Chapter 24
twenty-four
Francesca has a lot of questions, most relating to why I’m warming up in a different part of the players’ area than Matteo. The complete opposite side, to be exact. I answer none of them, and my not-so-sunny disposition is enough to put her off asking any more.
In the tunnel, before they call our names, I don’t so much as look at him, and when we step out on the court, all our emotions come to a head.
We lose the first four games quickly and without much of a fight. I flash no signals before or during points, nor do we talk during or between them. I haven’t glanced at our box, sure that I’ll see plenty of disappointment and confusion.
I don’t need that.
It’s after we lose the fifth game that Matteo finally turns to where I sit on the opposite end of the bench. I struggle with the cap of a water bottle before setting it onto the ground angrily. Matteo sidles closer, and I tense as he opens the bottle with a crack.
“I get being mad at me,” he says quietly, “but don’t throw away our shot at main draw right now. I don’t want you to regret losing this. We can do it. I know we can. Even if we lose this set.”
Anger still boils red-hot in my blood, but he’s right. I would regret losing this, no matter what’s happening between us. Standing, I wait for him to set the water bottle back down and follow me to the other side of the court.
Just before Matteo gets ready to serve, I ask, “Drop the set and try for the next or fight?” I already know the answer.
“Fight like hell.”
So we play angry. I smash a down-the-line shot right at Volha Barazna, who ducks out of the way with her racket held above her head, missing the ball entirely. Matteo aces them twice, as if my speaking to him was enough to get his serve back to its former glory.
We win the next seven games that way, exchanging as few words as possible.
The second set is bumpy, the momentum shifting back and forth.
I hit a drop shot that turns a game on its head.
Volha slaps a shot at me to get me back for the last one, and suddenly, they’re up a game.
The set slips from our fingers, and we’re left with one tiebreak to decide whether we’re out of the tournament or into the next round.
“She doesn’t like when you serve down the T,” Matteo murmurs with his back to them. By the way his mouth opens again, I know he has more to say; instead, he turns and walks to the net.
Begrudgingly, I listen to him, and it’s a damn good tip. We win the first point. Then the second and the third, picking up momentum fast. All of a sudden, it’s match point, and a well-placed forehand volley from me wins it all. The few people watching clap.
Normally, I’d run and jump into Matteo’s arms. At the very least, give him a hug. We did something we’ve never done before, and yet I don’t look at him, standing at the net awaiting handshakes from Volha and Dmitry instead.
I might not have gotten the increased sponsorship entirely of my own merit, but despite not playing my best, I proved that I belong here today. Pride roots itself in my chest.
After the post-match fanfare, I hoof it off the court, pretending I don’t see the disappointed tilt of Francesca’s head.
“Delilah,” Matteo calls out right before I go into the locker room. “Please, can we talk? We need to work through this before we have to play a stronger team.”
A few hours ago, if someone had cracked my sternum open and pulled out my heart, they would’ve seen countless tiny holes patched by this man, healing parts of me I hadn’t realized needed it.
Now though, it feels as if those words and caresses that stitched me up have been ripped away, leaving them bigger, darker.
More cavernous.
“I’m not ready to talk,” I croak.
Later, after cooling down, when Francesca, Alessio, and Matteo start speaking in rapid Italian, I slip away. I no longer care what they could be saying.
A loud knock on my hotel door wakes me. It’s so dark, I can’t see a thing, though whether that’s because the sun has gone down or because my thick curtains are closed, I can’t be sure. My eyelashes clump together, sticky with salt from the tears that kept falling while I tossed and turned.
I grab my phone to check the time and note that it’s eleven. Text messages in the group chat with the girls pour in, some about the flight Nic is on, and others about Adelaide, where Sahar and Harper are currently playing their last tournament before the slam.
Sahar’s Bad Berlin Bagels
Harper
Also, Delilah!! Congrats on winning your first mixed qualifying match with M! So proud of you.
