Hate to Love You

by Isabelle Richards

  Son of a bitch! Can’t I ever cut a break? I kicked myself after I bought it, but I had to have that picture. I certainly didn’t want anyone else to buy it. No one else deserved it. She just looked so radiantly beautiful. I didn’t think ahead about where I would put it or what my fiancée would say if she found out about it. Now it’s all coming home to roost. How the hell did this happen? Douchenozzle has her cheering for him, and all I have is her goddamn picture.

  “No,” I lie. “Maybe the shipping labels got switched from one of the ones I bought.”

  She shakes her head. “Nope. All of yours were sent to Mom and Pop’s. The gallery didn’t even have your address. You don’t think that’s strange?”

  This night just keeps getting better. I guzzle down some more Jack. “Don’t know what you want me to tell you.”

  “Chase?”

  “Mmm?” Oh, god. What now?

  “Can I ask you something, since you probably won’t remember?”

  “Ask away,” I reply with my eyes closed.

  “Why did you propose to Jenna?”

  “I needed to hurt her like she was hurting me. That’s what we did. It was part of our game. Endless one-upping. She was fucking Henrik all over the globe, so I needed to do one better and make sure it hurt. But according to you, she wasn’t fucking him, so now I have no idea what I did.”

  “Do you love her?” Charlie asks.

  “I’m not sure I ever stopped.”

  “I meant Jenna.”

  I open my eyes and look at her. I can’t talk about this anymore. “We’re not talking about women, remember?”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Arianna

  “American soil. Finally.” Waving good-bye to the flight attendants, I look around for the car I ordered. It’s a blindingly bright day, so I dig in my purse for my sunglasses. We’ve had so many sent to us from various designers in hopes I would wear them during the games that I’ve got them coming out my ears.

  Arms wrap around my waist. “Happy to be home?”

  “Will you be hurt if I say yes?”

  Henrik kisses my neck and squeezes me a little tighter. “Honesty only, Lamm. That’s my policy.”

  I pull away, still looking for the sunglasses. Big purses are great because I can carry anything, but then I can never find what I need. “In that case, I’m thrilled to be home. Brazil was wonderful, but I can’t handle one more cold shower or some stranger thinking it’s perfectly appropriate to kiss me.”

  “But you got to live with me for six weeks. Wasn’t that worth it?”

  He’s so full of himself. I never have to worry about Henrik loving me, because he can never love anyone else as much as he loves himself. Not in a narcissistic way—he’s just so damn happy inside his skin.

  “Hmmm, let me think about that. The socks you refused to wash for the whole tournament. The fact that you leave half-empty bottles of Gatorade everywhere. The fact you clogged the toilet on a daily basis.”

  He holds his hands up in defense. “Hey now, that’s Brazilian plumbing, not me.”

  “Excuses, excuses. Besides all that, I did have a good time. Thank you. You really were so amazing to me. It was fun.”

  He takes my hand and kisses it. “Well, my lovely, you’re my queen. You needed to be treated as such. You deserved nothing short of the platinum Henrik Jensen experience.”

  The car pulls up, and Henrik hands my bags to the driver.

  Stepping back to me, he pulls me into his arms. “Come on now. One more smooch for the cameras.” He nods at the reporters hovering on the other side of the fence.

  I’d hoped flying private would reduce the media attention, but it seems they’ve been tipped off. Possibly by Henrik.

  Not wanting to kiss him, I lean my head on his chest. “I’m sorry I can’t join you back in Johannesburg for all the celebrations.”

  He rubs circles into the small of my back. “You detest Johannesburg.”

  “Yes, but I’d be there for you. But let’s face it, you’ll have a much better time without me. Think of all the tail you’ll get without the ol’ ball and chain.”

  He brushes my hair back from my shoulders. The humidity today is insane, and my hair is sticking to my neck. “The party is always better when you’re a part of it. I’ll miss you, but you need to be here with your father, and you need to get your head on straight. I keep hoping you’ll come to your senses.”

