Page 80 of Hard to Love

Because he can’t tell me something, anything, that expresses how he feels when he looks at me.

And this is why I should be telling myself things like “Didn’t we both know this was going to come to an end?” Because that is our truth. That is our reality.

Knowing it would end and actually acknowledging it are two different things.

“Look.” He stops to pick up a small, white sand dollar and turns it over in his hand before handing it to me. “For good luck.”

“Thank you.” I stare at the intricate designs on the delicate urchin and hate that tears blur my eyes.

Good luck at the Open.

Good luck in your life.

Good luck . . . because this is almost over.

“So what’s next for you? Do you play the Open and then head back to Florida or will you immediately start training for the next tournament?”

“I’m not quite sure.” Because my dad used to tell me what was next. “I’ve been so focused on the Open and getting there that I haven’t really thought about the next steps.” I shrug. I haven’t wanted to think of anything after the Open, because that hurts too much. “Normally my dad determined where I’d head next, and it was often back home after the Open. So . . .” Don’t get teary, Stevie. Hold it together. “I need to sort through my dad’s things and handle all of that stuff. Maybe look at getting a new place.”

“Do you think you’re ready to?”

“Ready to what?”

“Sort through his things.”

“I don’t think anyone is ever ready to, but I’m in a much better headspace now to do so thanks to you.”

“I didn’t do anything, Stevie. You figured it all out on your own.”

“I bet you’ll be happy to get rid of me. To have your space back to yourself. To head back to your place in Manhattan. To be able to fly off and see clients at the drop of a dime when needed without worrying a certain female con artist is going to rob you blind.” Finn doesn’t laugh like I expect him to.

He doesn’t even answer. Instead, he tucks me in close, his arm around my shoulder, my arms sliding around his waist, and we stare out at the water in silence.

My thoughts race and my heart feels heavy. This wasn’t supposed to happen. I wasn’t supposed to like Finn Sanderson let alone slowly fall in love with him.

Because isn’t that what I’ve done?

Isn’t that why I’m so upset right now?

Isn’t that why I’m dreading what will happen in ten days?

“Why do I feel like we’re already starting to say goodbye?” I finally ask.

“We’re not. We’re just forcing ourselves to get used to the idea.” He tilts my chin up with his thumb and forefinger so that I’m forced to meet his eyes. There is emotion swimming in his eyes that matches how I feel. Confused. Worried. Sad. Missing me already. “But for now, we stay focused on your preparation for the Open, okay? You have had a tough one, Stevie, so let’s keep taking each day as we are, staying focused on getting you another Grand Slam victory.” He gives me a tight smile and then leans down to brush his lips against mine.

“Another victory.” I clear my throat. “That’s what Dad would want,” I whisper. He smiles at me, and it’s with such tenderness that tears form.

“Yes, that’s what your dad would want,” Finn says quietly.

But what I want is to get lost in Finn. Yes, I want victory at the Open, but I’m beginning to see that I want a win in another area of my life. And right now, that’s more with Finn. More.

FINN

THERE HAS BEEN A SOMBER tone to the house since our walk on the beach. A sense that we know what’s going to happen, don’t want it to happen, but also the eagerness to get back to the lives we used to know.

So I work. Because not working, joining her on the beach for a walk or hearing her laugh or watching her as she plays those silly games on her phone with her bottom lip between her teeth, is a constant reminder that she’s going to be gone soon.

If she wanted more, she’d tell me, right?