Hate to Love You

by Isabelle Richards

  I hand her the glass of lemonade. “You really didn’t have to come. I’m okay. Honest. Things certainly haven’t turned out the way I was anticipating, but that’s life, right?” I’m lying.

  She knows I’m lying, but she allows me to pretend. She twirls a lock of her hair. “That’s not really why I’m here. I mean, it’s part of why I’m here, but not the whole reason. I have to tell you something, and you aren’t going to like it. ”

  “Well, that’s a great conversation starter. I really can’t wait to see where this goes. Whatever it is, just tell me.”

  She scoots her chair closer to mine. “I won’t string this out. Chase is getting married.”

  I must have misheard her. There’s no way that’s happening. “Run that by me again?” Before Charlie has a chance to say anything, I tap her leg. “Stop. I don’t want to hear it again.”

  Tears well up in her eyes. “Ari, I don’t know what to say. He took me and Spence out to dinner to tell us. As soon as he got the words out, I faked a migraine, drove straight to the airport, and got on the eleven o’clock flight to Sydney. Thank God I just happened to have my passport in the car. Otherwise I would have had to wait till morning, and I just couldn’t wait. I don’t even have a bag. I wasn’t thinking. I just needed to get to you.”

  My mouth is dry, and my chest is tightening by the second. “You can borrow anything of mine.”

  She smiles. “Maybe some retail therapy too?”

  “Does everyone know that you’re here?” Does Chase?

  “Spencer, obviously, and I know he told my parents. I forbid him to talk to Chase. Chase is really pissed that I just went AWOL. We’ve never gone a day without talking, but I don’t really care. I’m furious with him.”

  Nothing she says is processing. It’s as if my brain has checked out. “Why?”

  She throws up her hands. “Why? You have to ask why? Well, for one, he doesn’t love her—”

  “How do you know he doesn’t love her? He could love her.” Clearly he doesn’t love me anymore, so it’s possible he loves her.

  She looks annoyed by my question. “He’s my twin brother. I know him better than I know myself.” She rolls her eyes and flicks her hand toward me. “With the exception of your little secret affair. Even when you were together, I knew when he was happy and when he wasn’t. I just didn’t know why. He’s not happy with her. I have no idea why he’s doing this, but it sure as hell isn’t for love.”

  I should say something like she shouldn’t be angry with him. He’s a grown man, and he can make his own choices. Those are things I would typically say. I would never want to be the wedge to come between them, but I can’t seem to find the ability to speak. I feel as though my entire body has atrophied. My jaw feels sealed shut, my lips unable to part. I’m incapable of responding.

  She picks up her lemonade and takes a sip. “When he said it at the table, I wanted to punch him. I almost started screaming, but Spencer stopped me before I said something I’d regret. Chase still doesn’t know that I know about the two of you. I’d like to believe if he knew that I know, he wouldn’t dare pull this shit.”

  Charlie rambles when she fumes. Typically I cut her off and calm her down, but nothing about this moment is typical. She’s so wrapped up in her own fury that she hasn’t picked up on my androidian demeanor.

  “He knows damn well what’s going on with you, though. I was at his house when you called to tell me you’re retiring.” She pats my arm. “Don’t worry, he didn’t overhear our conversation. But Mom, Pop and Aid went round and round about it over dinner. He knows what’s going on.”

  I can’t for the life of me figure out what she’s prattling on about. My thoughts are still stuck on “Chase is getting married.” Everything else sounds like wha-wha-whaa-wha. I can tell she’s seriously pissed off.

  Her hands fly as she talks. “The fact that he did this now, when he knows what’s going on with you, is about as cruel as he could possibly be. It’s as though he saw the perfect opportunity to kick you when you were down and he seized it. For the first time in my life, I’m actually disgusted that he’s my brother. I know this is how you two operate, but this is just going too far.”

  My arm feels as if it’s made of granite covered in cement, but I manage to lift it and touch her arm. “Stop, Charlotte.”

