Chapter 17
Seventeen
The ball shot past her again.
Delilah turned slowly, watching it roll to a stop against the fence. She didn’t even bother pretending she could’ve reached it. Her ribs ached from breathing too hard and too fast.
‘That was brutal,’ she gasped, lifting a hand in surrender.
Cassie, of course, didn’t look winded. She stayed planted at the baseline, moving with an economy that suggested she could cover the whole court if she wanted to.
The sleeve supporting her elbow was obvious, a subtle reminder that she wasn’t swinging at full power.
Still, she held her racket like someone who’d once made a living from this.
‘That was regulation,’ she said calmly. ‘You left the whole backhand side open. I went for the obvious shot.’
Delilah gave her a baleful look. ‘Maybe try not punishing me quite so hard for my amateurishness.’
Cassie raised an eyebrow but didn’t respond. Just bounced the ball once, lightly, and caught it again.
Delilah limped back into position. Everything in her body felt like it wanted her to quit, and yet—
And yet. She had just found something out about herself.
She liked tennis. Watching it. She knew she sucked.
That wasn’t the part that got her. She wasn’t really watching for tips.
It was watching the players who didn’t. Seeing what was possible.
The control. The anticipation. The sheer balletic ruthlessness of it.
She wondered what that felt like, what it felt like to own a court.
Of course, she’d never know. But it was intriguing, for sure.
Tamsin Rowe had known that feeling. No matter what happened in her personal life—and a lot had happened—she had those moments.
Two failed marriages, a drug dependency, bankruptcy, serious injuries, that sex scandal with her sister-in-law…
They were only the things that made it into the headlines.
But when she was on the court, Tamsin Rowe must have felt untouchable, the world narrowed to the arc of a serve.
Delilah longed for that. The moment of being certain, of moving without second-guessing herself.
Tamsin had lived whole seasons inside that certainty.
Maybe that was what carried her through the wreckage off-court: knowing she’d done something once, fully, and that no one could ever take it away from her.
Delilah felt the ache of wanting the same, even for a breath.
She bounced on the balls of her feet now, trying to copy the stance she’d seen in the videos. Knees soft. Eyes up. Racket ready. Probably still wrong. Definitely still wrong.
Cassie tossed the ball into the air and served.
Delilah darted right, almost on instinct. Her movement was sloppy and slightly late, but not that late. Her arm swung awkwardly, her grip still too tight, and the sound the ball made off her strings was a weird, hollow thonk.
But then it cleared the net. It dipped, it spun, and it landed just inside the sideline.
Cassie didn’t move. Her head turned, following the ball’s path, and then she stood there frozen, one hand on her hip.
Delilah blinked. ‘Wait,’ she said.
Cassie turned to look at her, mouth open just a fraction.
‘That… Was that in?’
Cassie walked to where the ball had landed, glanced down, and looked back up. She nodded. Her eyes were wide.
‘Holy shit,’ Delilah breathed. ‘Did I just win a point?’
Cassie blinked at her. And then, absurdly, she started laughing. A full, rich, unguarded laugh that made her whole posture change into something less controlled, something human.
‘Well,’ she said, eyes alight. ‘I reckon that’s it.’
‘What’s it?’
‘You’re in it now. You’ve crossed the line.’
Delilah frowned, flushed, and confused. ‘What are you talking about?’
Cassie grinned, stepping back toward the baseline. ‘You just fell in love with the game. I saw it happen. Congratulations.’
Delilah felt her face split into a ridiculous grin. She looked down at her own hands, as if expecting the racket to be glowing. ‘It really did feel kind of… amazing.’
‘That’s how it starts. One good hit.’
Delilah turned toward the net again, her legs still shaking slightly. Her body didn’t feel strong. She still didn’t have a clue what she was doing. But something had shifted.