Hard to Love

by K. Bromberg

  “That brings up another point. Mary states that she couldn’t contact you because that was part of the conditions of her settlement with your dad.”

  “You mean the monthly payments she alleges he made to her? Cash payments that haven’t been proven? Isn’t that proof enough why she’s talking publicly at this point? If she wanted a relationship with her supposed daughter, then all she had to do was reach out to my people. My father is dead so whatever agreement they had between them would be null and void.”

  “You said ‘isn’t that proof why she’s talking publicly.’ Can you clarify what you mean by that?”

  “She wants money. Plain and simple.”

  “If she hasn’t contacted you like you say, then how can you be so sure?”

  Stevie emits a disbelieving laugh before taking a moment to collect her words. “Just like your audience has to make a judgment call on if my apology during this interview is sincere or not without even meeting me, I had to do the same with this woman.”

  “And you conclude she’s after a payoff.”

  “Hasn’t she already gotten one? From the television network who released her exclusive interview? From the tabloids who have her tell-all story? She’s been paid. Regardless, if my father sent her checks or not, she won’t get a dime from me.”

  “But let’s stop right there. If he was in fact paying her a repeated sum, then doesn’t that reinforce the fact that she is in fact your mother?”

  “My dad was my fiercest protector. If he thought someone was going to hurt me or my career in any way, then he would have done everything he could to keep me safe.”

  “But that means he might have also kept you from having a mother.”

  She swallows forcibly and I know that question got to her. Just as it would have gotten to me. But she takes her time choosing her words before answering. “Clearly, he was right in his decision, seeing as her first steps toward me after twenty-plus years were through the media to try and destroy everything I’ve ever known to be true. It’s almost as if she thought using the press against me was a form of blackmail—that I’d be afraid she’d ruin my image—and that would scare me enough to pay to shut her up.”

  “That’s a big accusation.”

  “Just as hers are,” Stevie says with a steely resolve that leaves me shaking my head.

  “So I guess a live-for-television family reunion is out of the question?” Kyle asks with a laugh.

  Stevie joins in but then her expression becomes serious. “Like I said, I have zero desire to ever meet Mary Johnson and if I had in the past, she killed every possibility of it by the things she said.”

  Kyle nods and lets the weight of Stevie’s statement settle. “So what now for Stevie Lancaster?”

  “I move on, but I don’t forget.” She gives a bittersweet smile that tugs on my heart. “Now with my head on straight, I start training for the Open with a vengeance and then maybe, every once in a while, do something spontaneous that makes me feel alive.”

  “I like the sound of that.” Kyle leans back in his chair. “On a closing note, tell me something about your father. Something you learned from him or that you want people to know about him.”

  “He was my best friend,” she murmurs.

  “That’s sweet, but there is no way that even through the teenage years that you two were that close. I have a fifteen-year-old daughter and I think she likes me about one minute out of every sixty.”

  Stevie laughs and then her smile falls slowly. “The truth, Kyle? The truth is when I was a teenager, I hated him some days almost as much as I loved him. I didn’t understand why I had to miss my senior prom or why I couldn’t participate in senior ditch day. I hated him because he didn’t think any boy was good enough and therefore when the few girlfriends I had were out living it up, kissing boys and figuring their dating lives out, I thought of him as more of a tyrant than my father and coach. Maybe that’s why I went a little crazy after he died. Maybe that was my attempt to live on the wild side I never had the chance to live.” She smiles softly as tears well in her eyes. “The funny thing is, trying to do that only served to prove him right. Now I’m behind training for the Open.”

  “So you are playing the Open?”

  “I haven’t missed one yet.”

  “You’ll get there. I’m sure of it,” Kyle says as Stevie nods shyly. “I want to thank you for sitting down with me. I know that couldn’t have been easy for you.”

  “It was important for me to say my piece so that I can move forward, so thank you for letting me do that.”

  “Best of luck to you.”

  Then the feed switches off and Kyle moves on to his next story behind his anchor desk. I turn the TV off but stay seated where I am and wonder where the hell all of that just came from. I mean, if allowing Stevie Lancaster to sit alone for five days with her thoughts produces an earnest, believable, honest interview such as the one she just gave, then I think she needs to be left to her thoughts more often.

  I don’t know how long I sit there ignoring the buzzing of my phone on the couch beside me, but when I look up, Stevie is standing in the doorway studying me.

  She cocks her head to the side and is silent for a beat. “Well?”

  I give a disbelieving shake of my head. “Are you okay?” It’s not what I meant to say. I meant to tell her she was brilliant and I was proud of her for everything she said, but I also know saying what she said probably took a toll on her.

  She inhales a shaky breath. “I wouldn’t have said it if I weren’t.”

  “And so just like that, things are crystal clear and okay?”

  “To the public, yes. To me, I’m still a major work in progress, but at least I know the answers. And I know where I need to get to.”

  “No more stripper poles or strip poker or trying to lose me?” I ask, a ghost of a smile on my lips as she takes a seat beside me and leans her head on my shoulder.

  “Does that mean you no longer quit on me?”