  I pry myself off my chair and walk to the edge of the balcony. The tide is rolling in on the Tasmanian Sea, and it’s gorgeous. The sound of the crashing waves is soothing. I see a couple walking on the beach, completely enraptured with each other. They remind me of Chase and me, or maybe that’s just what I want to see.

  It’s really over. I ended it, so this shouldn’t be a surprise, but part of me never believed he wouldn’t come to me and make it right, the way he’s done so many times. But he never did. Not when I got hurt. Not after either of my surgeries. He’s moved on.

  When I ended it, I knew I’d be okay because I could focus one hundred percent of my attention on tennis. When I blew out my knee, I thought I’d get through it without him by focusing one hundred percent on rehab. Now what will I do? My knee is as healed as it’s going to get and the light on my career has blown out. I’m floundering, completely lost. I need him now, but I can’t have him. He’s getting married.

  He chooses now to get engaged. Not a few months from now when I’ll be well on my way to putting my life back together. He chose right now. He’s sending me a message, and I’ve received it loud and clear. He’s a cold, callous son of a bitch who not only doesn’t care for me but has the sadistic need to rub salt in my wounds.

  To hell with that. I’ll never give him the satisfaction of hurting me. The only reports he’ll hear about me are that I’m having the time of my life, and I didn’t even bat an eye at his little news. The oppressive weight that has been crushing my body quickly dissipates, and rage pumps through my veins.

  I turn around and lean on the railing. With my game face securely on, I say, “I don’t want to hear another word about it. I’m not interested. He has made his choice, and now he has to live with it. Let’s go shopping. I need something for the press conference.”

  She looks at me suspiciously. “Really? You’re fine with this?”

  Megawatt smile. Relaxed shoulders. Casual stance. Even I would buy this, and I have a keen bullshit detector. “It’s really none of my concern. It hasn’t been for quite some time. Our relationship was a mistake, sex disguised as emotion. It ended, he’s moved on, and I have my own life to worry about. He’s nothing but a blurry spot in my rearview mirror. Now. Shopping? I need to look amazing when I tell the world I’m a washed-up has-been.”

  She stands next to me by the railing. “You’ll never be a washed-up anything. This is just one chapter of your life closing, and when your agent gets here, he’ll have a million other chapters for you to consider opening.”

  I hug her, hoping that I’m conveying how completely together I am. “I know you’re right.”

  She yawns as she pulls away. “Can I nap before we power shop? I have no idea what time it is, but I need a solid chunk of shut eye before I can spend my husband’s money with the gusto it deserves.”

  I get her settled in the guest room and make my way back to the balcony. The rage is gone. I’m blanketed in painfully deep sorrow and remorse.

  People have always called me the ice princess because I’m completely unflappable. My parents taught me to stay calm even under the most intense pressure, and I was a very good student. I never get bothered by a blown call or poor play. Reporters have never been able to trip me up or fluster me. I stay completely even-keeled with the perfect balance of polite civility and enough passion that my opponent knows I won’t hesitate to take him down.

  I do not cry. Not when I hurt my knee. Not when I lost the first time I made it to the finals at the US Open because of a blown call. The last time I cried was after my mother’s funeral, after Daddy had gone to sleep.

  I’m not crying now. I have allergies, and my
eyes are watering. But I am most certainly not crying.

  Team Arianna blows into town, and my quiet hideaway becomes Grand Central Station. Phones ring constantly, and I accept an endless stream of deliveries.

  Charlie and I escape to shop for an appropriate dress for my press conference. It’s harder than expected. I can’t wear black, as this isn’t my career’s funeral but rather a celebration of my future. At least, that’s what I’m selling. We find a slate blue dress by a local, unknown designer in a fabulous boutique. My career may be over, but that doesn’t mean I can’t boost someone else’s.

  The morning of the press conference, I’m surrounded by so many people I can barely breathe. I find a quiet stairwell to collect my thoughts. Thankfully, my allergies aren’t acting up. That would be embarrassing. I find a way to compartmentalize all of my intense emotions and push forward enthusiasm and excitement for my bright future. Megawatt smile. Strong, confident posture. Cool, calm, and collected.