  I put my fingers to his lips. “Stop. We’ve been over this and over this.”

  He kisses up my neck all the way to my ear, unphased by the sweat. “You’ve been over this. I’m choosing not to listen because I think you’re wrong. With some time, I think you’ll come around.”

  How many times can we go around and around about this? “You deserve better.”

  “I deserve you. I want you.” He kisses me, showing off for the cameras, then walks back up the stairs into the plane. He pauses at the top and blows me a kiss. “Until next time, gorgeous.”

  I jump in the backseat and tell the driver to take me to my father’s house.

  Settling back in my old room feels as if I’m in some strange time warp. I haven’t really lived here since I was eighteen. Longer than that, really. I went pro at sixteen and was only here for a week or two here and there. I lived in hotel rooms. Even though this hasn’t been my room for years, my father has kept my room exactly the same. He’ll say it’s because he’s too lazy to redecorate, but I know it’s a glorified shrine. My colonial French bedroom set was passed down from my mother. My walls are covered with pictures of me with friends and famous people I’ve met along the way. The rackets from my first few big wins have been framed. It’s an homage to my youth. He’s so sentimental. The room seriously needs an overhaul, but I’ll leave it this way for him.

  He’d never say it, but it killed him when I bought my condo in the city. At the time, it made sense. I was demonstrating my independence, spreading my wings and all that. Who am I kidding?—I really needed a place just for Chase and me. Having a place in the city allowed us to meet without the risk of getting caught.

  I put my things away, and I’m hit with the blast from the past that is my closet. I’ve always been a fairly classic dresser, but clearly I had some lapses in reason. But that’s what being a teenager is all about, right? My teen years were truncated when I went pro. I jumped from sixteen to grown up overnight, but I managed to sneak in a few embarrassing adolescent moments.

  I forgot how many photo albums I have. The bookshelves are about to break from them. Charlie is such a shutterbug—she documented every second of our school years. I really was blessed with a wonderful childhood. Yeah, being an Aldrich comes with a hefty burden of high expectations, but for the most part, my childhood was as good as a girl could hope for. Hours of play, pranks, and plenty of trouble. Growing up without my Mom was hard, but Daddy, Pat, and Katie worked together to make sure I had endless support. I was really lucky.

  Charlie’s photo fixation drove me crazy at the time, but as I go through the albums, I’m so grateful. The purest, happiest part of my life has been captured forever. If TMZ ever got a hold of this picture of me singing into my hairbrush, I’d be mortified. Charlie has copies of these albums, so she has enough material to bury me, but she’d never do that.

  I miss her. As angry as I am with Charlie, I miss her more. With everything going on with my father, I need her. She’s more than my best friend. She’s family, and I can’t get through life without her. Life is way too short to waste a second on petty grudges. We’ll make up soon.

  After I finish unpacking, I walk to Daddy’s side of the house to see if he’s ready for dinner. I adore this house. It was always too much for just the two of us, but it’s home. He designed it with my mother before she died. It’s a stone-faced French-style home that looks pristine and classic on the outside. Inside, it’s all homey, soft colors, comfortable furniture, and pictures of the three of us. We have one hell of a trophy room where we house all of our accomp
lishments. I store all my trophies here rather than at my condo. The entertainment room in the basement is the most lived in room. That’s where I find him, passed out from watching film with a notebook and pen still in his hands. I put them on the coffee table and put a throw blanket over him.

  All the traveling in the last six weeks has pushed him too hard. He’s supposed to rest during the off season, but he insisted on being in Brazil with me. He loves the Olympics but he didn’t want to draw even more attention to us by going to events. Daddy being Daddy he got antsy just hanging around in my apartment, so he kept finding reasons to fly off when South Africa wasn’t playing. He’d say his friends had invited him to go deep sea fishing or sailing or golfing, but I know he was the one orchestrating those plans. By the end of our stay in Brazil, he looked weary.

