Chapter 13
NOAH
When my head is in the game, when I’m entirely focused, time tends to speed by far too quickly.
Today, there’s only one match standing between me and the Delray Beach finals.
I jump up and down, shaking out my nerves. I haven’t been keyed up like this over tennis in years. But right now, I feel like I might throw up in the nearby trashcan.
“Hey.” Fisher grabs my shoulder. “What’s going on?”
“Just nerves.” With a huff, I shake out my arms.
He grasps me by the shoulders, forcing me to stand still. “Look at me. Your game has been amazing. And most importantly, you’re having fun out there. Don’t forget that. Win or lose, enjoy yourself.”
Heart pounding in my ears, I stare back at my friend. “I want to win.”
“I know you do.” He chuckles. “That’s what everyone wants. But don’t focus so intently on winning that you forget to play the game.”
On a long exhale, I nod.
I’m up against Konstantinos Aetos from Greece. He’s a year younger than me and has incredible potential. Until recently, he didn’t have his head in the game. Now that he’s focused, he’s a real threat to my standing. And if I win, I’ve still got to make it through finals.
“You’ll be fine,” Fisher says, pulling me from my thoughts. “Take a breath and do the damn thing.”
From there, he and the rest of my coaching team leave for the player boxes, and I grab my stuff and head for the tunnel.
When the announcer calls my name, the applause is deafening.
That’s one advantage I’ll have over Konstantinos. We’re on American soil, so the majority of spectators are here to root for me.
As I step out into the sunshine, I wave at the crowd and head to my chair. Once I’ve set my bag down, I sit and retie my shoelaces—a dumb quirk I’ve always had—then pull out my racket.
It’s showtime.
Two hours in, I’m drenched with sweat. My black shirt and shorts, thankfully, hide most of it. Though it’s February, the Florida heat is doing its thing.
I’m fighting to get the tiebreak for the second set. If I lose this set, then Konstantinos will move on to the final. If I win, then I have a chance at redemption in the third set.
With a grunt, I send the ball flying back over the net.
“Set point.”
As Konstantinos prepares for his serve, I sway back and forth, studying him, trying to anticipate which direction he’ll send the ball.
He makes his serve and I dart to the left, but the ball hits the net.
Once the ball girl has removed it from the court, Konstantinos pulls another ball from his pocket and bounces it. The whole time, he shakes his head like he’s annoyed.
Despite the way his anxiety is rising, I suddenly find it easier to center myself. When he serves this time, I return it easily, and he’s too slow to volley it back.
I throw my fist in the air in victory.
One more set to go.
Exhaustion threatens to take over. Since the tour began, my endurance has increased, but I’m not back to 100 percent yet. The break is all too short, and I’m still dripping with sweat when our third match begins.
Despite the weariness in my bones, I give it everything I’ve got. It comes down to the wire, and for a short while, Konstantinos takes the lead and I’m not sure I’ll be able to close the distance.
By some miracle, something clicks in my brain, some part of me that refuses to lose, and I’m hit with a surge of energy.
When I make the game-winning point, I drop to my knees.
I did it. I did it. I fucking did it.
I still have to get through the final, but I’m fucking ecstatic that I even made it here.
On my feet again, I shake Aetos’s hand, then the umpire’s. I wave to the crowd and gather my gear.
While I wait for the interview I’ve agreed to, I search the stands for my girl.
When I find her, she’s waving wildly. Beside her, Sabrina claps and mouths, “Good job.”
Maddie shouts too. Over the crowd, I can’t make out her words, but I think it has something to do with a sticker.
Head tipped back and sweat trickling down my back, I take a sip of water. A shower is going to feel heavenly, but for now, I settle for dumping half my bottle of water over my head. It’s fucking hot. Humid too. With my hat back on, backward this time, I wait.
“I’m Layla Strong.” The interviewer, a young woman, holds her hand out when she approaches. “It’s nice to meet you, Noah.”
“Nice to meet you.”
She adjusts her stance so the camera catches us both and plasters on a big smile. “I’m live on court with Noah Baker, who’s just cinched a win that’ll send him to the final here in Delray Beach. Tell us, Noah, how are you feeling about it?”
I rub a hand over my chin. I should have shaved days ago. At this point, my facial hair looks more like a beard than scruff.
“I feel great. Konstantinos is a phenomenal player. I think we put on quite the show today.” The crowd cheers at that. “I’m fortunate to have made it this far and I’m looking forward to playing in the final.”
“Any guesses as to who you’ll be up against?” she asks, well-groomed brows arched. “Elias Johnson, maybe? Or Diego Pérez?”