  The press conference goes off without a hitch. While I’m disappointed that my tennis career is over, I couldn’t be happier about the new opportunities in front of me. I will miss my friends on tour, but I won’t miss the insane travel schedule. I had the perfect balance of somber reflection, confident resolve, and humor to lighten the mood. I’m so good at pulling these things off, I deserve a damn award. Perhaps my next career move should be to teach football players how to handle a press conference. They all sound like whiny babies every time they get a tough question. As long as I don’t go anywhere near San Francisco…

  After the conference, I drive Charlie to the airport. I assure her the whole way that I feel great and she’s perfectly fine to return home as long as she lets everyone (and I mean everyone) know how fantastic I am. I put the top down on my BMW during my drive back. My thoughts threaten to drift to unapproved subject matter. I compartmentalize for a reason, and those damn thoughts need to stay in their compartment.

  The TV was left on, and ESPN is replaying an excerpt from my conference. I look at myself critically, consciously avoiding thinking about the content. After a few clips, they move on to the next story. Chase Brennan is off the market. The screen is filled with a picture of Chase and Jenna beaming at each other.

  Without thinking, I reach behind me into my golf bag, pull out my nine iron, and beat the ever-loving shit out of the sofa. Stuffing from the cushions flies around the room as I unleash years of pent-up emotions. The shaft snaps, breaking me out of my hysteria. I toss the broken pieces into my bag and walk to my bathroom for a long bath.

  I always hated that fucking sofa.

  While I’m in the tub, my phone rings with Henrik’s ringtone. Ah, Henrik. He’s been such a great friend, forcing me to focus on things other than rehab. When we’re in the same country, he drags me to concerts or hiking or scuba diving. He’s sweet. The press has been all over us, reporting that we’re together, but there’s nothing to it. I have a feeling he’s looking to be more than friends, but I haven’t been ready. Maybe it’s time.

  “Hello, gorgeous,” he answers. “Just checking in on you. You’ve had a big day.”

  I brush the bubbles away so they don’t get into the phone. “You have no idea.”

  “Since you’re now unemployed, come visit me. I need a playmate,” he says seductively. “It’s been too long since we’ve gone on a trip. I gave you time while you were figuring out what was going on with your knee. Now it’s time to play.”

  Why the hell not? I know what’s waiting for me at home, and I’m not interested. For the first time in my life, I don’t have a regimented schedule with an infinitely long list of obligations. I’ve been working for as long as I can remember. Even before I went pro, I lived, breathed, and ate tennis. Maybe it’s about time I have some fun.

  “On one condition,” I state.

  “Anything for you,” he replies.

  I sit up and hug my knees. “I’ll go anywhere and try anything as long as I don’t have to set foot on US soil.”

  “Done. Because you’re being so adventurous, I’ll even promise not to make you eat anything you find appalling. No brains or bugs and so on.”

  “I’ll catch the next flight out.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Chase

  I love the drive to my parents’ house. The breathtaking countryside is so serene and peaceful, just what I need to try to get my head on straight. I’m so twisted and turned around right now, I don’t know which way is up. I need a day with my family to get grounded.

  Jenna was butt hurt that I’m not bringing her along, but I assured her we just need some family time. Yes, Spencer will be there, but he’s family. He and Charlie have been together since kindergarten, and he’s my best friend.

  The truth is, I need a day off from Jenna and all the wedding talk. Jenna has never pushed me on anything other than this damn wedding. We’ve never fought. Everything with Jenna was simple and easy until I proposed. Now she’s become obsessed with the wedding, and so damn clingy. I can’t breathe!

  Today I’m just going to be with my family. Hang by the pool, maybe go riding, have some of Mom’s amazing barbeque. If anyone mentions the W word, I’m turning the hose on them.

  “How’s my baby?” Mom calls as I get out of the car.

  She pulls me into a white-knuckled bear hug before I get my door closed. You’d think she never sees me, but that’s Mom for you. She’s five foot two on her tip toes, but she carries herself like an Amazon. Bold, confident, never afraid to take on anyone or anything that gets in her way. She loves fiercely. I lucked out in the parent department, and I know it.