  Moving in with him will help me keep a better eye on him and enforce some rules. His doctor says he isn’t getting enough rest and that he gets lazy with his diet. I’m so worried about the demands on him with the upcoming season. His doctors and I have pleaded with him to retire, but he’s insisting on one last season. He says he isn’t ready to let go of the game, but I suspect it has more to do with Chase than anything else. The Niners have a real chance to take their division this year. If they go to the Super Bowl, Daddy will be asked to be the color announcer. He has always refused to be on the call when Chase is on the field, but I know it would be his ideal way to end his career.

  Since dinner’s on hold, I put on my running gear. When they built their houses, before I was born, my father and Pat carved out running paths that cross over both properties, creating a ten-mile course that I ran practically every day when I was younger. They made me run with Chase, supposedly for safety, but we both knew it was because they knew we would push each other. Push is an understatement. I’d kill myself every night trying to make him eat my dust. I was considered one of the fastest players in tennis, and one with the best endurance, because of how hard I trained. Now I’m just a fast has-been. I probably shouldn’t run as hard on my knee as I do, but it’s the only release I have left.

  I lace up, put in my ear buds, and start my run. At the halfway point of the course, there’s a hairpin turn. As I come around the bend, I run into someone and get knocked on my ass. The wall of muscles I ran into was hunched over tying his shoes. It’s pitch black, and I can’t quite make out who he is. I know Daddy and Pat have let the neighbors use the paths on occasion, but I didn’t think it was a common occurrence.

  I stand and dust myself off. “I’m so sorry. I had no idea anyone still used these paths. I wasn’t paying attention.”

  “You never could stay in your lane.”

  Oh, fuck me. He steps closer, and I can clearly see Chase—him and all those abs. Those abs have gotten more defined since the last time I saw him naked. Really, God? Really? It’s bad enough that he’s marrying someone else, but you had to have him run shirtless? What did I ever do to you, huh?

  He catches me staring, and a cocky smirk spreads across his face. I refuse to give his ego any further satisfaction, so I turn on the ball of my foot and get back to my run. While I’m switching to my “Men Suck” playlist, I hear footfalls coming up behind me. Seconds later, he runs right beside me. I speed up. He speeds up. I speed up more. He speeds up more. We finish the race tied, both of us totally gassed. I get great joy hearing him as winded as I am. I’m still giving him a run for his money. Not bad for a washed-up has-been. I ran with Henrik every day in Brazil, but he never pushed me like this. This was the best run I’ve had in years.

  We cool down on the path back to our houses, still trying to catch our breath. My house is first on the path. Just like old times, I grab two bottles of water from the fridge in the outside bar. I throw him one before turning to go inside. I should say something to him, but I have no idea what. We were enemies before we were lovers, but now I don’t know what we are. We’re certainly not friends. Perhaps we’re enemies again. Maybe we’re nothing at all.

  As I open the door, I look over my shoulder and see him standing there watching me. Is the look on his face… longing? Regret? Anger? I want to believe he’s struggling like I am, but most likely he’s just tired from the run. He gives me a guy nod and takes off running. Looks like I have a date with a cold shower and an ice pack for my knee.

  Almost every day for the next three weeks, Chase shows up on my nightly run. It isn’t planned, and I’m really not sure how he knows what time I’m going to go, but practically every night, he’s there. I’m always shocked to see him, especially when the pre-season schedule starts. We don’t talk, but we run our asses off. Some days he gives me that panty-dropping smirk, other days he looks as if he wants to rip off my head. Either way, not a word is spoken. I don’t understand it, but I’m not doing anything to try to figure it out either.

  Whatever it is, it’s off my plate for a while. I’m traveling for the rest of August and into September. Since coming out of my post-retirement hiatus, I’m trying to refocus my career. I’ve done a lot of commentating, and I’m ESPN’s go-to girl for all things tennis. But I want more than that. I want to expand into football broadcasting.

