by K. Bromberg
“That’s quite the stretch, Chase, even for you.”
“And you forget that I know you, Finn Sanderson.”
My silence is enough of an answer but instead of rubbing my nose in it, Chase stays silent too.
I struggle with an answer. Telling her, not telling her.
“I found her and let her go,” I finally say and fuck does it feel good to just say it to someone.
“Why would you do something stupid like that?”
My chuckle is self-deprecating. “Because . . . fuck if I know, Chase.”
“You just let her walk away?”
“You know me . . . you know my dad—that I can’t undo years of fear—”
“If you like her as much as this conversation is implying, then you’ll figure your shit out and figure it out real quick.”
“She scares the shit out of me.”
Her laugh fills my ears. “You’re damn right she does. Love does that to you. It scares the shit out of you. It makes you fear having the person as much as not having the person. It owns your heart and head until it’s all you can think about.”
Her words are a poignant nail on the head that reinforce how I feel.
“I’ll think about it.”
“Go get the girl, Finn. If there is one thing I’ve learned from Gunner, it’s that life doesn’t hold any guarantees. We don’t always get second chances, Finn. But I think you’re getting yours. Ignore the shit your dad told you. Follow your heart. You know that we Kincade girls didn’t believe in love either, and yet here we are, all blissfully happy. And now it’s your turn. Geography doesn’t matter, Finn. When you love someone, you’re willing to make sacrifices that benefit them. And it looks like that’s what you need to do.”
Is that what I need to do? Give up my excuses, my bachelor ways? But what the fuck am I really giving up? When you love someone, you’re willing to make sacrifices that benefit them.
“Oh, and congrats on that interview a few months back. The Stevie Lancaster one. That was brilliant agenting 101.”
“Did you just give me a compliment?” I tease, relieved to be on more neutral territory than talking about my current love life with an ex.
“I’ll plead the fifth if you ever tell anyone.”
“Funny.”
“The Open is over in a week. You need to get your ass in gear if you’re going to win her back.”
“How did you—”
“The whole world saw it in that photo with the Greshenko match. I’m just glad to hear this time the picture that told a thousand words was true.”
STEVIE
Finn: Congrats on making it to the semifinals. It was a great match.
I stare at the text, my pulse pounding, and my smile widening.
Me: Thank you. How are you?
Finn: Good. Busy. Just working. You look great out there.
A million responses fly through my mind. I miss you. I love you. I want to see you. But I type none of them because as much as I want to get my hopes up, I can’t. This is a simple text after a week of not talking to him, not a declaration of love.
Me: Thank you. Off to the press circus now. Thanks for texting.
My sigh is audible as I stare at his words, missing him terribly.
FINN
“OKAY. SO READ THAT PARAGRAPH again. I need you to understand the parameters of this endorsement deal,” I say to Moni, a WNBA star, as I click on the television in my office. “I’ll wait while you do.”
Stevie’s semifinals match coverage should be starting any moment, and I don’t want to miss it.
I take a seat and go to square up some loose-leaf papers on my desk when Stevie comes onto the screen. She’s warming up, hitting a few balls over the net. Right before the camera pans off her, she looks at it, puts her hand over her heart, and taps three times.
I grab my remote and rewind the broadcast, needing to see it again. Did she . . . was that for me?
If so, I need to make sure she’s telling me what I want to hear. See. That she feels the same way about me that I do her.
You showed him that hearts matter. That knowing someone loves you matters.
And it’s there. Plain as day. The three taps.
She wants me to know that she loves me, and that I matter to her. I stand up. I sit down. I rewind it to see it again as adrenaline races through my veins.
She fucking loves me.
But how do I show her the same thing? How do I make sure she knows that her heart matters too?
STEVIE
WHEN I COLLAPSE ONTO THE massage table, my body is exhausted and my morale is for shit.
“I don’t know what the big deal is. You had a bad match. You still won, so let’s watch the tapes, see what we can fix, and be ready for the finals.”
I close my eyes and ignore Kellen. I know he means well—it seems everyone does these days—but he’s also never been my coach when I’ve done poorly. He doesn’t realize that I don’t need to be coddled—Christ, do I not need to be coddled—but rather I need to be told that yes, I did play like shit.
“Go away, Kell,” I mumble, needing space and time to be grumpy.
My form sucked. I was late going to the right when the ball was hit there. My serve was off. Yes, I won, but there is no way in hell I’m going to beat Martina Hauerr in the finals playing like this.
It’s my father’s voice I’m missing right now. His strong but valid criticisms. His unwanted critiques. His scant praise that made me want to work hard in order to get more of it.
I lie face down and wait for Angel, the masseuse, to ease the tension and soreness in my muscles before I jump into the ice bath.
But it’s only then with my face in the weird hole thing on the massage table that I shut my eyes and allow myself to come down from the high from winning . . . and the pressure from not performing up to par.