Maya
SO PROUD OF YOU!!
Sahar
Is everything good? You seemed upset in the few clips I saw
Nic texted me separately.
Nic
Just got in. Room 1512. I have two beds and a pint of ice cream if you need either.
It’s the good stuff too. Won’t even ask what’s wrong.
That nearly makes me smile, typing out a rain check when the knock sounds again.
“Go away,” I call miserably. I don’t want Matteo begging me to talk to him again or Francesca trying to figure out what’s wrong with me. That’s an issue for tomorrow.
The knocking becomes more insistent. I stand, wrapping myself in a hotel blanket like armor and padding to the door. When it swings open, I’m ready to say the words to their face, but they die on my tongue when I see who it is.
Eli Ward.
If I thought I was done crying, boy was I wrong. I burst into tears again, and he comes in, pulling me into his arms and smoothing my hair down, whispering that everything’s going to be okay.
“Can I”—I hiccup—“get you some water?” I ask.
“No, sweet girl. Let’s sit down, okay?” I nod, and he guides me to the small couch in my room, settling beside me until the faucets slow.
“How did you know something was wrong?”
Eli smiles, taking my hands in his. “I know you quite well, believe it or not. I knew something was wrong the moment you stepped on the court.” He squeezes my hands.
“Lilian convinced me to give you a few hours to sit with it, especially after Matteo talked to Austin, or I would have been here sooner.”
I sniffle. “So you know about me getting handed the Stratosphere deal? I thought I earned it, but it turns out I was just lucky.” For some reason, this makes me feel embarrassed.
He worked so hard to give me the opportunity to be on tour, and my biggest accomplishment was orchestrated by someone else.
“I’m not sure luck had much to do with it.” At my frown, he says, almost to himself, “You never were very good at accepting help after Lillian and I came along, were you?”
“What do you mean?”
He clears his throat. “You know, back then, we wanted to adopt you. Help take care of your siblings. But you told us you had it covered.”
“There were four of us. You’d already done so much for me. I felt bad. I didn’t want to take anything else from you.” That, plus I’d always held out hope that Mom might come back. Or even Dad. But I can’t tell Eli that. It’s too mortifying.
“When you were getting scouted for college programs, we offered to pay anything your scholarship missed and make sure Chase and the twins were taken care of, but you ‘had it covered,’” he reiterates. “You chose to go straight through to the WTA tour instead. I know that’s something you regret.”
Emotion sticks in my throat, but I seem to have cried myself dry. “It didn’t make sense. I got so lucky that you guys gave me all that you did. I couldn’t keep taking from you and potentially squander it by getting injured in college. Or getting burnt out.”
“There you go with that word again. Luck.” Eli squeezes my hands once more. “Luck may have played the smallest of parts in your life, Delilah, but everything else was you.”
He smooths the crease in my brow, continuing, “You befriended Austin because you saw he was struggling and you’re like sunshine to everyone you meet.
It was you who made the relationship work, who brought him into the fold, and it was you who Lilian and I fell in love with.
It was you whose raw talent we saw on the court.
And while we may have been the hands to help mold you, you had everything you needed to succeed baked right in.
Because that’s who you are, Del. This deal is no different. They wanted you because you’re you.”
“It is, though. It is different. Everyone else got their sponsorships because they put in the work. I’ll always know this bigger deal I thought I achieved through dedication was actually because someone pitied me.”
“Do you think that all these people, Lilian and me included, didn’t have help along the way?
Lilian and I both had loving families who helped us get to where we are.
Austin, of course, had us his whole life, both for financial and emotional support.
Nicola is a fine tennis player—I have no doubt she will become something great, as you all will—but her mother played professionally for years and her father has enough money to pay for her to train at all of the best facilities.
Anya, well, we know what her family provided her.
” I laugh. It’s true. The Morozovs have tennis embedded in their every cell.
