Hard to Love

by K. Bromberg

  “He sounds amazing.”

  “Sometimes I think he tried too hard and did too much. It was part of the tension between us. He held on too tight when all I wanted to do was let go . . . but I wouldn’t change it for the world.”

  Finn lifts one of my hands and kisses its palm. “He didn’t tell you he was sick,” he murmurs against my skin, and the pain of that hits me all over again.

  My breath hitches as I nod, fighting back the tears. “I was so angry at him. Furious. You know?” I ask and Finn nods. “We fought for days over it, but then I became frantic because, how could I waste any time directing my anger at him when there wasn’t much time left? As it was, he’d been suffering for over a year at that time.”

  I remember the loneliness the most. The feeling like I was adrift at sea with everyone trying to tether me and not a single one being successful at it.

  Then came the guilt. The endless, debilitating guilt over being so wrapped up in myself and my world that I’d missed the signs. The weight he was losing that he said was due to a new vegan lifestyle. The exhaustion that was prevalent that he blamed on insomnia. His excuses I believed about why he was staying home here and there.

  How could I not have noticed?

  “I’m so sorry,” Finn whispers and squeezes my hand.

  I shrug to let the emotion burning in my throat subside. “His reasoning was that he didn’t want me to stop living because of him.” I sniff. “Up until the end, he was pouring his life into me so that I could have mine.”

  “Sounds like an incredible man.”

  I smile for the first time as I remember our last real conversation. “My last promise to him was that I’d win the US Open for him. It was his favorite tournament, and I was desperate to promise him anything to motivate him to keep fighting. To stay alive.”

  “That’s understandable.”

  “So I promised him I’d win only if he was there in the stands. And then he died . . .”

  “And you fought wanting to even train for the tournament because—”

  “Because I was mad at him for not upholding his end of the bargain. And because I knew going there without him was going to reinforce his absence.” I blow out a frustrated sigh. “I’d give anything to look in the stands one more time to see his red hat sitting there and hear him say those words to me.”

  “Game on, Stevester,” Finn whispers.

  The tears begin. They begin when I don’t want them to. They continue when I realize it feels so damn good to let it all out. And they fall even harder until I’m all cried out and exhausted and then, Finn picks me up like I’m weightless and carries me to bed.

  STEVIE

  THE NIGHT BREEZE IS COOL against my skin.

  Finn’s body is warm as I snuggle into him. My nose is under the curve of his jaw, and I find an odd comfort in the scrape of his stubble every time his chest rises and falls.

  His arms tighten around me, his breath even in my ear, and I relish the relaxing sounds of the ocean muted through the closed slider door.

  Here, I feel safe.

  Here, I feel taken care of.

  Here, I—

  I startle awake, not ready for the dream to end just yet but when I do wake, I realize it isn’t a dream this time.

  This time I’m really lying in Finn’s bed, in his arms, where now I remember he held me as I cried myself to sleep.

  I broke down, broke apart, and he held me so the pieces that fell were able to be pieced back together when I was done.

  My breath is shaky when I inhale because I’m petrified that I’m going to move, that he’s going to wake up. And that when he does, he’ll realize he brought me to his bed and freak out.

  I press a kiss to his chest and close my eyes, trying to memorize the feel of his heart beating beneath my lips, the sound of him breathing, the scent of his skin . . . every single thing about him.

  The tears fall again, this time silently, but for such very different reasons than before. This time it’s because I’ve never let myself get so close to someone, to fall for someone, and now that I have, it’s over.

  I contemplate waking him up just so I can hear his voice and commit that sleepy rumble to memory too. But I know I’d be waking him up because every part of me wants to ask him to go with me.

  To head to New York with me.

  But he has a life he’s put aside long enough for me.

  It’s time to let him live it.

  Besides, the last thing he wants is to be with someone whose life is followed by cameras all the time and whose every move and business is reported somewhere, somehow.

  So I feel sorry for myself and let the tears fall, as I breathe him in as long as I can.

  STEVIE

  “HONEY, I’M HOME,” I SAY as I walk into the house, well aware it’s the last time I’m going to say it.

  Even worse, there is no response. The usual banter from Finn isn’t there.

  I suddenly get emotional over its absence.

  See? What’s sentimental to you doesn’t even matter to him.

  But as soon as the thought passes through my mind, I see the box on the counter with a card on top that says “Open me, Stevie.”

  “What the . . .” I murmur as I tear open the card and then bark out a laugh when I read what’s inside.

  Cards O’ Fun

  Put this dress on and meet me upstairs in an hour.

  My cheeks hurt from smiling so hard as I open the box to find a gorgeous, sparkly red dress along with a more than sexy pair of strappy heels.

  Finn Sanderson, I don’t know what you’re doing for our last night, but I’m here for it.

  At the hour mark, I glance in the mirror one more time before I leave my room to meet Finn.