It’s then that the tears well and fall onto the floor beneath me.
He should be here. My father. He should be in the chair opposite me telling me what I need to work on before the next match. I should hear his baritone laugh as he scrolls through social media and reads the ridiculous comments about the match. I should feel his kiss on the back of my head and his soft words, “I’m proud of you,” before he leaves the room to go review the tapes before me.
Dad, I need you here with me. It’s hard. Everything is so different without you here sitting in those seats, your presence willing me to win. I miss you so much.
I miss him. But I also need to win for him. After all the years of sacrifice, of time, of direction, of praise, of coaching . . . of loving me. This win needs to be for him. I’ll regret it if I don’t get my butt into gear and win the US Open for my dad.
And yet, that also makes me see what else I regret.
I should have told Finn that I love him. That this could work somehow.
I miss Finn too.
I sniff the tears away as Angel walks into the room with her cheerful greeting and heaven-sent hands.
After the Open.
I need to do what I came here to do first.
Win my dad’s favorite tournament. For the first man in the world I loved. To honor him.
STEVIE
THE LOCKER ROOM IS SILENT.
Silent except for the noise in my head that won’t shut up. The little tweaks I need to make. Martina’s game plan in how she approaches matches. But I welcome the noise because it’s so much better than the quiet I’ve been struggling with these past few days.
“There is a text I think you need to see,” Kellen says, interrupting my thoughts as I watch Hayley hand him my phone.
I’m about to snap at him because he knows better than to pull me out of my preparation-for-match mode, but the look on his face stops me.
“You need to see this,” he says as I take my phone from him.
My heart flips in my chest when I see that it’s from Finn. Even more when I read the words.
Finn: I thought this might help you today.
He has his beloved red hat on, and I get to hear his voice over and over in his distinctly raspy voice there.
When it ends, I watch it again. This time the tears dry sooner and my smile grows a little bit wider.
He brought him to me. Finn gave me my dad in the final match of the tournament I promised him I’d win.
My hands are shaking as I try to type.
Me: Thank you. This means the world to me.
I hit send, holding tight to the phone as if it were his hand.
Finn: Just like you mean to me.
I stare at his text, my hope bubbling up in a way I never thought it could. In a way that has my breath catching and my heart racing.
Me: Meaning?
“Meaning I’ve been missing you like crazy, and I think we need to figure out how to not make me miss you.”
I stare at my phone, so very afraid to look up and hope that it’s him, here in the flesh, even though I know it is.
There are footsteps—as Kellen’s and Hayley’s leave the room and as Finn’s come into view in front of me.
“Important firsts are supposed to be noted so let’s take note of this one.” Finn’s fingers find my chin and lift it up so that I’m forced to look into those gorgeous eyes of his. And what I see in them is exactly how I feel reflected back at me. “I’m in love with you, Stevie Lancaster. Ridiculously in love with you when I’m not a man who believes in love at all.”
I rise to my feet as if I’m on autopilot. My body and heart already reacting before my mind can process his words.
“So tell me you’re in love with me too. Tell me the past two weeks have been as miserable without me as they’ve been for me without you. Even though you have played like the incredibly talented tennis champion you are. Tell me that we’ll figure out how to make this work because damn it, woman, you’re my Cards O’ Fun, and I want to keep turning them over and experiencing each different one with you. Only you.”
Tears slip down my cheeks as I struggle to find words to respond. As I try to figure out how to make him understand what I’m feeling inside. And there’s a moment between our eyes meeting and our lips meeting where the world stops for a few seconds, and the only thing I can think of, anticipate, dream of, is his kiss. A moment so poignant and perfect that when I brush my lips against his and breathe him in, I know this is the beginning.
This is my future. He is my forever.
“I love you too,” I murmur. He wraps his arms around me and holds me tight, causing me to feel completed and complemented in a way I never have before.
“Now, tell me exactly what you know about Martina Hauerr’s game and how to beat her. Because this is your win, Lancaster. Prove to me that you’re ready to take that crown. Show me what it takes. Get out there and win. Let’s go.”
And that’s what I needed to hear. That gruff, authoritarian, no-bullshit encouragement.
Victory, here I come.
FINN
FOR A MAN WHO WAS taught to shun love, to shun emotion, it’s impossible to put into words what it’s like watching the woman you love—yes, love—get ready to battle on the court with the world watching.
There’s color in her cheeks and a smile on her lips. There’s a swagger in her step and confidence in her attitude that I love knowing I helped put there.
She completes her warm-up and steps over to the bench to wipe the sweat from her brow.
My chest feels like it’s going to burst with a pride I don’t think I’ve ever experienced before. For her, battling to be in this moment after everything she went through, and for me, finally putting to rest my dad’s rhetoric that he spent a lifetime trying to make me believe.
