Page 1 of Hard to Love

FINN

16 Years Ago

“WHERE ARE YOU TAKING ME? I’m supposed to pick Molly up in fifteen minutes.”

I glance over to my dad and watch the headlights from passing cars reflect off his glasses and face casting it in a mixture of lights and shadows. But he has that expression. The one that tells me he’s upset or angry and I dread finding out what I’ve done wrong this time to irritate him.

Every little thing sets him off these days.

Every. Little. Thing.

“You’re not putting enough time in at practice. The only way you’re ever going to amount to anything good is by putting the time in. I’m beginning to think you just don’t have it in you, son. Year after year, I’ve told you exactly what you need to do and how you need to do it and—” He tsks followed by a sigh that has me glancing back his way again.

Where are we going?

“But you just don’t seem to listen. To hear me. And so, I think it’s time I show you exactly what I mean. Precisely the number one lesson you need to learn so that you start thinking straight.”

“Dad.” I clear my throat. “Sir?”

Why are we in the school parking lot? Why is Molly’s car here when I’m supposed to be picking her up in ten minutes?

“You need to learn that women are nothing more than a distraction. They will play you, win your heart, and then screw you over, leaving you with nothing left just like your mother did to you and me.” He grits out the words I’ve heard more times than I care to count. Ones I discount because even though I’m mad at her for leaving us, she’s still my mom. She still loved me somehow. She still . . . “Females are fleeting temptations who distract you from your goals so that by the time they are done with you, you’ve given up everything.”

“What are we doing here?” I all but shout at him, frustrated with this bullshit and desperate to see Molly and hopefully get to second (or third) base tonight.

“We are proving a point.” My father points at the front of the school gymnasium where Molly is standing beneath the lights. She has one hand toying with the locket on her necklace while she shifts back and forth on her feet, laughing with someone I can’t quite see.

Every one of my seventeen years falls a little bit harder for her. The long brown hair, the even longer legs, her tits beneath that tank top, her smile . . . yes, I’ve got it bad.

Then confusion takes over as Eddie Hamlin, the object of Molly’s attention, and the one she’s giving that same smile I thought she reserved for me, steps out of the shadows. I don’t know why I hold my breath, but I do.

And then I feel like my heart explodes in my chest when she grabs the hem of his shirt—just like she does mine—and pulls him into her until their lips meet. Until they kiss. Until his hands slide up her sides and then rest on her ass so that he can pull her against him.

Just. Like. I. Do.

Molly?

They take a step backward so her back is pressed against the wall.

And Eddie?

Her hands slide around his neck and play with the hair at the nape of his neck just like she does to me.

My girl and my teammate?

I don’t think.

What the ever-loving-fuck?

I react.

I’m out of the car in a second, barely registering my father’s chuckle.

“Molly?” I shout as I jog over to where the two of them stand.

“It’s not what you think.” Molly jumps back, her expression a picture of guilt and shock.

“What I think?” I sputter. “Eddie? What the hell, man?”