Chapter Forty Luca
FORTY LUCA
The first set is slipping through her fingers like water, and Luca doesn’t know how to hang on.
Her hands shake, and for the first time, being on court is not helping with the anxiety that wants to pulverize her ribs.
She wants to channel it into a more useful emotion, but it’s terror that grips her. She knows Vladimir’s eyes are drilling holes into her back.
Never smash a racket was the first lesson Luca learned from Vladimir and the one she has never broken.
Until now.
It was an impulsive slip of the hand. A moment of feral weakness that now makes her feel sick.
It’s her mistakes that have caused the lopsided score.
She presses her knuckles against her chest, dragging them down her sternum. It doesn’t help; if anything, it intensifies the feeling in her chest.
She chews on the inside of her cheek, just for something to do, a sensation to focus on.
The umpire calls time and Luca jumps off the bench, shaking out her limbs in an effort to calm the trembling in them.
Her racket is slippery in her palm.
The heat rises. The air is thick and stifling, pressing in on her.
Her emotions are sliding out of control.
Luca feels a panic attack rising like an unstoppable tide.
And Octavia is calm and focused on the other side of the net, nearly lackadaisical in her effortless serve and aggressive backhand.
And when Luca’s third backhand sprays wide, she loses it again.
“What the hell do I do?” she yells at Vladimir.
Vladimir strokes his jaw but says nothing.
Anger bursts through, and she nearly hurls her racket into the crowd and quits the match. It is the sheer terror of losing that stays her hand. “What do I do?” she asks Vladimir again.
“Calm down,” Vladimir mouths, holding out his hand in a motion for Luca to relax.
“Calm down?” Luca snaps. “What the fuck kind of advice is that?” She swipes her face furiously with the towel, and Vladimir doesn’t respond. He never responds to such outbursts.
Not that Luca has them very often.
She loses Octavia’s service game. It is 3–1 but the gap feels wider than she could ever conquer.
The crowd roars. She’s giving them a spectacle, and she hates it.
Perhaps all of her luck has finally run out.
Tennis has failed her. She has failed. She can’t even keep her emotions in check enough to play with Juliette Ricci in the stadium. It is driving her mad.
The first raindrop slithers down her neck.
Instead of being refreshing, it’s irritating, and it makes her want to throw up or cry or something else equally ridiculous.
She double faults on the first point of the fourth game.
Luca curses and smacks her racket against the sole of her shoe, pins and needles shimmering through her foot at the contact.
“Audible obscenity warning, Miss Kacic.”
Luca doesn’t even have the energy to argue it, she just tosses her racket into the air in frustration, but it slides out of her slippery fingers and cracks on the ground.
She double faults the second point.
“What am I doing wrong?” She whirls around to Vladimir, wheezing even though she hasn’t run for a point.
Vladimir heaves a sigh. “You have to breathe,” he says firmly.
“Fuck off,” Luca snarls.
“Audible obscenity violation, Miss Kacic. Love, forty.”
Luca wonders if it is possible to burst into flames. She certainly feels like it might be possible.
She spins a first serve in to try to staunch the bleeding, but Octavia rams a forehand back at Luca so fast she can barely get her frame on it. It skyrockets into the air and into the burbling crowd, who are growing rowdy in light of Luca’s behavior.
When Luca goes to get her towel, she sees Vladimir gathering his backpack and sweatshirt.
She freezes. She had never considered that Vladimir would actually leave.
Every word dies on her tongue as she watches Vladimir shuffle out of the player box, disappearing up the stairs and into the flood of people rushing to get into the stadium to watch the final.
Her box is an empty sea of blue. There is not a single person there for her.
She is utterly alone.
JULIETTE
This is truly a disaster.
Juliette is in actual pain being forced to watch Luca melt down. Before, she might have felt a sick satisfaction at seeing Luca break. And if Octavia was winning fair and square, by playing better, she could swallow it. She would be happy, even.
After Octavia breaks for the second time and puts herself firmly ahead, Juliette gets up. “I’ll be back,” she whispers to Claudia.
Claudia gives her a sympathetic grimace. They want Octavia to win, of course, but not like this.
The first few raindrops patter down as Juliette weaves her way out of the stadium. She isn’t exactly anonymous in Cincinnati, but within the crowds who are eager to pile in, no one is paying attention to her as she drops into the main crowd.
She catches snippets of what people are saying about Luca.
“Meltdown.”
“Unstable.”
“Never seen Kacic act like this.”
“Point penalty for audible obscenity? She’s better than that.”
It’s all supremely out of character for Luca, and Juliette tries to swallow around the lump of guilt clogging her throat. This isn’t precisely her fault, but she knows she’s contributing to Luca’s panic.
She shelters beneath the concrete overhang, watching as people stream past. Some off to the plaza of gift shops selling tennis paraphernalia, others to a smoothie bar called Maui Wowi.
