11 Scottie
11
Shatter – Maggie Rogers
‘Come on, give me ten more minutes!’ Jon shouted from the sidelines. My body protested vehemently. I didn’t have one more minute left in me, let alone ten. On the opposite side, Nico’s lean figure stood out against the bright backdrop of the tennis court, his muscles taut with exertion and his chest soaked with sweat. The sun was relentlessly beating down, intensifying the challenge.
It was the first day of our intensive training. The clock had barely hit ten in the morning, and I was already planning my escape route off this damned island. We woke up to a run, gulping down a quick breakfast before spending the rest of the morning practising drills and footwork. After an all-too-short recovery, we were unceremoniously dumped into the gym, with a personal trainer adapting the workout according to whatever cross training supreme ruler Jon dictated was the focus for the day.
In the afternoon, I faced the double whammy of yoga and Pilates, while Nico enjoyed some pool time for his knee rehab. If, by some miracle, we managed to survive, our reward was the ‘luxury’ of stretching, cooling down, and recovering in the jacuzzi-turned-ice bath Jon seemed convinced was a treat instead of torture.
I was close to chartering a private helicopter to come pick me up. If he kept up being nice, I might let Nico come along.
‘Pick up the pace, Scottie!’ Another yelled command had me plotting Jon’s murder as we ran suicides between the lines of the court, rackets in hand for extra intensity. Jon’s authoritative presence loomed over the court, his tall frame casting a shadow as he pushed us to our limits. The court’s white lines taunted me as I struggled.
Jon’s phone erupted in a ring. He yanked it from his pocket, delivering a terse ‘hello’ before turning away, leaving Nico and me to push forward. But instead, I halted, my hands on my knees as my lungs caught fire, gasping for air.
Seizing the stolen moment to rest, I hoped Nico would be doing the same when a ball attacked me from out of nowhere. My body twisted to avoid it and with a scowl, I turned to the other side of the court, spotting Nico. Despite the sheen of sweat on his forehead, he was sporting a smirk, one eyebrow playfully arched.
‘No slacking now, Sinclair,’ he shouted, pulling another ball from his shorts pocket. The hem grazed halfway down his tanned, muscled thigh. Every time he’d moved around the court, the shorts inched up a little, revealing glimpses of skin and ink, which left me wondering how much further they could creep up.
‘Jon’s gone. Can’t you leave me to die already?’ I whined. It was still early in spring, but with the court outside and unshielded from the sun, I was melting away. Removing my navy cap, I kept my blonde hair in check before wiping some sweat-soaked escapee strands from my face. I had recognized the hat from the pool when he’d stolen it back, but if he didn’t want me to keep stealing it, he needed to stop leaving it lying around. And judging from the way he’d eyed it when I’d arrived at practice, his jaw clenching with what I hoped was annoyance, there was a possibility he might still expect it back.
‘Come on. Let’s see what you’re made of,’ he challenged, mischief dancing in his voice as he looked from me to my racket that sat just to my side. ‘Then we’ll get a delicious protein shake.’
The thought made me queasy. While I knew getting back into shape after such a long break would be challenging, I’d underestimated how brutal these training sessions could be.
Another ball smacked into my side, this one delivered with more force than the last. I scowled, locking eyes with Nico, who was all too pleased with himself. He bounced another ball against the court surface before launching it my way with a stretch of his arm. My attention was hijacked by the sight of his shirt lifting as he moved, revealing a precious sliver of his lower abdomen. I lingered on the tantalizing trail of muscle, only to be cut off by the waistband of his shorts.
Muscle memory kicked in, my hand adjusting into the correct position on the racket, my body moving toward the ball. An exhausted grunt escaped me as I swung, the sound reverberating around the court. The ball sailed over the net, bouncing once in front of Nico before he returned it. With a sly grin, he let out his own strained groan, mimicking me. Narrowing my eyes, my suspicion raised, and as I hit the ball, I did it again, the yell both helping to relieve tension, and mocking his own. A smirk spread across his face as he swung, and this time there was no mistaking it as another loud, truly pornographic groan left him.