“And if you point me in the direction of anyone else on the tour, I can tell you how they had someone supporting them to get to where they are. Because that’s the nature of this sport.
It’s expensive, and you need resources if you’re going to get here.
Regardless of what those resources are and where they come from. ”
Eli scratches the back of his neck. “Look, Del. I may not be your father, but you are my daughter. I know you as well as I know Austin. I spend my year in your box because you are the daughter I have always wanted, not because I feel bad for you. I do it because I’m proud to call you mine, even if only in my head.
“I’ve seen you grow from the most mature eight-year-old I have ever met into the most hard-working woman.
Your work ethic is something nearly unmatched by most on the tour.
Sure, they all have what it takes to be professional athletes, but the work you put into tennis extends beyond that.
It stretches back to the moment you were born into a life that most would struggle to come out of.
At any point, you could have given up, but you didn’t.
So no. You have lots of things going for you, but I would never chalk up anything that’s yours to something as fickle and indeterminate as luck. ”
My head rests on his shoulder, his head on top of mine. I marvel at his words because he’s right. He’s the father I always wished my father would be. He treated me like I was, and am, a Ward. Adopted or not. Blood or not.
And yes, I work hard, but that’s for so many external reasons. For my siblings. For security. For the Wards, so they know their investment is paying off.
Except maybe I’m not an investment. Maybe no one expects me to do what I’m doing. Maybe the pressure I’ve always felt was external was actually my own.
I swallow. “If I quit tennis right now, would you be upset with me? Would you feel like I wasted…” What? His time? His money? His resources? All the above?
“I got to spend it all on you, and that could never be a waste. If you wanted to quit right now, I’d support you in finding whatever you want for your future.
Lilian would too. Austin too, eventually, though he’d have a ton of questions and would probably beg you to reconsider so you could keep playing mixed once he’s better.
” We share a laugh. “Though that ship has probably sailed.”
I raise my head and meet his eyes. “What do you mean?”
“I’ve heard lots of great things about you and Matteo. Even Austin is sure you’ll end up playing with him at every tournament you can until you retire.”
“Oh. I don’t know.”
“Because you’re planning on quitting?”
“No, no. That was just…I just wanted to know that it’s okay. That when this stops being fun, the only thing preventing me from quitting is myself.”
“Then what don’t you know? Because if it’s how that man feels, I’ll tell you right now that, as someone who was so sure nobody would be good enough for you, he might be the one.
Austin said he’s never seen him so distraught.
And I promised Lilian I would keep it quiet, but we both noticed the way he hung on your every word at tournaments.
That man’s been sure about you almost from the moment he met you, I think. ”
“He lied, though. He knew how I felt about accepting help, and he didn’t think to tell me he pulled the strings of my sponsorship.”
Eli sighs. “What did Stratosphere say was their reasoning for increasing your deal again?”
I think back to what Shay mentioned when she first told me. “I’ve been moving up the ranks.” He holds one finger up, nodding for me to continue. “My social media has been growing. And they’re looking for someone with my ‘sunshine energy.’” Eli holds up three fingers.
“Three whole reasons why they wanted you. You passed every test, proved at every turn that you were worth their investment. Matteo just gave them the lead.”
I pointed them in your direction, and you shined the way you always do.
He didn’t push them. He dropped my name. And even so, I guess they could have done their research and decided against moving forward.
“Why is it so hard to accept help?” I ask quietly.
“Because you went so long without it. You became an island, self-sufficient and strong. You’re proud of everything you’ve built for yourself and your siblings, as you should be.
” Eli looks at me pointedly. “But it might be time for you to realize that not all help comes from a place of pity. And it might not be a terrible idea to accept it here and there.”
My chest aches.
I’m an idiot, too proud for my own good. I’ve pushed away the one person I’ve ever encountered who I can see a future with, who I can see standing beside me every day for the rest of my life.
“Eli, thank you. For everything. Now I’m so sorry, but I have to go.”