Page 5 of Hard to Love

Another roar goes up from the party crowd and it’s the distraction I need to shove his words away and pretend I didn’t hear him.

Like I needed to be reminded that he’s dead.

Because it’s not as if every time I step on the court, I don’t hear his voice and turn to look for him to be reminded he’s not there. Or every knock on my hotel room door doesn’t have my heart lurching into my throat, expecting him to be mad I’m running late for my conditioning.

Every second of every day I’m reminded. He may have been a tyrant but he was also my anchor, and now, I feel like I’m adrift at sea. That is not struggling with my father’s death. That’s called drowning in it.

I lift a drink from the table beside me and suck on the straw until slurping sounds let me know I’ve hit the bottom of the glass. I suck one more time to make the sound on purpose.

Shit. I need another and I definitely can’t with Killjoy Carson standing with his hands on his hips and his judgment front and center.

“Can you at least move to the left, Car? There’s a hot guy over there who you’re blocking, and I want a direct line of sight.”

“Christ,” he mutters but shifts out of the way to earn the smirk I give him. His sigh weighs down the lighthearted atmosphere I’m trying to enjoy. “You’ve left me no choice, kid.”

I’m not your kid.

But I don’t respond. I don’t even acknowledge that he’s spoken. It’s so much easier to fixate on all the people partying, feeling good, living a life I don’t understand but have been trying to lose myself in for a while.

“You will be in my suite tomorrow morning at ten a.m. prompt.”

I don’t respond.

“Stevie.” My name is a frustrated, patriarchal sigh.

“Ten?” I groan despite a part of me feeling surprised at this demanding side of Carson. “That’s so early when the girls and I have Cards O’ Fun to finish tonight.” I sigh heavily and look at my nails as if I’m checking my manicure.

“Failure to do so will result in me pulling you out of the US Open and losing two major sponsors. You’re in no way prepared, and I refuse to allow you to show up and make an ass out of yourself.”

The US Open. My dad’s favorite tournament. The place where, as a little girl, I sat on his knee, listening as he told me how it would be when I stepped foot on the court someday.

And then the next day, he’d take me on our practice court and run drills until I thought my arms and legs would fall off.

I don’t let a single emotion flicker over my face, although I feel like every single one runs through me.

“I’m not prepared?” I snort. “I have two and a half months. Get over yourself and your power trip.”

His smile reveals a flicker of disdain. “If my promises to your father meant nothing to me then I’d let you stay on this path you’re on. I might even take pleasure when you fall on your ass in front of the world while on center court. But those promises meant something to me, Stevie. They truly did.”

I avert my eyes and try to blink away the tears that threaten. It would be easier if I fired Carson. If I told him he was an old man who didn’t understand me or how things worked now, but I’d be lying. I’d know deep down that my dad would have picked him because he knew his shit and would protect me.

And maybe I resent Carson for that. That he knew about my dad being sick when I didn’t.

“Stevie?” he asks, impatience weighing down his voice.

“I’ll see what I can do about it. You can’t expect a girl to change her plans on such short notice.”

His chuckle holds anything but amusement in it.

Maybe I’ve pushed him too far. Maybe I haven’t.

Question is, how much do I care? I bite my bottom lip and stare past him and his well-meaning pep talk to let him know he’s dismissed.

“Have your last bit of fun tonight. Get drunk, fuck who you want, toy with who you don’t, get whatever the hell you need to out of your system—”

“Wow, such language. Anyone listening would think you’re mad at me or something.” I bat my eyelashes, even though he can’t see them behind my darkened shades.

He takes another step toward me, leans over, and lowers his voice when he speaks. “Have your last night of Cards O’ Fun, Lancaster, but try to be discreet, will you? There’s already way too much press, too much damage to your image, and I’m the one who has to try and repair it.”