A single laugh escaped me as I broke, unable to contain myself, before stumbling forward to return the ball. I mirrored the noise, each of us getting louder and increasingly ridiculous with our groan as we each returned the ball over the net. We were both smiling despite an ache that felt like it permeated all the way to my bones, running around the court rallying with each other, being loud and silly, our laughter echoing against the court’s white walls and the distant sound of waves crashing nearby.
As Nico reached for the next ball, he misstepped, his right leg buckling under his weight and he slid backward to the ground.
A groan of pain filled the air, and I knew from the scar the right was his bad leg. Without a second thought, I tossed my racket aside and, fuelled by a surge of adrenaline, sprinted across the court to where he lay.
‘Are you okay?’ The words escaped me on a heaved breath as I found him still on his back, his chest rising and falling deeply with exhausted breath.
‘I’m fine,’ he snipped, tone tinged with irritation. I reached out a hand, but he shook his head, ignoring the offer. ‘I said I’m fine. I don’t need help.’
‘You sure about that? Considering you’re the one rolling around in pain,’ I retorted, frustration bubbling up. His hand clutched his knee, and I moved to assist, remembering techniques from my own past injuries.
‘Scottie – leave it alone,’ he said, swatting my hand away. ‘It’s not like you can do anything about it!’ His brows furrowed in anger, lips pressing together as he rolled off the ground to sit up. His face was red and flustered, the mask of anger slipping for a moment.
‘I’m trying to help,’ I reassured, but Nico withdrew further as he attempted to stand, hissing in pain with each breathless attempt. He tried to shake me off as I pulled him by the shoulder, attempting to ignore how the firm muscle felt under my fingertips. His chest heaved with every painful breath, and the sheen of sweat on his forehead accentuated his rugged features.
‘I don’t need it.’ His gaze connected with mine as he stood, anger radiating from his body. He shook my hand from his arm and brushed past me, slowly making his way to the side of the court. He limped away, favouring his left leg. My frustration boiled up again, spilling out as I stormed the short distance between us.
‘Hey. We need to be a team, so if there’s something up with your knee you’ve got to be honest with me.’
‘What? You mean apart from it being fucked?’ He laughed as he reached the bench. He stood for a moment, attention stuck on one of the stray cats that had been watching us play from the bench. Quietly he shooed it, flapping his hands while still keeping some distance from the cute animal. The feline stared intently, head tilted as if trying to understand what this buffoon was doing, before giving up its position and striding away. Nico almost fell to the bench as he pulled out a towel and threw it over his head as if to hide. Closing the distance, I pulled the towel off him, forcing him to look up at me.
He did not look any less mad.
‘Yes,’ I continued. ‘Like if there’s anything I can help you with. If you need somebody to stretch with. You can’t snip at me because I’m checking to see if you’re hurt.’ I held the towel in between two fingers, keeping it away from him. I didn’t need to touch Nico’s sweat towel any more than necessary.
He looked away, grinning as if I’d humoured him, one arm holding onto his uninjured knee, propping him up. ‘I’m not sure why you’re even here. You were pretty adamant about not wanting to come back to tennis. I only trust you’ll stay clean because of Jon. And even then, what does he know?’
His words did exactly what he had meant to do – hurt. The unhealed wound within me stung with his accusation. I was on the brink of snapping back, tempted to call him an old man and remind him of how far past his prime he was. But instead, I swallowed down my retort.
‘He knows me, you ass. I won’t do it.’ I crossed my arms, standing strong against him.
‘You did it before,’ he added, but his attention was distracted, pain etched across his face as his fingers worked along the top of his right leg, massaging along and causing him further ache.
‘Are you going to throw that in my face every time we fight?’
‘Are you going to keep being an annoying pain in my ass?’ He tried to make the words snarky, but they escaped him in a pained gasp. I couldn’t take it anymore, dropping down to my knees in front of him, the court’s surface warm under my bare skin after being baked by the morning sun.
