Chapter 11
Eleven
Delilah told herself she wasn’t going to cry again. What was there to cry about? She sucked. It wasn’t a tragedy. And Cassie was right. It also wasn’t the end of the story. Not unless Delilah let it be.
Delilah took up her position again. The racket still felt foreign in her grip, too heavy and somehow too flimsy at once, like a flat-pack wardrobe. But Delilah was gonna grip it and swing until something happened.
The first ball whizzed past her. She didn’t even move.
The second, she swung at and missed by a hilarious amount.
‘Keep your eyes on the ball,’ Cassie said casually, like she wasn’t watching the sport of tennis’s biggest clown.
‘That’s what I’m doing,’ Delilah muttered.
‘Then do it harder,’ Cassie told her.
Delilah rolled her eyes. But adjusted her stance. She suddenly realised she wasn’t so scared of Cassie anymore. Cassie knew she was a mess. What else was there to really fear now? Cassie wasn’t exactly warm and fuzzy, but somehow less like a brick wall. She was more like a wall made of wood now.
Third ball… Nope. The fourth, she thought she might have heard it whoosh as it sped past. Or maybe that was her own breath, escaping in a groan of despair.
Her legs were starting to ache. Her grip was too tight. Her pride was a memory.
But then something unexpected happened.
Cassie lobbed another ball toward her, same pace, same arc, and Delilah moved. Just a little earlier. Just a little sharper. She drew the racket back and swung. She fully expected it to miss.
But it didn’t.
The ball made contact. Not hard, not clean, but it connected. It bounced off her strings and shuddered awkwardly over the net.
Delilah froze. She blinked. ‘Oh my God.’
Her face split into a grin so wide it felt ridiculous. She let out a noise that was half-laugh, half-yelp. ‘I hit it!’
Cassie didn’t break into applause or even smile back. She just gave a small nod and said, ‘Good. Keep going.’
Delilah’s grin widened. One hit. One tiny, wonky, ridiculous hit. But it was enough. Cassie was right. She was bad. She was bloody terrible. But she wasn’t hopeless.
She could get better.
Twelve
The following morning, Cassie was ready to kick Delilah’s arse into shape. No mollycoddling. She wouldn’t ease up because of one little breakdown. She had a job to do, and it wasn’t what she did for her other clients. This wasn’t fitness. Delilah needed to improve drastically.
‘Morning,’ Delilah said breezily.
Cassie didn’t acknowledge that. She opened a fresh can of balls with a hiss. ‘We’re going for two hours today.’
‘No, we’re not,’ Delilah said instantly. ‘One hour a day, that was the agreement.’
Cassie finally looked up. ‘You want to look like a tennis legend or a woman in activewear?’
Delilah blinked. ‘Jesus.’
Cassie turned and walked to the baseline. ‘Stretch. Properly. Ten minutes, full warm-up.’
She could feel Delilah glaring at her back. There was a long pause before the rustle of fabric signalled movement. Then some very half-hearted lunges.
Cassie bounced a ball, preparing for the first drill of the day: a simple forehand feed. Cassie sent ten balls over the net, evenly spaced, not too fast. Delilah missed nine.
‘Good effort,’ Cassie said flatly.
Delilah turned to face her, sweat already sticking her hair at her temples. ‘That was sarcasm.’
‘That was the truth. You’re trying, and I can see that. Now, try bending your knees before you swing.’
Cassie fed the next ball. This time, contact. It skidded off the racket frame and into the side netting.
Delilah let out a bark of laughter. ‘This really is pathetic.’
‘Could always walk off again,’ Cassie said casually, scooping up the next ball. She didn’t look at her. Just felt the weight of the silence settle for a beat too long.
‘I’m not going to walk off,’ Delilah said finally. ‘I’m not a quitter.’
Cassie looked up. Just briefly. ‘Good,’ Cassie said. And fed the next ball.
It went on like that. Two hours. Heat rising off the court, Delilah’s form slowly improving in microscopic increments. She didn’t complain again, not out loud.
By the end of the session, Delilah was soaked in sweat and hunched on a bench, breathing hard.
Cassie tossed her a water bottle. ‘Same time tomorrow.’
Delilah took it without looking up. ‘You’re not going to say well done?’
Cassie shrugged. ‘You’re not there yet.’
Delilah let out a dry laugh. ‘You’re not a flies-with-honey type, are you?’
Cassie considered saying something nice. But she didn’t.
‘Stretch before you seize up,’ she said and walked away.
She didn’t see Delilah roll her eyes. But she heard the muttered, ‘Bloody hell,’ as she passed through the gate.
Cassie smiled to herself. Delilah needed to be pushed. And Cassie could handle that.