28. Noah
CHAPTER 28
NOAH
Frustration barreling through me, I smash my racket against the court. My opponent, a new guy from Spain, is about to take me out. Fuck. I was sure I had the cinch Championship in the bag. Maybe the extra training with Elias instilled a false sense of confidence. I was so sure I was going to win this and I could really use the much-needed ego boost as I head to Wimbledon.
On the sideline, Fisher shakes his head, then exchanges words with Terese, another one of my coaches. She responds, wearing a look of disappointment.
Fuck. They’re probably having the same thoughts I am.
That maybe I’m not cut out for this anymore.
I’ve been playing well since my return, so the notion is ridiculous. Even so, I can’t stop the intrusive thoughts. I’m not like some of these guys—so overly confident that I can’t see past my own ego. Not anymore, at least.
I grab a new racket from my bag, swipe my towel off my chair, and wipe my face. With a harsh inhale, I turn, preparing myself to serve.
I hate losing.
Of course I do. Who doesn’t?
This defeat, though, feels more painful than any I’ve experienced in years. Maybe because I’ve been training harder in preparation for Wimbledon. Maybe because of the way my relationship with Sabrina has been changing—she’s in the crowd, watching me fail, after all. Or maybe it’s because I feel like I’m failing in so many ways. Like with Maddie. Despite her mostly sunshiny attitude, she’s still struggling with the loss of her mom, and I don’t know if I’m supporting her in all the ways she needs it.
I make my serve, anticipating the volley. Even though a win from here is nearly impossible, I won’t go down without a fight.
I send it soaring back over the net. When it returns, I sprint to my right and smack it, but rather than sail over the net, it hits it and drops to the ground, taking my happiness with it.
He won. I lost.
And so it goes.
I’m sad. Angry. Frustrated.
I want to trash this racket too, but I rein in the urge. My daughter is watching; it’s bad enough she saw me lose my temper once. I need to set a better example.
I meet my opponent at the net, shake hands, then shake hands with the chair umpire.
I pack up my stuff silently, then wait for the crew to set up for the trophy ceremony. Second place shouldn’t feel so awful, but there’s no recovering my tanking mood. Not right now. When the cameras are rolling, I plaster a smile on my face and channel all the lessons I’ve learned in media training over the years. After destroying my racket, I don’t need to give them any more ammunition.
Smashing a racket isn’t the worst thing a player can do—some assholes have been known to send theirs flying into the crowd—but it is frowned upon. Tensions run high in professional sports, and even the best of us snap at times.
I give a short speech, accepting my pathetic excuse for a trophy, all the while smiling like I’m not losing my shit on the inside.
Doubts plague me, telling me I’ve lost my mind to think I have a shot at Wimbledon. How could I when I couldn’t even secure first place here against a player who’s never made it this far?
I need to nip these thoughts in the bud before they fester and grow. I’ve seen players completely lose themselves on the court because of mental gymnastics. Nothing is worse than when a player becomes his own worst critic.
By some miracle, I hold my shit together until I’m alone with my team.
“What the hell was that?” Fisher sputters in the training room assigned to us. “It’s like you forgot how to hit the damn ball.”
Terese merely shakes her head. She doesn’t speak nearly as often as my other coaches, but when she does, it’s because she has something important to say. My guess is she’s still gathering her thoughts.
Teeth gnashing, I grunt. “I don’t know. The pressure got to me, I guess.”
Fisher gets right up in my face. He’s angrier than I’ve ever seen him, which only pushes me closer to the edge. I want to throw something. Smash my fist into a fucking wall.
I fell apart out there.
“The pressure got to you,” he says, his tone mocking. “You’re better than that, Noah. Give me a reason, tell me why.”
“I just got in my head. I was fixated on things I shouldn’t have been worried about. Not out there. I put too much pressure on myself and I cracked.”
“Yeah, that’s pretty fucking obvious.”
The vitriol in his tone throws me off. Fisher rarely gets pissed. He’s possibly the most easy-going guy on the planet.
“What were you thinking about?”
“Too many things,” I answer, and it’s the truth.
It’s as if every worry that’s ever scuttled through my brain circled back around and ganged up on me.
“Give me one,” he growls.
Pierce, my third coach, enters the room. “What the hell, Noah? You’re not one to lose your shit like that.”
“I know,” I bite out, my voice raising.
Fisher grabs my shoulder, bringing my attention squarely back to him. “Give me one,” he repeats. “And if it’s good enough, I’ll leave you alone.”
Hands on my hips, I tilt my chin and look at the ceiling. For a moment, I focus on my breathing. Then, with a slow, careful exhale, I say, “What if I’m not cut out to do this? What if I can’t be a good tennis player and a good dad?”
“What makes you think that?” he counters, brows pinched. “Things have been going well this season. You can’t win everything.”
“I know!” I rough a hand through my hair. “I know,” I say again, softer this time. “But I… this life is hard. What if it’s too much for her without her mom?”
Sighing, he rubs at his jaw. “It makes sense now.”
Terese nods, stepping away from the wall. “You took a decent amount of time off. Growing pains are inevitable with a return like this, and you’re still dealing with a life-altering loss.”
I scoff. Life-altering is an understatement. Fuck. My wife died .
“But,” she continues, her tone firm, “you’re too talented to stop.” Arms crossed, she lifts her chin. “I understand the importance of family and the pain you’ve been through, but if you let yourself fall apart like this, it’ll be one of the biggest regrets of your life. We’re going to set you up with a therapist and?—”
I shake my head. “Abso-fucking-lutely not. I don’t need to talk to some whack job who thinks lying on a couch and blubbering like an idiot will fix me. I don’t need fixing. I’m fine . I lost myself this time, but I’ll pull it together.”
I have to.
Fisher crosses his arms over his chest and shakes his head slowly. “Terese is right. You need to talk to someone.”
My gut sinks. If Fisher is on her side, then I really am screwed.
“I’m fine,” I say again, though my tone isn’t quite so resolute this time.
“Maybe.” He shrugs. “But you could be better.”
Those words are like a slap to the face.
I’m still frozen, frowning at my team, when they give me sympathetic glances and leave.
It takes me a full minute before I can find it in myself to move and another five before I find the motivation to shower and change.
When I step outside and find Sabrina and Maddie waiting for me, it’s like another kick to the gut.
Apparently I’m closer to breaking than I thought I was.
“Daddy!” Maddie darts for me, dark hair flying.
I crouch and catch her when she leaps at me. Straightening, I hold her close and soak in the moment. It breaks my heart to think that one day soon she’ll be too grown to be held like this. That one day she won’t need me.
“I’m sorry you lost.” She presses a sticker to my shirt. I don’t even bother looking at it. “You’ll get them next time.”
“I’ll try.” I set her back down and drop a kiss to the top of her head.
Sabrina comes closer, her face soft with sympathy.
“I don’t want to talk about it,” I bite out before she can speak.
She recoils, her face falling.
I’m an asshole. I know.
“The car’s waiting,” she says, her tone full of a forced flippancy. Without waiting for a response, she turns and walks away.
Maddie slips her hand into mine. “That wasn’t very nice, Dad.”
Leave it to my kid to call me out. Chest restricting, I huff a breath. “I know.”
“You should say you’re sorry.”
I look down at my daughter. Fuck, she’s too smart for her own good. “You’re right. I was rude, but let’s let her cool off.”
“All right,” she says, though she looks like she wants to argue. “Let’s go.”
A small amount of relief settles into my bones. “Best thing I’ve heard all day.”