Even though it’s painful, Juliette opens up her Tennis Channel app and clicks into the final.
She turns down the volume; she doesn’t need to know what the commentators are saying about Luca.
Octavia is about to hold to go up 5–1. The camera pans to Luca as she wipes her face with the hem of her shirt.
She looks pale and shaky, all the color drained from her face and her breath coming in uneven pants.
It is glaringly obvious when they switch over to Octavia that the player’s box behind her, the one for Luca, is completely empty.
Even Vladimir has left Luca.
Her gut wrenches. And a few seconds before the TV feed catches up, the sky opens, and rain pours from the heavens.
Delay. Luca will have time to regroup.
She must be lucky after all.
As a player, even one knocked out of the tournament, it doesn’t take much for her to sneak into the locker room. She can’t imagine Luca hanging out in the players’ lounge or gym considering what was happening out on court.
Juliette takes a deep breath before slipping through the door.
It’s eerily quiet, the only sound the dripping of a showerhead that isn’t fully turned off.
The walls are painted a soothing blue color, soft like the Ohio sky.
Juliette pokes her head around each of the rows of lockers until she spots a lonesome figure hunched on the bench.
Juliette hesitates.
The last time they spoke, Juliette broke both of their hearts. Now, she’s here to ask forgiveness and fix what she tore apart. She knows Luca is more than likely to reject her. She’s in control here, and Juliette almost can’t breathe through the fear.
But she can’t imagine her life without Luca in it, so she steps out from the shadow of the lockers. Her shoes scuff against the floor, and Luca’s head snaps up.
She blinks as if struggling to process what she’s seeing.
“Hey,” Juliette says, clearing her throat.
“Here to revel in my misery?” Luca asks, her voice a thin, fragile chord. Her eyes are wide and glossy, and her hair is greasy and wet from the rain and dried sweat, the braid unraveling. She curls in on herself, as if she can flatten herself and disappear.
Juliette drops down onto the bench next to her. “I’m here to see if you’re okay.” She touches Luca’s knee. She doesn’t flinch away, and Juliette takes it as a small victory.
Luca squeaks out a breathless chuckle. “No, I’m not.”
Juliette squeezes gently, her thumb brushing circles against Luca’s kneecap.
“Why are you here?” Luca’s voice shakes.
“I’m here to apologize,” Juliette says, and Luca looks up, her eyes glassy.
“I fucked up. I let my need to be in control take hold of me. I didn’t think we could work if we were together.
I was afraid of how much I cared for you and how that would affect me and my life.
I didn’t want anything to change, but I was already changed.
I realized today how much I care about you.
How much you mean to me. I finally realized how wrong I was.
So, Luca, I am so sorry for hurting you and pushing you away and being so selfish. ”
Her vulnerability hangs like a knife between them, and Juliette can’t breathe. Luca can either set it down or cut Juliette straight to the bone.
“You want to be together?” Luca asks softly.
Juliette nods. “I don’t just want to be together.
I want to know everything, from your favorite color to your darkest nightmare.
I want to make love to you and kiss every inch of your skin.
I want every moment with you. I want your snark and your anxiety and your brilliance and your sweetness and everything in between.
I even want the hurts we’ll inevitably cause each other.
I want us to break each other’s hearts and stay together anyway.
I want us to be there for each other, through every soaring high and every soul-crushing low.
” She takes a deep breath. “I want it all, Luca Kacic. I want you. I want us.”
Luca’s breathing is sharp and rapid between them, and somewhere in the midst of Juliette’s speech, she’s started crying.
Juliette cradles Luca’s face, warmth spreading through her as Luca tips into the touch, her eyes tender and gleaming, every emotion in them.
Juliette strokes her cheekbones, and curves her thumb down to where she knows Luca’s dimple would appear should she smile.
The tears are warm against the pads of Juliette’s fingers.
They come together like magnets, drawn together by a cosmic hand.
Luca presses her face into the crook of Juliette’s neck, her arms wrapping around her.
Juliette cradles the back of Luca’s head, keeping her close and hiding her from the world around them, while her other arm wraps around Luca’s waist. She tilts her head against Luca’s temple, their edges melding together in warmth.
And time becomes meaningless, as it usually does with Luca in her arms.
Luca pulls back, slowly, her breathing a little more under control. “Next time you feel overwhelmed and out of control, talk to me.” Juliette’s vision blurs as tears finally spill free. She swipes them off her cheek, nodding.
“If anyone can understand that, it’s me,” Luca adds. “We understand each other. Not just because we’re soulmates, but because we’re both tennis players.”
“I finally realized that being with you doesn’t mean being out of control. You make me feel content,” Juliette admits, and Luca starts to smile, that dimple curving against the edge of her mouth.
“I forgive you, Jules,” Luca says, pressing their foreheads together.
Relief crashes like a wave over Juliette. “Thank you,” she breathes, the dizzying feeling of falling and spiraling out of control finally subsiding.