  “It means that you’re welcome to stay here and train for the Open.” That’s not what she asked because frankly, I don’t have an answer. I had a reason for walking away. A damn good one.

  Or at least I thought so at the time.

  And then I invited her to live with me for two months.

  My logic isn’t exactly sane at this point.

  “Thank you,” she says softly. “For coming back to get me. For letting me stay here. For telling me about your mom. Somehow, that made it easier to say what I had to say.”

  “Today was all you,” I say, resting my cheek on the side of her head in a rare show of empathy. “And you did one hell of a job, Stevie. Incredible actually. I’m proud of you.”

  FINN

  “AND YOU WONDER WHY I brought you on board to handle her?” Carson chuckles into the phone. There is the sound of a steel drum somewhere in the background and laughter. The fucker probably has his feet up on a wicker footstool and someone serving him cocktails if my hunch is correct.

  “Took you long enough to call. Let me guess, you’re in some tropical paradise where the cell service sucks and the Wi-Fi is intermittent?”

  His chuckle is all I need as confirmation. “You’re a goddamn genius, son. That interview was perfection. Absolute perfection. How’d you pull that off?”

  “I didn’t. She did.”

  “I’m sure you did something to prompt it.”

  “I’d love to take the credit.” And normally I would, but for some reason, I can’t on this one. “I didn’t do anything other than give her time to think.”

  “But you got her the interview that was heard around the world.”

  “She did that. She made the call and set it up without me even knowing.”

  “Take the credit, Sanderson. Didn’t I teach you anything?” He laughs.

  “Have another Mai Tai.”

  “Don’t mind if I do.” He emits a belly laugh. “Is this the part where you tell me your job is done and now, she’s all mine?”
<
br />   “This is the part where . . .” I don’t have an answer for him because his question just threw me completely. Is that what I want? To be rid of Stevie after all is said and done? I clear my throat, acutely aware that Carson is listening carefully to my silence and drawing his own conclusions. “This is the part where I told her she could stay here and train until the Open.”

  “And then you’re done with her,” Carson finishes for me.

  “Yes. Sure. I’ve got a full plate with clients.”

  “Uh-huh.” And there it is, the sound every son knows from his father, and Carson is no exception when it comes to me.

  “Uh-huh, nothing, old man.” I shake my head. “There’s nothing to see here.”

  “Never said there was.” He chuckles again. “You made me proud, son.”

  I hang up with him a few minutes later feeling accomplished and strangely content from Carson’s praise.

  Those are words I don’t ever think I heard my dad utter. I knew he was proud of me, that’s why he showed up to my games and told everyone he knew about me, but he never showed it. Instead, he gave sharp criticism that only seemed to get worse when I had my shoulder surgery and had to give up the game I loved.

  Those criticisms increased substantially when he saw me thriving under the tutelage of Carson. It’s amazing what praise can do in place of constant criticism.

  I think all that negativity is what put him in an early grave. That and maybe a lot of guilt over the bullshit he ingrained in me when it came to women.

  “Bullshit?” I mutter as I lean against my kitchen counter and look out toward the darkening sky.

  Since when did I start thinking of it as bullshit?

  Are all these years of Carson telling me my theories on women are full of shit finally breaking through to me?

  C’mon, Finn. You know your old man was full of shit, right? Not all women leave. Not all women are assholes.

  Seriously? You’re just going to up and dump her just like that? She made you happy.

  It’s not a crime to be in a relationship, Sanderson. Hell isn’t going to freeze over, you know.

  One of these days, son, you’re going to learn that life is so much more fun when you have someone by your side.

  The comments echo over and over in my head.

  Christ.

  Carson may not be setting Stevie and me up in the traditional sense, but it sure as hell feels like he’s been working on this for a long-ass time.

  “Honey, I’m home,” Stevie calls out seconds before the slam of the front door. Her footsteps grow near before I hear, “And how was your day, dear?”

  Stevie walks into the house in a plain white tennis skirt and a pink sports bra. It’s something I’ve seen her in plenty of times and yet, for some reason today, it stops me in my tracks. The woman is gorgeous. Dressed up, dressed down, completely sweaty from hours of working out and training—she is just a natural beauty.

  “What?” she asks, her eyes narrowing as she stares at me.

  “Nothing. Sorry.” I pause. Regroup. “How was training?”

  “Good. Great.” She moves into the kitchen and grabs an apple from the counter and takes a bite of it. “Kellen is bitching to me about some habit I picked up on my backhand but I think we worked through it.” She shrugs. “Or we will by the time I need it to be right.”

  “Sounds promising.”

  “I’ll get it right. What about you?” she asks talking around a mouthful of apple. “How was your day? Did you negotiate any earth-shattering contracts or win over any new clients?”

  I blow out a sigh and lean against the counter thinking about my call from Chase Kincade today. “Possibly.” I take a sip of my beer. “I’m trying to steal a pitcher away from another agent and it’s proving to be more difficult than I had anticipated.”

  “Is this the part where you find some dirt on the other agent and use it as blackmail to get the new client?”

  “Jesus,” I bark out in a laugh.

  “Isn’t that what you guys do? Play dirty?” Her smile is mischievous and her eyes look more alive than the first time I met her.