  “Hey, Mom. I’m good.”

  “You lie. I can see the stress all over your face. My boy is not happy.”

  “Your boy is fine, Mom. I just need some down time. That’s what today’s all about. You’re making ribs, right?” Mom’s ribs are legendary and would be worth crawling through glass for.

  She pats my back as we walk toward the backyard. “Ribs, chicken, corn on the grill, and potato salad. I know my potato salad isn’t as good as Ari’s, but it’s a close second.”

  “Everything you make is my favorite. No one’s cooking compares to yours. Especially hers.” I open the gate for her, then follow her into the backyard. I know I made the right call coming out here to relax. Their backyard is huge and backs up to mountain preserve. As long as everyone eases up on me, today will be just what I need.

  She pulls on the back of my shirt, making me stumble. “Chase Patrick, you have got to let it go. For the life of me, I will never understand the rivalry between you two. You’re not kids anymore, yet you act like you’re still five and fighting in the sandbox over a shovel. It didn’t matter if there were a hundred other shovels in there, you both had to go after the same one, and neither of you would back down. Don’t you think at some point you might want to let all that contempt go? It’s not based on anything. Arianna Aldrich has never done anything to you except get under your skin.”

  Ha! If she only knew half of the truth. That woman tore out my heart time and time again.

  “Mama Bear, today is my stress-free day. That means you don’t scold me, and we don’t talk about unpleasant subjects. Arianna always has been and always will be an unpleasant subject.”

  Mom turns on her heel and goes into the house. She calls over her shoulder, “Savannah must be rolling over in her grave.”

  “Stress-free day means you don’t use Savannah to guilt-trip me either!” I yell, knowing she’s ignoring me.

  I despise it when she plays the Savannah card. It’s completely unfair. Savannah wanted nothing more than for Ari and me to end up together. When Ari and I fought as kids, everyone else would get bent out of shape, but Savannah would laugh and say something like, “There’s nothing like the budding of young love.” There was a time when I agreed with her.

  Pushing that guilt aside, I head toward the pool. Everyone’s in their suits, sitting by the water.

  “You know what this day is mi
ssing?” my father asks. “Grandchildren. Lots and lots of grandchildren. When am I going to get some, Charlotte?”

  “Gross, Dad!” I holler as I sit in a lounge chair. “This is my stress-free day, which means we’re not discussing my best friend knocking up my sister!”

  “Chase Patrick Brennan, you watch your language,” Dad growls back.

  “Yes, sir.” I’ve been here for five minutes, and my middle name has been tossed around twice. It seems I’ve misjudged the serenity of coming home.

  “You’re getting married soon. Before you know it, they’ll be talking about you having kids,” Charlie says with a sly smile as she applies sunscreen.

  “No way in hell. Kids are so far off my radar screen.”

  “Talk to your bride-to-be.” Spence laughs. “She was talking to me about college savings plans when we were over a few days ago.”

  “No fucking way. Sorry, Dad, but no way. Jenna is off her rocker if she thinks we’re having kids.”

  My mother crosses the deck with a platter of snacks. “At all?”

  “Not at all. I’m not having kids with Jenna,” I reply. Jenna’s parents mention kids all the time, but no matter how hard I try, I can’t picture having children with her. When I picture my kids, they have curly blond hair and green eyes. Since Jenna has straight black hair and brown eyes, those children are never meant to be.

  Grabbing two plates, Charlie collects some fruit, chips, and guacamole for her and Spencer. “What do you think she’s going to do with her time then? You’re marrying a girl who went to college to get her MRS. There isn’t much more in the pipeline for her than pumping out a bunch of kids. So you better get ready to lay that pipe.”

  Everyone snickers.

  “Oh, I get yelled at, but everyone thinks Charlie’s dirty mouth is hilarious.”

  “You have to admit, Chase, even you were shocked Jenna quit school when you two got serious,” Mom states. “Charlotte finished her degree after she married Money Bags over there.”