Clean Point

47 Scottie

47

I Know The End – Phoebe Bridgers

A knock sounded through the locker room as Jon appeared in the doorway. ‘Hey, love birds,’ he said, his tone serious. ‘It’s time.’

My stomach lurched again, nerves getting the best of me as Nico released me from his grasp. Without another word, we both grabbed our prepared kit bags and followed Jon out into the hallway.

Nico’s hand slipped effortlessly into mine, the movement almost instinctive for him now. I tried to focus on his calloused skin, how his fingers felt interlocked with mine, instead of the steady drumbeat pounding in my chest, the roar of the crowd outside as we finally emerged onto the court. Sunlight beamed down, blinding me temporarily before my eyes adjusted, and I took in the vast court.

I hadn’t been here in two years, but it felt like only yesterday when I’d stepped onto the grass, a na?ve twenty-two-year-old, completely unaware of how her life was about to fall apart.

I’d fought my way back and earned this spot. And now, I’d play fair and square for the title.

Beside us, our competitors and defending champions, Wilson and Carter, walked out, both of them seemingly cool and collected under the pressure of the final. I nodded at them, trying to maintain my own confident fa?ade, as they strolled past, heading to the benches on the opposite side of the court.

Dropping my own kit beside my chair, I pulled out my bottle of water and took a long gulp, all the while trying to ignore the thousands of eyes from the crowd stalking my every movement. Anticipation was quickly building as the clock ticked closer to the start of the game, uncertainty beginning to prick at my skin.

This was what it had come down to. One last match. Take a single misstep, and the entire thing could unravel before me. Or I could keep my nerve, hold that breath, and win. Finally win.

I pulled out my racket, the black ELITE-branded metal gleaming in the sunlight, before turning to Nico. ‘Ready for this?’ I looked to him expecting confidence, that predator-like focus to be ready and in place.

But there was a frown to his lips, an unfocused look in his eyes, like he was moments from vomiting into his kit bag.

My eyebrows creased together as I turned fully to him, closing the space and keeping my voice low. ‘Is it your knee?

He shook his head, his focus pointed down, his large hands turning his racket over and over, feeling the weight of it, assessing its grip. ‘I need a moment.’

My hand went to his shoulder, squeezing gently, feeling the tight muscles beneath my fingertips as I tried to soothe his anxiety.

‘Hey, we got this.’ I reached up to his chin, slowly redirecting his gaze, so it met mine. I kept my eyes sharp and fixed, lip pressed into a serious line. ‘Just play like we do in practice.’

Any trace of doubt slowly faded as the storm in his grey eyes turned to a determined steel. I watched as the lines on his face flattened, a steadiness locking in his jaw as if sculpted by the sheer force of belief.

‘Just like we practised,’ Nico repeated.

In turn, his confidence fuelled my own, the nerves in my stomach now settled, and instead I was finally ready for this fight. There was no option for defeat. I fucking hated that feeling too much to accept it now. I was hungry for the win, starved for the glory, and I refused to let us walk off this court empty-handed.

A coin toss determined who served first: us, and we took our places. Me at the net, Nico at the baseline, serving. I stared straight ahead, my eyes stuck on our competitors, both waiting and ready for the first game to finally begin.

We were here. At the final. Centre Court. I’d thought revenge would be getting here alone, without him. Proving to myself that I could do it. But peace was far more rewarding than revenge could ever be.

And Nico Kotas, he was my peace.

The clap of strings meeting the ball cracked through the silence of the area, the powerful serve flying past me and beginning the first game. Wilson and Carter jumped into motion, Carter easily returning the ball as the rally began.

We had our game plan, our positions and tactics were second nature to us, and we had each other. I sprinted across, easily meeting the ball as we swapped positions, covering for each other, every step we took calculated to ensure we didn’t leave ourselves undefended.

I glanced quickly over my shoulder as we secured our third point, meeting Nico’s confident smile. We were assured in our own skill as single players, but confident and assertive as a doubles team.

They took the next two games, followed by a stupidly mistimed step from me, which allowed Wilson to level the game score, reminding us of what kind of opponents they were. I’d known Carter off the court, and she was friendly, but on grass she was a killer with the forehand.

3–3

With the set score tied, the pressure intensified. I served with precision, forcing Wilson to make a desperate return. We clawed our way back. Nico seized any opportunity that allowed him to unleash his forehand volley and left our opponents scrambling. The crowd erupted in cheers as we clinched the crucial break. The set was ours. One down, one to go.

I couldn’t help but take a moment to celebrate, turning to Nico. ‘Keep it up, old man.’

He smirked. ‘Let me show you how it’s done, katsarída.’

I twirled my racket in my hands, my lips twisting into a playful, teasing expression, feeling a little lighter, more confident, and ready for the second set.

Carter opened with a serve, their tactics becoming increasingly unpredictable, testing our adaptability. We just about kept up, sensing the new game play, and between points, we were forced to strategize, finding new ways to exploit the small gaps in our opponents’ game. Yet Wilson and Carter fought back fiercely, and the set teetered on a knife’s edge, each point a battle for supremacy.

4–3

Two more games and the set would be theirs. I could see the frustration building in Nico. He had begun to hesitate when judging each return of the ball. Our opponents were showing their teeth, proving to us what a danger they could be.

We fought on, returning their powerful serves, both Nico and I battling for every single point. Carter angled a volley over the net, almost catching us off guard. I sprinted, the top of my racket just managing to find the ball in time. The rally continued, and they were determined to win this point, Wilson powering the ball over the net, down the middle of the court. It was too fast for me, flying past me.