With a chuckle, I shake my head. “I’m not touching that one. Both are incredible players, and I’ll be ready to meet either of them on the court.”
“We’re looking forward to seeing you play on Sunday. Thanks for taking the time to chat with us.”
I nod and take a step back. “Thank you.”
When the camera pans solely to Layla, I jog over to my gear, then wave to the fans once more and head down the tunnel.
After a shower, I’m feeling almost normal again, but I’m ready to see Maddie.
“Great game,” Fisher says, catching me when I leave the locker room. “How are you feeling?”
“Like I’m getting too old for this.”
When I was starting out, the guys in their late twenties were already talking about retirement. Anymore, some stick with it into their early forties.
“You looked good out there.”
“Thanks.”
Laughing, he grasps my arm, stopping me. “Don’t feel like talking, huh?” He arches his brows in question but goes on without giving me a chance to respond. “Don’t worry about it. Go rest up. I just wanted you to know I’m proud of you.”
Once he’s released me, I fish my phone out of my pocket and text Sabrina.
Me: Where are you guys?
I step out of the building as her reply comes through.
Sabrina: Outside where Fisher told us to wait.
Before I can tell her I don’t know where that is, a loud “Daddy!” pierces the air, and then a little body is throwing itself at me.
“Maddie Girl.” A calmness settles over me the second she’s in my arms.
This little girl—who really isn’t so little anymore—grounds me. When we’re together, the world makes sense.
As I set her on her feet, she holds out a sticker for me. It’s yellow and orange and says YOU ROCK! with a picture of a rock in sunglasses.
“I love it.” I peel the backing off and slap it to my chest.
Sabrina stands back, letting me have my moment with my daughter. As much as I don’t want to appreciate anything else about her, she’s so good at sensing what Maddie and I need.
“Can we go out to eat to celebrate?” Maddie asks, eyes round and eager.
“You know I haven’t won the tournament yet, right?”
“Close enough. You’re one away! Please?” She sticks out her bottom lip.
More than anything, I want to go back to the hotel and lie around, but I can’t deny my little girl. “Sure.”
“Can Sabrina come?”
“Oh, no.” The woman in question swipes her arms through the air. “I’m good. Go have a fun dinner with your dad.”
Maddie frowns and her shoulders sag. “But I want you to come too.”
Lips pressed together, I survey Sabrina. She’s dressed in a tight-fitting floral dress that hugs her curves deliciously. It has my mind spinning with thoughts about what it would feel like to rest my hand in the crook of her waist.
“What do you say? How can you say no to this?” I frame my little girl’s face with my hands, and on cue, she juts out her bottom lip again.
“All right.” She sighs heavily, only the sound quickly turns into a laugh. “I’ll come.”
“Yay!” Maddie jumps up and down, nearly crushing my foot in the process, then darts over to Sabrina.
“Where do you want to eat?” I ask as I pull up the Lyft app.
Glowering, my daughter whips around and plants her hands on her hips. “Cheesecake Factory, duh.”
Sabrina looks back at me, brow arched and suppressing a smile.
Head hung, I chuckle. “I should’ve known.”
Thirty minutes later, I help the girls out of the Lyft in front of the restaurant. As Sabrina adjusts her dress on the sidewalk beside the car, I can’t help but drink her in. The combat boots on her feet are at odds with the girliness of the dress, but somehow, the look works.
I can’t help but linger on the shapely curves of her legs. They’re strong. Toned.
Just like in Australia, we’ve been running together every morning.
Most of the time we don’t talk, though on occasion, we exchange playlists.
Strangely enough, I’ve come to look forward to our workouts. Not that I’ll ever admit it.
Maddie darts to the entrance and tugs on the heavy door. She’s still fighting with it when we reach her, so I pull it open and hold it for both girls.
The place is busy, but by some miracle, we’re seated right away.
Maddie slides into the booth first, but when I step up to sit beside her, she says, “No, I want Sabrina.”
With a hand to my heart, I ease back out. “Child of mine, you wound me.”
She giggles, bouncing on her knees.
Finger pointed at her, I give her a mock glare. “Sit on your butt.”
“Jesus.” When we’re all seated, Sabrina picks up the menu and fans it out. “This thing is the size of a textbook.”
“I’ll help you.” Maddie leans over, cheek pressed to her nanny’s arm. It worries me a bit, how attached she’s become to her so quickly. “The chicken tenders are my favorite.”
“Chicken tenders, huh?” Sabrina makes eye contact with me across the table, her dark brown irises glimmering with humor.
“Maddie takes her chicken tenders very seriously.”
“They have really good honey mustard here too. Oh, and the bread is the best. The brown one, not the yucky white one.”