  The woman staring back at me is so very different than the one who was carried into this house two months ago. She was broken and beaten down. The woman looking back at me is confident, independent, and strong.

  She’s also putting on a brave face to try and enjoy whatever Finn has in store for her tonight instead of being sad about what comes tomorrow.

  With a deep breath, I open my bedroom door and head upstairs where there is a patio on the roof.

  I expect a romantic table for two with dinner and candlelight. That’s the only thing my mind can come up with that Finn has done.

  But when I clear the last step and look around, a little yelp escapes my mouth.

  The rooftop patio is decked out like a high school prom. There’s a photo booth, a deejay in the corner, sparkly decorations, and sashes for prom king and queen laid out on the table beside me.

  And standing in the middle of it all is one Finn Sanderson with a tuxedo on, complete with a vest that matches my dress.

  “Finn.” It’s all I can think to say as I take in all the special touches that are simply incredible.

  “You said you never got to go to prom so I wanted to give you another first worth noting.” He takes a step toward me, his grin captivating, and holds out a box for me.

  “What’s this?”

  “No prom is complete without a corsage, right?”

  I open the container and slip the corsage over my wrist. When I look up to meet his eyes, I have tears swimming in mine. “Thank you.” I shake my head, at a loss for words. “No one has ever done anything this thoughtful for me before.”

  “Uh-uh.” He lifts my chin up so I’m forced to meet his eyes. “Don’t be sad. It’s our prom night and you know what that means, right?”

  “No.” I giggle as the deejay starts up the music. Of course, it’s one of the most popular songs of what would have been my prom year.

  “It means it’s time to party!” Finn yells.

  And we do.

  We dance like teenagers, drink spiked punch, and take way too many pictures in the photo booth. Photos I know I’ll cherish in the weeks to come. We even have a mock crowning ceremony for the prom king and prom queen.

  “What was your prom like?” I ask as we eat cupcakes by
a firepit he set up overlooking the water.

  “I’m pretty sure I drank too much. I know I didn’t dance at all, except for the slow ones, because what eighteen-year-old guy doesn’t not want to rub up against his date, and I know for certain we got home way past curfew because her dad was pissed.”

  “Why does that not surprise me?” I laugh.

  He shrugs and laughs. “Because you know me too well.” He leans forward and brushes his lips against mine.

  “What was her name?” I ask.

  “Who?”

  “Your prom date.”

  “Jennifer Stevenson.”

  “Wow. No hesitation. I’m impressed.” I laugh.

  “Everyone remembers the name of who they went to prom with.” He leans back and takes a sip of his beer.

  I watch the ocean breeze flutter through his hair, and I take in the flames of the fire dancing in his eyes. We sit staring at this for some time, enjoying the moment, letting it soak in, and trying to commit it to memory to help us get through the coming days.

  “Why?” I finally ask.

  “Why what?”

  “This.” I hold my hands out to the elaborate setup and trouble he went through to do this for me.

  “Because I wanted to. Because you deserve it. Because no one forgets their prom date.”

  And he doesn’t want me to forget him.

  Emotions burn in my throat at the unspoken words. The same ones swimming in his eyes as he takes my hand and leads me back to our private dance floor.

  And as the night wears on to early morning, we slow dance to Maroon 5’s “Daylight.” We all but cling to each other as the song plays, trying to eek one last memory from the night.

  And as we head downstairs, our hands linked and our hearts exhausted, Finn slowly undoes the zipper of my dress, lacing a row of kisses down my spine.

  There is nothing hurried this time around. Nothing frantic like usual. It’s soft kisses and tender touches. It’s eye contact and hushed words.

  There’s grief and gratitude in our movements.

  There’s reverence and the need to remember.

  There’s a finality to it.

  It’s making love not just having sex.

  And when Finn slips into me, when we come together as one, we start the process of saying goodbye.

  STEVIE

  THE SUN IS BEGINNING TO lighten the gray of the horizon through the sheer curtains in Finn’s bedroom.

  He lies tangled in the sheets, his body naked, and his soft snores filling the room.

  I debated whether I should wake him up. Whether I would put ourselves through the finality of saying goodbye one more time.

  But we already did that last night. In whispers of touch and hushed murmurs. In how we lay on the pillows staring at each other until he finally drifted off to sleep an hour ago, and I got up to pack.

  I lean over and press a whisper of a kiss to his cheek. “Goodbye, Finn Sanderson,” I murmur as I move toward the door.

  But I look back one more time. It’s too hard not to. And this time I hold my hand over my heart, pat three times, and smile at the man who holds my heart.

  Because there’s one more first worth noting as I leave this house: I’m in love with Finn Sanderson.

  FINN

  I WAKE WITH A START.

  The sun is beaming through the windows but the house is absolutely silent. The bed beside me is cold to the touch.

  I don’t even call out for her because I already know by how the hint of her perfume still clings in the air.