  My agent sees me becoming the Oprah of the sports world since I have a knack for getting people to open up to me, but I’m not sure that’s the direction I want to go. I’d love to follow in my father’s footsteps and do color commentary during games. The problem is, I’m not my father. I’ve never played the game, and I don’t have a penis. Women have come a long way in the world of sports journalism, but there’s still a long way to go. The reality is that the booth is an all-boys’ club. I refuse to settle for being a sideline reporter. It’s the booth or bust for me. My expectations are high and possibly unrealistic, but that’s never stopped me before.

  My agent and I have crafted a systematic approach to test the waters. This past April, I did a trial with ESPN during the NFL draft, and it was a huge success. During the pre-season, I’ll be doing a few guest appearances during broadcasts and radio shows, taking part in some panel shows as well as doing interviews. In most of these cases, I’m filling in for Daddy. The doctor has forbidden him from doing too much. The nepotism makes me sick, but the timing was too perfect for me to ignore. I can take things off Daddy’s plate and test the waters for this career change at the same time. Looks like I’ll be hopping from one parent’s shadow and into another.

  My agent has a few television and radio appearances set during the season, but we’re holding out on pushing for more until after I get more experience under my belt. Fans have to see me as a football authority. If they don’t, then it’s back to tennis for me.

  I still have to juggle my tennis commitments too. On top of my football coverage, I’m a commentator for the US Open, and I’m making regular appearances on the Tennis Network. I’m looking at six weeks of non-stop travel and serious pressure. It’s not quite the same as when I was playing, but it’s wonderful none the less. Retirement is great and all, but I need challenges in my life. I need to take risks and put it all on the line. For the first time in a long time, I feel the rush of potential and possibility, and it makes me feel whole. Purposeful. Like me again.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Arianna

  The second US Open is over, and I have to make a mad dash home for the Savannah Stevens Foundation Celebrity Golf Tournament. After my mother was killed, Katie started a foundation to support causes that were important to my mom. I think it’s her way of staying close to my mom. The golf tournament is just one of the many fundraisers Katie hosts each year. I haven’t been as active in the foundation as I should have been. When I was playing, I wasn’t around enough, and since I retired, I haven’t really been needed. It’s Katie’s thing, and she does it very well.

  Regardless of my role in the foundation, I always try to be here for the tournament. Daddy and I are a gruesome twosome, and we usually end up winning. Some may say that’s poor form, but my mother wouldn’t have had it any other way. If we lost, she�
�d have been disappointed in us both.

  I’ve been looking forward to this tournament for weeks. With all my travel, I’ve missed my father. Nothing says father-daughter bonding like kicking some ass. I take the red eye and go straight to the course. I’m a few hours early, but I know Katie will be there setting up. That woman is nothing if not thorough.

  “Knock, knock. Anyone need an extra pair of hands?” I call, dragging my luggage behind me.

  Charlie and Katie look up from their clipboards. Katie smiles warmly, while Charlie looks me over. We haven’t spoken since the gallery. I’m sure she’s trying to feel out what kind of reception I’m going to give her.

  “You’re just in time. We need to stuff swag bags.” Katie points at a tower of boxes in the corner. “Charlie, why don’t you and Ari grab those items that came in last minute?”

  Charlie opens the large cardboard box at the top of the pile. “Condoms? Some company actually sent us condoms as swag?”

  Katie holds up her hands in defense. “Maxim is a sponsor, what do you want me to say? They give it to us, and we stuff it in. That’s the deal.”

  Charlie snorts. “That’s what she said.”

  Katie turns beet red and goes back to her clipboard.

  I peek in the box. “Luxury condoms at that. What the hell makes a condom luxurious?”

  Charlie smirks at me. “If you don’t know, then he’s not doing it right. Oh, wait. That’s right. He’s not doing it at all.”

  Katie covers her ears with her hands. “I don’t want to hear any of this.”

  “Weren’t you listening, Mom? There’s nothing to hear.”

  I groan while I pull out boxes of condoms. “I spent all day yesterday interviewing my former colleagues about how awesome their thriving careers are, then I hopped on a plane to get here at the crack of dawn. I’ve slept less than four hours in the last two days. Can I please be spared the humiliation of discussing my nonexistent sex life?”