Page 61 of Hard to Love

“Take the credit, Sanderson. Didn’t I teach you anything?” He laughs.

“Have another Mai Tai.”

“Don’t mind if I do.” He emits a belly laugh. “Is this the part where you tell me your job is done and now, she’s all mine?”

“This is the part where . . .” I don’t have an answer for him because his question just threw me completely. Is that what I want? To be rid of Stevie after all is said and done? I clear my throat, acutely aware that Carson is listening carefully to my silence and drawing his own conclusions. “This is the part where I told her she could stay here and train until the Open.”

“And then you’re done with her,” Carson finishes for me.

“Yes. Sure. I’ve got a full plate with clients.”

“Uh-huh.” And there it is, the sound every son knows from his father, and Carson is no exception when it comes to me.

“Uh-huh, nothing, old man.” I shake my head. “There’s nothing to see here.”

“Never said there was.” He chuckles again. “You made me proud, son.”

I hang up with him a few minutes later feeling accomplished and strangely content from Carson’s praise.

Those are words I don’t ever think I heard my dad utter. I knew he was proud of me, that’s why he showed up to my games and told everyone he knew about me, but he never showed it. Instead, he gave sharp criticism that only seemed to get worse when I had my shoulder surgery and had to give up the game I loved.

Those criticisms increased substantially when he saw me thriving under the tutelage of Carson. It’s amazing what praise can do in place of constant criticism.

I think all that negativity is what put him in an early grave. That and maybe a lot of guilt over the bullshit he ingrained in me when it came to women.

“Bullshit?” I mutter as I lean against my kitchen counter and look out toward the darkening sky.

Since when did I start thinking of it as bullshit?

Are all these years of Carson telling me my theories on women are full of shit finally breaking through to me?

C’mon, Finn. You know your old man was full of shit, right? Not all women leave. Not all women are assholes.

Seriously? You’re just going to up and dump her just like that? She made you happy.

It’s not a crime to be in a relationship, Sanderson. Hell isn’t going to freeze over, you know.

One of these days, son, you’re going to learn that life is so much more fun when you have someone by your side.

The comments echo over and over in my head.

Christ.

Carson may not be setting Stevie and me up in the traditional sense, but it sure as hell feels like he’s been working on this for a long-ass time.

“Honey, I’m home,” Stevie calls out seconds before the slam of the front door. Her footsteps grow near before I hear, “And how was your day, dear?”

Stevie walks into the house in a plain white tennis skirt and a pink sports bra. It’s something I’ve seen her in plenty of times and yet, for some reason today, it stops me in my tracks. The woman is gorgeous. Dressed up, dressed down, completely sweaty from hours of working out and training—she is just a natural beauty.

“What?” she asks, her eyes narrowing as she stares at me.

“Nothing. Sorry.” I pause. Regroup. “How was training?”

“Good. Great.” She moves into the kitchen and grabs an apple from the counter and takes a bite of it. “Kellen is bitching to me about some habit I picked up on my backhand but I think we worked through it.” She shrugs. “Or we will by the time I need it to be right.”

“Sounds promising.”

“I’ll get it right. What about you?” she asks talking around a mouthful of apple. “How was your day? Did you negotiate any earth-shattering contracts or win over any new clients?”