I followed the ball, sure the point was over, only to find Nico charging for it. He swung, slamming the ball back over, but he didn’t stop, gliding across the court and falling forward with a hard hit.

The ball hopped over the net, catching our competitors out and winning us the point, but my attention was firmly on Nico, who wearily got to his feet.

40–30

‘You okay?’ I asked.

He nodded, barely looking at me before carrying on. We crawled back, claiming another point as ours, but I could see Nico slowing down. I wasn’t much better. Wilson and Carter were tough, making us fight for every point.

Wilson finally secured the second set with a wide kick serve to Nico’s forehand; taking advantage of his hurt knee. He limped, head down, after attempting to reach the ball. My heart sank. It would come down to a final third set.

We were allowed a short break to refresh and hydrate. It was all I could do to not collapse onto our bench. My legs were tired after so many hours on court. It had been two long weeks. I downed almost an entire bottle of cool water, the ball boys quickly replacing it while handing out a fresh towel that I gladly accepted.

‘This is going to shit,’ Nico stated plainly as he sat down on the bench, a towel draped over his head. ‘We made that second set too easy for them.’

I shook my head, not willing to accept defeat yet. My fingers pressed into the plastic of the bottle, crushing it with frustration. ‘We did not come all this way to give up now.’

Nico finished off his own bottle of water. ‘I agree. What are we going to do about it?’

‘They are weakest with cross-court shots,’ I noted. I looked to the other bench. Carter and Wilson were likely having a similar discussion. ‘I think we need to put more pressure on the second serve, too. Get aggressive with it. Force the play to be faster. It might gain us some momentum.’

‘That will also tire us out.’

‘Good thing there’s only one set left,’ I said before taking in his posture. He had his bad leg outstretched, a cold water bottle held to it. ‘How’s the knee holding up?’

‘I’m fine,’ he said through gritted teeth, jaw clenched with frustration.

I paused for a moment, keeping my voice soft as I pressed again. We had no chance of winning if he couldn’t be open with me. ‘Tell me the truth.’

‘I hurt it halfway through the set. It’s getting … awkward to run on.’

My lips pressed firmly together, anxiety rising. I couldn’t lose him mid-match because of too aggressive tactics. It could put the entire game at risk, especially if we had to stop. There was no second chance here.

‘Okay,’ I said with a nod. ‘You take the shots that come your way, but leave the rest to me.’

He shook his head, frustration etched on his face. ‘Scottie, I can do it.’

A quick glance across told me our competitors were almost ready to go, and I looked back at Nico.

‘You do what you can,’ I said, trying to calm him. The last thing we needed was him really hurting his knee. We had to make it through this set. We had to win. And if that meant I had to compensate for us, I’d do it. ‘But we can’t wear you out. We need to get through this final set, and win.’

‘Are you sure?’ he asked, eyes set on me. I held my breath, looking out onto the vast court. It was intimidating, the history here. But to be a part of it with him by my side, could anything be better?

I smiled reassuringly at him. ‘I’m sure.’

He looked resistant, the strong line of his jaw setting, but I pushed. ‘Let me do this for us. Isn’t this what Jon said when we first got together? Strategy is what you’re best at. I was to compensate with my bountiful youth and original knee.’

‘You know, one of these days those old man jokes will have to go into retirement, katsarída.’

‘Too bad today isn’t that day.’ I smiled, watching his own lips curve as his attention dipped to his feet, the racket nervously spinning in his hands. ‘So? What’s the plan? How do we take them down?’

It took him a moment, the time on our break running out as he began to fill me in, and when he did, I was almost certain it would work … as long as I could pull it off. It was time to show them who we were, or go home empty-handed.

I took his hand in mine and squeezed it tightly. Just once was enough.

‘I love you.’ His words pulled my heart into a vice tight grip, squeezing and warming inside. ‘And I can’t wait to watch you win this for us.’

We stood, taking up our positions in the court. I took the serve, feeling the fuzz of the ball in my hand, inspecting the green surface, before looking ahead to my partner, finding his attention on me, his brows pressed together in question.

I kept my eyes on him, a mask of confidence falling into place.

‘Let’s do this,’ I mouthed his way, watching as he mirrored my assurance back at me. A nod of his head indicated he was ready for this fight.

The arena turned silent as I rhythmically bounced the small green ball against the grass, counting each bounce.

One. Two. Three. Just like I’d always done.

I looked to the crowd, saw the box, found my mum and Jon watching us in anticipation. I knew if Dylan could’ve made it, she’d be up there too. I re-focused ahead, finding our opponents, shifting from foot to foot. Ready to pounce, ready to play, ready to win. They were fierce, and just as bloodthirsty for this trophy as we were. But we were not out, not yet. Everything was on the line for this, and I was ready to give my entire body and soul to this court to make it happen.

To take this from them because I fucking wanted it. We wanted this win, and I would not let it slip through our fingers.

Everything that had happened – Matteo, Nico’s knee, the last few years of my life – it had brought me back, full circle. Centre Court. Because this was where I belonged. Where we both belonged. My feet on this grass. This racket in my hand. Nico Kotas by my side.

I took a deep breath in, filling deep into my lungs, as I waited for a cool opposite breeze of wind to die down. I threw the ball high in the air, the rest of the moment a second instinct, my body knowing exactly what to do. All I had to do was trust it.

On my exhale, I unleashed my full power, rocketing the ball over the net. With that, the comeback had truly begun.

And this time, we didn’t fail.