‘If it means otherwise, we lose, then yes.’
‘Well, ditto.’ He laughed again. Before he realized, I’d closed the space between us. ‘What are you doing?’
‘Can I try something with your knee?’ I asked, but he only eyed me suspiciously. Nico’s piercing gaze bore into mine, his darkened eyes reflecting a mix of scepticism and vulnerability. ‘I had a similar injury a few years ago. Of course, I had youth on my side.’ He scoffed, but I ignored him, pressing on. ‘But I remember the massage technique. Maybe I could help?’
Maintaining our eye contact, his reluctance to let me touch him was evident in his flickering gaze. He tried to sit up straight, putting too much weight on the bad leg and letting out another small groan of pain.
I bit my lip, pressing once more. ‘Please, Nico. Let me try.’ I realized I was begging, but it was so clear he didn’t have any trust in me. Without it, there was no chance we’d survive the competition.
His gaze met mine, and apprehensively, he nodded. Smiling at the acceptance, I began to very gently press my fingers to his knee, my eyes trailing the length of the scar across it. I tried to apply soothing pressure to his knee joint, my fingertips gliding across the healed skin. The tennis court’s uneven surface was unforgiving beneath my skin, but I ignored it, trying to focus on the massage. He flinched at the contact, and I looked up at him, frightened I’d further hurt him.
‘Sorry,’ he croaked before clearing his throat. His eyes were glassy, and I realized this might be the rawest version of Nico I’d seen. ‘Keep going, I’ll try not to move.’
‘Tell me if you need me to stop,’ I instructed, waiting for him to nod before I continued.
I tried again with slow, deliberate strokes, gradually working their way around the knee, as I pressed in with a sweeping movement. His leg moved, stretching out and relaxing, giving me better access to continue. With that, I grew bolder, increasing the pressure as I worked around his knee.
A quick glance up at him and I found him slack-jawed, eyes shut and relaxed. He looked peaceful, and with a smug smile, it was all the confirmation I needed to know I’d given him a bit of relief.
Continuing my work, my fingers massaged and kneaded when without any warning, he let out what at first sounded like a groan. The noise was throaty and deep, a low, guttural growl that resonated from deep within his chest. Nico’s well-defined jaw clenched and unclenched with each noise, his hands flexing absentmindedly as he relaxed into my touch. My fingers paused as I lost all track of what I was doing, my mind scrambled from the moan.
He jerked upright, his knee recoiling from my touch. Looking up, I found his face was burning a deep scarlet, his wide-eyed panic contrasting with his previous calm. He cleared his throat, his words wavering in pitch.
‘Th-thank you,’ he stammered. ‘It’s better now. I’ll see you at lunch.’ The words tumbled out abruptly as he leapt up, acting like nothing had ever been wrong. He tossed his equipment bag over his shoulder, and without another word stormed to the exit, leaving me speechless.
My brows were furrowed together in confusion, my throat dry as I tried to process the noise he had made.
He paused midstep, dropped his bag on the floor, and turned back, marching over to where I was still on my knees on the ground. He refused to make eye contact with me as he closed the gap between us, and without so much of another word, his strong arm reached out toward my head.
I jerked backward, not sure what his intention was, but instead he grabbed the navy cap from the top of my head.
‘This is mine,’ he grumbled. Nico took the hat and placed it unceremoniously on top of his own head. Then he was gone, walking around the stray cat that had decided to take up a sunbathing position in his path. I was left on the floor, hair a complete mess from the hat thievery, his moan still replaying in my mind.
His eyes shut, his pink lips parted, and that seductive noise. There should not be this visual of my mixed partner making that noise in my brain. But there was, and I was pretty sure I wasn’t going to be able to forget it. Finally pushing myself up from the floor and wiping my legs clean, I tried to collect myself, attempting to figure out what on earth had happened.