Page 33 of Hard to Love

She turned it on and hasn’t looked back since, winning two straight sets in a row and dominating the match in a way that even has me caught up in it.

It’s not only me pulling for her now though. The crowd has turned in her favor, the underdog always a favorite. And when I take a quick peek on social media during a water break, the negative comments have turned to support. The jeers to cheers.

Despite the shaky start, Stevie stands with her hands on her hips beneath the blinding lights of the court.

“Nice serve,” she says with a chuckle after Greshenko serves an ace. “But you know I simply gave that to you. I wouldn’t want you to have a bruised ego from me both winning the match and having more aces.” Her smile is taunting as she all but curtsies at him, egging him on.

The crowd chuckles as Ian’s grumble comes off less than sincere.

I hate to admit it, but the woman is phenomenal.

Sure, she may be a mess and be stubborn as hell, and I still might be grumbling that I’m her fucking babysitter, but the decision rests a little easier tonight after what I just witnessed. A woman clearly lost in whoever she is (unless of course, she’s arguing with me) and who was losing by an embarrassing margin, pulled herself together to be who everyone expected her to be. That’s not an easy task by any means. It’s admirable in so many senses of the word, and I sit here looking at her in a slightly different light.

Simply put, what she just did was exceptional. There’s no other word to describe it.

She went from what looked to me like a breakdown during the first two sets she lost, and then in the locker room during the intermission, to having complete command of the court. Her comments to the crowd are witty and her athletic prowess is remarkable.

For the first time, I see glimpses of the woman she might have been before her father’s death and am impressed.

The crowd cheers as Stevie returns Ian’s serve, forcing the game to a break point, the chance she’s made for herself to gain a set point during Ian’s serve.

Ian’s livid. He paces back and forth behind the fault line, fixing the strings in his racket as he mumbles to himself, looking like a madman while Stevie waits patiently.

“Break point,” the chair umpire murmurs and the crowd quiets.

Ian serves, and Stevie returns the tennis ball with a powerful backhand followed a split second later by a grunt that echoes through the stadium. The ball lands just out of reach of his racket and the crowd erupts in cheers.

And she continues on.

To win points.

Then games.

Then sets.

And then she sits in the fifth set, the sixth game with a score of forty to love. The crowd hums with anticipation as they all stand on their feet to watch the number-one ranked man in tennis be beaten by a woman.

She serves with her signature grunt following. Ian returns the serve. The ball hits the top part of the net before falling back onto his side.

The crowd goes crazy. People are cheering and screaming as the biggest grin owns Stevie’s lips. She tilts her head up to the sky with her eyes closed for the briefest of seconds. It’s almost as if she needs to take this all in—or as if she’s talking to her dad on the stage he set up for her to succeed on.

Either way, I already know this image will be the one blasted all over the media and it couldn’t be a better one. This tennis sweetheart is back and looking damn good.

I move toward the locker room as the pomp and circumstance continues on the court and shake hands with some people I know on the way. This is Stevie’s time to shine, and I can only hope she takes what happened here tonight and uses it as motivation to stay on this track. To be done with her wild streak or whatever the hell she was doing.

My phone vibrates in my pocket. I know without even looking at the screen that it’s Carson calling, wanting to know what the hell turned things around tonight.

I’ll gladly take the credit, but it was all her. All Stevie.

I let the phone ring and will call him back once I get inside the locker room and away from all this noise.

There’s a tug on my arm and I turn, surprised to find Stevie with her wild eyes and magnetic smile standing before me. She should be soaking up the moment.

“Finn.” She says my name and doesn’t even give me time to respond before she launches herself into my arms in a huge bear hug.

Taken aback, I think I chuckle, I think I say her name, but I know I wrap my arms around her and hug her too.

“Congratulations,” I murmur into her ear, completely unaware if she can hear me above the noise of the crowd. “I knew you could do it.”