  It’s good to see.

  “Well, this particular agent I have a lot of info on, but I won’t be using it against her.”

  “Her?”

  It’s as if that singular pronoun is a calling card to Stevie.

  “Yes. Her.”

  Stevie eyes me, her smile growing wider, as she moves around the counter toward me. “Finn? Did you sleep with this her?”

  “I never kiss and tell,” I deadpan and then laugh when she pushes playfully against my chest.

  “You did, didn’t you? And now you’re trying to steal her client?”

  “As a matter of fact, yes. To both questions.” I shrug nonchalantly. “It’s just . . . it’s complicated.”

  “So let me see, you had a thing with this hot female agent—”

  “How do you know she’s hot?”

  “Because it’s you,” she says with a chuckle. “And—”

  “And while I may have dirt on her, the dirt she has on me is way worse,” I confess, my own smile playful.

  Stevie narrows her eyes as she studies me. “You cheated on her, didn’t you?”

  The look on my face must give away the answer. “Finn! You’re a bastard.” This time when she swats at me, I grab her wrist and somehow, we end up chest to chest, our faces inches apart.

  The rise of her chest in the fall of mine.

  Her smile is still on her lips but her eyes darken as we stare at each other. “I was,” I murmur. “I had my reasons for what I did. Good, bad, or wrong, I did what I did, and I’ve made amends with her over it.”

  “And she’s okay with it?” she asks in disbelief, as her eyes dart down to my lips and then back up to my eyes.

  “She’s happily married so I think she moved on just fine.”

  “Oh. You’re still a bastard, though,” she all but whispers as my pulse roars in my ears.

  “I know.”

  “I found some fresh cherries at the market,” Faith says.

  Stevie and I jump apart like two kids getting caught kissing, seconds before she walks in with bags of groceries.

  “I know I said I was gone for the day, but that farmers’ market was set up down the street and I just couldn’t resist,” she continues on, oblivious to the kiss she almost interrupted. “I know how much you like cherries, Finn.”

  Stevie lifts her eyebrows at the comment and swallows her laugh with a cough. “Thank you, Faith. I’m going to go take a shower.” Her eyes meet mine and a smile toys at the corners of her lips. “Enjoy your cherries, Finn.”

  I watch her ass sway as she walks away. Faith prattles on as she often does. I half listen and respond when required as she puts the groceries away, but my mind is definitely on the woman taking a shower.

  The one I’d like to be lathering up with my own hands.

  And then it hits me.

  I have a woman living under my roof who makes me think dirty thoughts as much as I enjoy talking to her.

  Well, almost as much.

  A woman who asked about my day when she didn’t have to.

  A woman who I felt compelled to give a valid reason as to why I cheated on a good woman like Chase Kincade.

  A woman I enjoy sparring with, sharing life with, who challenges me on every level.

  One of these days, son, you’re going to learn that life is so much more fun when you have someone by your side.

  Maybe Carson is right—all women aren’t like my mother.

  Maybe it’s time to call the noise my dad put in my head bullshit.

  To acknowledge that women shouldn’t be used and discarded.

  Because Stevie Lancaster is a woman who should never be used nor discarded.

  And that realization scares the fuck out of me.

  STEVIE

  THE BIKINI I CHOSE TO wear wasn’t without thought.

  It’s bright yellow and hugs me perfectly in all
the right places while showcasing all of the other ones I want to be showcased.

  Especially after that long cold shower where I imagined the hands soaping up my breasts and between my legs were Finn’s and not mine.

  Jesus, the man can get me riled up in every sort of way.

  He walked away from my kiss once.

  He left after we had sex.

  Yes, that was mutual and probably for the best, so why can’t I get the man out of my mind?

  I’m curious though, where is he going to go now that we’re all but living together in his house?

  I saw him look at me. I know he wants me just as badly as I want him . . . so what’s holding him back?

  “I learned a long time ago not to get personal with clients.”

  But has that changed?

  I don’t want to resort to the same tactics as before, because I pursued him out of spite—anger—but does he want me? Are things different now? Am I different now?

  I mess with my hair a bit more, trying to see if up or down is better, and I realize I’m feeling a bit more like myself than I have in the longest of times. Confident in myself.

  The interview went great—I said what I needed to say—and I’ve since removed all social media from my phone so I could shut out the chatter. I don’t care what Mary Johnson has said in response. My father’s lawyer has confirmed that there was nothing in his will that earmarked funds for the woman or even acknowledged her existence.

  And considering my father made sure to have my management situation spelled out with Carson, I’m sure if Mary were a concern, he would have done the same.

  So to me, that situation is done and over with.

  Add to that, my training has gone well. I’m not as rusty as I expected to be and even though Kellen keeps telling me I am, he’s nowhere near as good as my father was at hiding his satisfaction of where I’m at.

  It feels good to be back in the groove again.

  It’d feel better if Finn had acted on that desire I saw swimming in his eyes in the kitchen.

  “Maybe it’s time I give him a little push,” I murmur as I check myself in the mirror before heading out to the patio where I can hear Finn on the phone right now. “Because not only is Finn Sanderson sexy and desirable . . . he’s good.”