  She’s gone.

  Fucking gone.

  Women always leave. Remember that.

  “Fuck you, Dad,” I mutter, my hands fisting in the comforter and my heart aching in my chest.

  I expect bitterness to come. Anger. I anticipate the need to punch something . . . but there’s nothing but a churning in my gut and a sudden emptiness in my heart.

  She’s gone. But she’s gone because she’s a tennis champion, and she’s heading to work. To do what she’s been working so hard for. And that is perfectly okay. It’s what we knew was coming. It’s what we’ve been preparing for. It’s what she wants . . . and needs.

  She didn’t leave without cause. Is that the difference?

  Did Dad ever find out why Mom left us? Why she could turn her back on her marriage and on her son?

  I close my eyes and will myself back to sleep, thinking maybe it would be easier if I were bitter like my dad.

  But I’m not.

  This is something altogether different, and I don’t know what the fuck to do about it.

  I love you, Stevie.

  I really do.

  FINN

  “HOW’S SHE DOING?” FAITH ASKS with a lift of her chin to the television as she moves through the family room.

  “She just won in straight sets.” I glance her way but then go right back to the television. To where Stevie is sitting on her bench post-match, wiping the sweat off her face and then putting her rackets away.

  “So that’s good, right?”

  “Yes.” I smile distracted. “That’s good.”

  I thought the ache in my chest would subside. It hasn’t. I’ve thrown myself into my work the last few days but even that hasn’t distracted me enough to forget.

  Because how can you forget a woman like her?

  Stevie stands and the camera follows her as she moves over to where Kellen stands with another man.

  “You know you have a house in Manhattan, right?”

  “What?” I ask Faith.

  “The other place you live?”

  “Yeah. What about it?”

  “Isn’t it only a few subway rides away from where she’s playing right now?”

  “Mm-hmm,” I murmur as Stevie smiles and pats Kellen on the back.

  I know the distance from my place. I’ve even looked up ticket availability and how to get there.

  But sitting here, watching her in her element and doing her thing, I decide that my presence there would only be a distraction.

  And if she’s going to win this title, that’s the last thing she needs.

  This is what she does. She has a life of her own that has nothing to do with mine and . . .

  Stevie looks toward where the camera is, and I swear to God, it feels like she’s looking straight at me.

  It would be an impossible stretch. With me normally in New York and her in Florida. For us to try and make it work. It would—

  It was a good run.

  I’ll leave it at that.

  But that doesn’t make it any easier when I stand in my kitchen later that night and look at the door waiting for her to come in and ask how my day was.

  STEVIE

  DID HE WATCH TODAY? DID he see me advance to the quarterfinals?

  Did he see me hand over my heart when I patted it three times before the match started?

  Does he know how much I’d kill to look up and see him sitting in the stands?

  Or waiting in the locker room afterward where he’d be pacing while on his phone, talking too loud, sucking up all the air, and dominating the space?

  I look at my phone, scrolling past texts from Carson and Vivi and Jordan, and hate that the one person I most want one from isn’t there.

  For all I know, he could be on a plane somewhere right now. Or anywhere really. Just not here.

  With a deep breath, I prepare myself for my post-game interviews.

  But not before one more look down at my phone.

  Nothing.

  Does he know how much I miss him?

  FINN

  “HASN’T THIS GONE ON LONG enough?”

  I smile when I hear Chase Kincade’s voice coming through my phone. “Hasn’t what gone on long enough? You hating me?” I ask playfully, knowing we’re way past that.

  “I don’t hate you and you know that.”

  “But you did.”

  “You’re damn right I did, and I had valid reasons to after what you did to me—”
/>
  “True.”

  “But that’s over and done with. I’ve moved on.”

  “How is Gunner, by the way?” I ask of her new husband who, by all accounts, seems like a nice guy and makes her ridiculously happy.

  “Wonderful.” I can hear the smile in her voice. “You’re distracting me, Sanderson.”

  “Yes. I forgot. What’s gone on long enough?”

  “This whole stealing clients back and forth bullshit.”

  “You’re upset about Dante,” I say, proud that I was able to pull him on board with my firm.

  “I’m upset about a lot of people.”

  “As am I,” I counter. “I think we’re pretty even in the stealing clients department.” It’s been an exhausting few years trying to hold on to what is mine while staunching off an all-out attack from her firm to try and steal my clients away.

  I may have deserved it. That much I can admit.

  “Then I say we call a truce.”

  I chuckle and give a shrug she can’t see. “Okay.”

  “Okay?” Surprise rings through her tone. “Are you feeling okay? You never just okay anything, especially when it comes to giving up potential income.”

  “I said okay. Can we leave it at that?”

  Chase falls silent for a beat before making a noncommittal sound. “Who is she?”

  “Who is who?” I play dumb.

  “Something is different in your life when you’re a man who never likes change so the one thing that has to be different is that you found someone.”