swing at him with my other hand.

  STEVIE

  “WHAT DO YOU MEAN OUR hotel room?” I ask, looking dumbfounded as Finn makes himself comfortable on the couch in my hotel suite and props his feet up on the coffee table with a sigh.

  “Today was a good start,” he says completely ignoring my question. “You squeezed in a good practice, you had some great PR with the tennis academy, and then maybe made some reparations with Nike after that dinner we just had.”

  “Good. Great.” I cross my arms over my chest and glare at him, knowing there is no way I just heard him correctly. “Now can you kindly explain what you meant when you said this was our hotel room?”

  “As in ours. Yours and mine.”

  I shake my head as if to physically reject what he’s saying. “What are you talking about? I know damn well you had a hotel room. I paid you money for it. Go sleep there.”

  He turns to me for the first time and that schmooze of charm he had all night with the Nike reps is now directed at me—albeit with condescension in it this time. “I can’t sleep there because I checked out yesterday before I left. The money you so kindly left on my pillow to pay for my services was donated to the program for teens we went to today. And this suite has three rooms. One for you, one for me, and one for that giant, frustrating ego of yours so you can let it have a rest from how much overtime it’s been working.”

  “No. The answer is no.” I push his feet off my table and his chuckle in response only serves to anger me further.

  “It’s more efficient this way. It’s only for a couple of days before your exhibition and then we move on to the next city, the next place, in our let’s repair Stevie’s image tour.”

  “I never agreed to that.”

  “You didn’t have to. Carson had already set it up. You spent five weeks in the public eye undoing and distancing yourself from the person you were. Now we need to spend that same amount of time to get you back there.”

  But what if I don’t want to go back there?

  What if . . . what if I don’t know what to want or how to feel or even where to look for that? I’ve spent my entire life under my dad’s thumb—missing so much of normal life for this incredible life that I have—is it so wrong to want a little bit of both?

  But I don’t dare speak the words. I don’t dare say what every single person would look at me like I’m crazy for.

  “And let me guess, you’re the one who is responsible to hold my hand during it all.”

  “I’m as thrilled about it as you are.” He lowers his phone he was busy scrolling through and meets my eyes. “Are you always this irritable?”

  “I’ve been called America’s Tennis Sweetheart before. I don’t exactly think that coincides with irritability.”

  “And yet that’s all I’ve seen from you thus far.”

  “Apparently you bring this side out of me,” I mutter.

  “Good to know.” He goes back to his phone and I go back to feeling completely dismissed. Antsy. Pissed that I didn’t even get to say goodbye to Vivi and Jordan.

  Angry at this man who sat beside me all afternoon while I made an appearance at a tennis program for underprivileged youth. To the one who often spoke for me during the dinner he’d scheduled with the marketing heads of Nike. To the man who is now occupying my hotel room.

  I need some distance from him. A drink. Maybe even a bit of trouble to make me feel something.

  “Oh my God. I forgot my purse.” I don’t intend to get in trouble when I utter the lie. It’s more my need for space to think and process and be alone.

  In a casino full of people.

  Even I don’t buy my own excuses and yet I still make them.

  “I can go grab it,” Finn says with a resigned sigh and begins to push himself off the couch.

  “No. It’s okay. I’ll go.” I take a step toward the door. “I don’t feel good anyway and it’s better if I walk it off.”

  “We can send one of your bodyguards to get it.” He rises from his seat, pointing to the room next door where they are stationed.

  “No. They don’t know what it looks like.” I grab a baseball hat I left sitting on the counter and pull it down over my forehead to help disguise myself. “I’ll be right back.”

  I’m out the door of the suite before he can answer and all but jogging down the hall on my heels, the need to escape pressing on me with every step.

  “Stevie!” Finn’s voice calls to me down the hallway just as I step onto the elevator. “Your purse is right here.”

  Caught in my lie, I jab at the button to close the elevator door as his feet clod down the hallway.

  “Goddammit,” he groans when he tries to stick his hand in the just-closed door but it’s too late. My squeal is loud and my laugh that follows makes me feel more alive than I’ve felt all night.

  “Bye, Finn,” I shout as the car starts to descend.

  I get hung up on a few floors but my grin is wide the entire time as I picture Finn standing there in his shirt unbuttoned at the collar and my sparkly purse in his hand.

  Might as well go have some fun before I head back and have to answer to him, because let’s face it, I might have just screwed myself royally when it comes to Finn.

  Sure, I’m on a slight high right now because, while I may have succeeded in getting out of the hotel room, now Finn will never trust me again.

  I’ll find a way to make him. To break him. To bend him to my will.

  Of that, I’m confident.

  The elevator opens to the clink and clank and buzz of the casino. Stale smoke hangs in the air and the intermittent calls for “Cocktails” ring out around the floor. I take in the scene in front of me and decide to move toward the bar and indulge in one, solitary drink. Of course, I�
��ll want more, but I’m going to be on my best behavior.

  As it is, I’ll have to go back and share the suite with Finn so it might be best to not be sloppy drunk when I face him. Besides, getting on the court today felt good. All except for the sucking wind part. I know the copious amounts of alcohol and bad food I’ve eaten over the past few weeks majorly contributed to that.

  I wander through the casino, keeping my head low and my face in the shadows of the baseball hat. I’m sure people are wondering about my fashion statement—the fancy dress, the high heels, and the baseball hat—but it’s Vegas after all. People are used to everything here.

  I grab a drink. I play a few slot machines using the cash app on my phone to pay for it. The high of escaping Finn has waned and without Vivi or Jordan here, Vegas doesn’t exactly feel like as much fun as it had.

  “Hey. Sorry. I know it’s late there,” I say when Vivi answers the phone as I people watch from a darkened corner in the hotel bar.

  “You know me. I’m always up.” She pauses. “Everything okay?”

  “I’m sorry about Finn. About him pushing you out. About not getting to say goodbye.” I shrug even though she can’t see it. “I feel bad.”

  “Don’t. We had fun. Hell, we had the time of a lifetime . . . but now it’s time for you to get back to what you do best. I just hope us being there helped some.”

  “It did. More than you’ll ever know.”

  “Good. Now, I’d tell you to behave but a small part of me wants you to be a pain in the ass for Finn. Just because.”

  “I may currently be doing just that.” My smile is bittersweet. I’m already missing my friends, but I know she’s right—that I need to get back to my everyday life.

  “Good for you.” Her laugh makes me smile.

  “Love you.”

  “Love you too.”

  I stare at my cell for a few seconds before shaking my head and deciding to wander once again. I’m restless as I move through the casino, and I’m not sure if it’s because I don’t have Vivi and Jordan to keep my thoughts at bay or because I’m afraid to go back to the hotel room and face the consequences of my actions.