Page 4 of Hard to Love

Doing exactly what I should be doing right now.

I hold my hand to my forehead and glare at Carson from behind my darkened sunglasses where I lie on a chaise lounge. What number lecture of the day is this? Eighth? Ninth? And it’s just after one o’clock in the afternoon.

“You’re killing my buzz, Carson,” I mutter as I try to look around where he stands to see what the crowd is cheering over now. But he shifts so I’m forced to look at him and his formal dress shirt rolled up at the sleeves and slacks with pleats in the front that have no business here at the poolside party club at The Venetian. My killjoy of a manager.

“Then maybe you shouldn’t be buzzed at this hour. In fact, maybe you should be figuring out how best to explain the images splashed all over social media from last night.”

“God forbid precious Stevie Lancaster lets loose a little,” I say, sarcasm lacing every syllable as I rest my head back on the lounger and close my eyes.

“Better yet, maybe you should be out on the court with Kellen, getting your reps in. Your backhand needs work before the next Open.”

“Go away, Carson.” I pick up my cell and start thumbing through it, not really paying any attention to what I’m seeing, but more just trying to prove the point that I’m not paying attention to him.

The last thing I need to do is be on the court with Kellen where he says things my dad would tell me but that sound so very different. So much so that I immediately tense up and shank the ball.

“He told me you didn’t show up to yesterday’s training, and by the look of the empty glasses on the table beside you, it doesn’t seem that you’ll be showing up today either.”

I shrug dramatically to reinforce how bored I am with him. With his babysitting. Anything to make the fun police go away.

“I’m taking a break, Carson. Is that not allowed?” I ask, knowing damn well that under the reign of Liam Lancaster, breaks—hell, fun—were never allowed. All work. No play. All hustle. Every moment of every day. “I’ve been reading up on sports training theories,” I lie. “The article I read this morning, and that I’ve decided will be my motto for today said it was good for the elite athlete’s mind, soul, and body to have a few days off to cut loose every now and again. It reinvigorates the athlete and readjusts their mindset.” The smile I give him is sugary sweet and dripping with insincerity.

“So that’s what you call dancing on bar tops, taking over the stripper pole at Sapphire’s—”

“It was a dare, and I had my clothes on.” I sigh, trying to remember through the haze of last night’s alcohol. “You should really try the Cards O’ Fun. It’s clear you need some added spontaneity in your life.”

“Cards O’ Fun?” he asks.

“Yep. Vivi and Jordan made them up,” I say referring to my two oldest friends from the tennis circuit we played in as kids. While they long ago gave up the competitive end of the game, our friendship has endured. And perhaps they have been the source of more than one lecture between Carson and me, so I’m bringing them up just to piss him off. “Every night I have to pick two cards from the deck they’ve created and complete the tasks.”

“Tasks such as pole-dancing and what else?”

“You’ve seen the social media posts. You can guess.”

“Couldn’t you guys have opted for a game of Monopoly or Yahtzee?” He chuckles.

“Now that wouldn’t be very adventurous, would it?”

He stares at me and I can’t figure out what he is thinking. “So you pull two cards and have to complete the tasks or else what?”

I shrug flippantly. “Have you ever known me to lose at anything? They may be my girls, but I will not be the first to chicken out.”

“This isn’t a joke, Stevie.”

“Clearly, considering you’re always so damn serious,” I say mocking his tone.

“I know you’re struggling with your father’s death and—”

“You don’t have a clue what I’m—”

“But it’s like you’re trying to throw away everything you’ve worked for. Everything he helped and guided you to be. You were in peak condition and now it’s as if you’re purposefully poisoning your body with all this crap so you have an excuse when you fail.” He takes a step closer so that his shadow covers my face, just in case my eyes were closed because the sun was too much when looking at him.

Nope. Not the reason.

More like I don’t want to be lectured.

“I turned pro at age fifteen and have been going nonstop for almost ten years, Car. I’ve worked—”

“Exactly, and since your dad passed, you’ve acted like life’s one never-ending party.”