Not all women leave.
Some battle. Perhaps even fall. But if you hold out your hand long enough, be patient enough, and make yourself just as vulnerable as they feel, then you just might change the cycle.
“Quiet, please,” the chair umpire says to the stadium, as both Stevie and Martina walk to their respective ends of the court.
I’ve played this over in my head on the flight. Just how I’ll do this. So that Stevie will be reminded of her father while at the same time starting something that is uniquely ours. This won’t be the last time I’m sitting courtside, cheering her on.
I slip the red Nike hat onto my head.
Hell, might as well take note of this important first too.
“Game on, Rapunzel.”
STEVIE
FINN GROANS BESIDE ME AT the bright sunlight glaring through the windows of our rental house. “It’s winter. Doesn’t Australia know that?” he says as he rolls onto his back and sighs loudly. We’ve both been having trouble adjusting to the time difference, but that’s why we’re here so early. To get acclimated before the Australian Open starts so it doesn’t affect me when I play.
And so we can have some added bonus time together.
“But it’s summer here. The sun and heat are a welcome change from the cold of New York.” I shift, sliding my arm beneath the pillow my head is propped on so I can study him. His dark hair. His profile. The rise and fall of his bare chest. The pillow creases on his cheek.
I love him.
It’s plain and simple. I love him in a way I never knew was possible. But I feel like we’re going through a rough patch. Between training for the Australian Open and his work taking him all over the place, I feel like we’re never on the same page.
That’s why I’m so very grateful he’s here with me. And I’m hoping that this added extra downtime together in Melbourne will help with that.
“You’re staring at me,” he murmurs but keeps his face aimed at the ceiling.
“I am.”
“Humph.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing. It’s just a sound.” He sighs and turns on his side so that we’re face to face. Butterflies take flight in my stomach even after being with him for almost eighteen months.
Yes, I count.
Every day is another I get with him. Each month something I’m grateful for.
Our eyes meet and there’s something in his. Something I can’t decipher.
“Now, you’re staring at me,” I whisper and reach out to put my hand on his heart and tap three times. His smile is as soft as his sigh. “Are you okay?”
“Mm-hmm.”
“Mm-hmm? Can we do better than that?” I ask. He’s been off. And off not in the sense that he’s Finn and he’s always doing a hundred things, but off in the fact that he’s been distant, and I don’t know how to reel him back in.
A flash of a smile. His hand reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. A glimpse of the old Finn.
“I’ve been busy negotiating a contract,” he says. “It’s been a tough one to figure out all the angles and caveats. I’m not certain my client will accept it.”
I startle. I had no idea he had something big going on. And then I breathe a sigh of relief because that means this distance I’ve felt is not because something is wrong with us, but rather he’s just stressed over work.
I exhale a soft sigh of relief. “Want to talk about it?”
He shrugs, his fingers tracing up and down the length of my arm. “It’s a lifetime contract that—”
“Wow!” Now I definitely want to ask who it is, but we agreed a long time ago that I can’t ask specifics when it comes to his clients and their negotiations.
“I know. So it’s a big deal that I make sure all the terms are right.”
“I’m assuming it’s an endorsement deal?” Nike or the like as a lifetime deal is few and far between, but Finn has clients who are worthy of them.
“More like a partnership of sorts.”
“Okay.” I draw the word out. “That’s even rarer.”
“I know, so you can see why I’ve been stressing over it.”
“I would be too. No wonder you’ve been lost in thought more times than not.”
He gives me that half-smile again that melts my heart. “I’m sorry.” He brings my hand up to his lips and presses a kiss to my palm. “I didn’t mean to be preoccupied or ignore you.” That half-smile lights up the room in the best way possible. “Forgive me?”
“Of course. Always.” Forever. “What is troubling you?”
“The terms.”
“What about them?”
“I want to get them right. How the two parties deal when one of them is unhappy since that is bound to happen.”
“Naturally.”
“Or what happens if she—”
“She?” I ask, surprised by his slip, when he’s normally so guarded.
He scrunches his nose in the most adorable way. “Yes, she.”
“What else?”
“I don’t know. I mean, what if I work this hard on something and she rejects the offer? What if she’s not willing to sign a lifetime contract? What if she thinks I’ll fall short in taking care of her? What if—”
“What if the sky falls and the world stops turning?” I tease as I reach out and squeeze his hand. This is so not like Finn. He’s always so secure, so confident. “I’m sure she trusts you and your advice and all you bring to the table, because hasn’t she already agreed to be with you in some way or another?”
His smile softens. “True.”
I lean forward and press a kiss to his lips. “Don’t move, I have something for you.” I scoot off the bed and head to the other room to grab the two boxes I’ve hidden in the coat closet that most definitely isn’t being used in this heat. Maybe this will lighten the mood and make him smile.