Page 31 of Hard to Love

The charity exhibition deemed Battle of the Sexes was supposed to be one for the ages. At the time it was booked, the game was pitting the number one men’s seed, Ian Greshenko, against one of the top women’s seed, one Stevie Lancaster. The goal was to raise money for Net Generation, a charity that promotes tennis in underprivileged neighborhoods, with the loser forfeiting their winnings to said charity.

Stevie’s father thought not only would it be great publicity and raise money for Net Gen, but it might prove once and for all what he knew, that Stevie was better than the best man on the circuit.

But then Liam Lancaster died.

And she fell down whatever rabbit hole she fell into that I’m trying to help pull her out of.

On top of that, Greshenko is such a self-righteous prick who is known behind closed doors between us agents as someone we don’t want to really deal with. Most men would see that Stevie is struggling in this exhibition that doesn’t count for anything and would back off some.

But not Ian.

No, he’s going in for the kill. He doesn’t care that the crowd has paid top dollar for the seats and that maybe he should stretch the match out longer to let them get the most for their money. He only cares about himself and fueling his ego.

And it’s not as if Stevie is playing horribly, not compared to most people’s standards. It’s more that the fire she’s known for is gone. The feistiness is absent. The doggedness with which she reels in opponents point by point, set by set, is barely a flicker when normally, it’s a roaring wildfire during a match.

She needs that fire back and clearly Kellen is struggling with how to light it. Her dad certainly knew how to.

We’re in a quick break between sets, and Stevie is already down two. A few celebrities are auctioning items off, entertaining the crowd to draw this whole experience out, and I’m here, struggling to know how to get my client back on track.

“How do I fucking fix this?” she shouts to no one and everyone in the room.

“Greshenko is an ass and everyone knows it. You’ll come out looking good regardless if you win or you lose,” Kellen says, trying to find a way to comfort her and calm her down.

“Look good or look like the poor victim who lost her dad? I don’t need a pity party, Kell, and I sure as fuck refuse to look like the victim.”

He opens his mouth and then shuts it. Smart man.

“Isn’t that the look you were going for?” I ask, clearly not as smart as Kellen and not giving a flying fuck either. My job isn’t to coddle her. It’s to push her and make her better. To make her see through the bullshit and get back to being at the top of her game where she normally deserves to be.

“Fuck you, Finn. No one asked you to be here,” she says, turning her animus on me.

I know her words are empty and she’s taking out her frustration on me—she won’t be the first athlete and definitely won’t be the last either—so I take them with a grain of salt.

“You only have yourself to blame.” My nonchalant shrug is to push her just as hard as my words do. To try and spark that fire in her.

“Get him out of here,” she says, pointing to the door, but neither Kellen nor her bodyguards stationed at the door move. Apparently, they’re sick of her bullshit too.

I’m just super competitive and refuse to lose.

Her words come back and hit my ears. Words that I’m suddenly trying to figure out how to use in my favor to spur her on.

“Get. Out.” Her eyes meet mine for the first time. There is desperation, anger, and frustration all mixed in them, but the one that affects me the most is the one that looks like a lost little girl trying to find her way.

I don’t have time to process that look or acknowledge the shit it stirs inside of me. I’m not here to play psychologist. I’m here to make her look like Stevie fucking Lancaster on the world stage, which is being broadcast across the globe. The stage that she needs to shine on instead of briefly sparkling on.

I’m just super competitive and refuse to lose.

“Double or nothing,” I blurt out, my mouth working faster than my brain as I try to figure out how this could work.

“What?” Both her and Kellen narrow their eyes at me.

“Go back out there and challenge Greshenko on the court to double or nothing. Make a big deal of it. Grab a microphone and play it up to the crowd. Joke and tell him that he’s so sure he’s going to win he’ll have no problem agreeing.”

Stevie stares at me with her face flushed red from exertion, eyes widening while she tries to figure out what I’m getting at.

I continue. “Tell him if he wins, you’ll donate your portion of earnings that you’re receiving from this exhibition to Net Gen and if you win he’ll have to do the same. The crowd will go nuts and it will liven them up too.”

“Are you crazy?” She turns to face me, her hands on her hips, her eyes alive. “Do you know how much money you’re talking about? Do you—”