40. Noah
CHAPTER 40
NOAH
With a huff, Fisher wipes at his brow. “If you keep playing like this, you can kiss even a bronze medal goodbye.”
Growling, I throw my racket at the fence, causing the chain-link to rattle.
“Temper,” Fisher growls.
“I’m frustrated,” I snap back.
“Then channel that frustration into your fucking game and stop playing like you’ve never picked up a fucking racket before, you pathetic piece of shit.”
I grumble under my breath and grab a new racket from my bag. This fucker is getting on my last goddamn nerve.
“Let’s go,” I tell him.
We’ve been out here for hours, but I’m not ready to call it a day. I don’t want to blame my poor game on Sabrina’s departure—after all, I’m the one who encouraged her to go—but I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t worried that she might be my good luck charm.
“Thirty more minutes and then I’m calling it,” he warns.
No matter how much I try, I can’t find my groove. My serves are wobbly, my sprints are pathetically slow, and my reaction time isn’t there.
When Fisher abandons the court, he’s shaking his head.
I join him on the sideline and pick up a bottle of water. “I’ll get it together.”
“You better,” he says. “You’re going to be pissed if you lose the chance at a medal because you miss a girl.”
“You know she’s more than that,” I snarl.
His eyes soften. “I know, but it’s no excuse to get lost in your head. You told her to go. Deal with the consequences of your own actions and stop dragging the rest of us down with you.”
Shit, the honesty stings, but I need to hear it. I nod. “I’m trying.”
I really am, but it certainly doesn’t show in my game.
After we hit the showers, we head back to the hotel. I’m grateful to have opted out of staying in the Olympic village. Since we arrived, I’ve heard nothing but complaints about the uncomfortable beds and the cramped quarters.
As I step into my suite, Ebba looks over from the couch, closing her laptop.
“How was she?”
“Perfect, like always.” She stands and gathers her things. Thank fuck for this woman. She’s been keeping Maddie company since Sabrina left. The idea of hiring another nanny makes me physically sick. “She’s in the shower and we just had dinner. You look tired.”
“Thank you,” I retort.
“I have some cream that’ll help with the bags under your eyes if you want it.”
That at least pulls a small laugh out of me. “I’m good. Have you… have you talked to her?”
“Not much.” She shrugs. “She’s sad, and talking to us hurts too much right now.”
I clench my teeth but nod.
At the door, Ebba turns and assesses me. “You’re actually a pretty good guy, Noah.”
That gets a real laugh out of me. “Thanks, I think.”
“What? You’re my brother’s biggest rival. For the longest time, I thought you were a prick, but you’re really not so bad.”
With that, she’s gone.
Yawning, I tidy up a bit, stacking coloring books, putting markers in a plastic box, and collecting the bottles of nail polish on the coffee table. Then I change into loungewear and check my phone.
Nothing from Sabrina.
It hurts, knowing she’s putting a wall between us.
Yes, when she left, I told her I didn’t know what would happen with us. I said it because it’s true and because I didn’t want to give her false hope. There’s no way to know what either of us can or can’t handle.
She’ll probably ignore me, but I shoot off a message anyway.
Me: How was your day?
I toss my phone on the bed in the hopes that I won’t be tempted to stare at it, but when it lights up a second later, I practically dive for the thing. If Fisher were here, he’d give me shit about my reaction time and why I couldn’t have been that quick at training.
Sabrina: Boring. Yours?
Me: Lonely.
Sabrina: I doubt that.
Me: I sucked at training today. I think you’re my good luck charm.
She doesn’t respond right away, and I fear I might’ve scared her off.
Out in the main area, a door opens and closes. “Ebba? Where are you?”
I step out of the bedroom and pocket my phone. “Mads, I’m back.”
“Oh.” My little girl holds out her Disney princess brush. “Could you brush my hair?”
Taking it, I motion for her to sit at one of the chairs around the table.
“Where’s your detangling spray?”
She shrugs and taps her feet against the floor. “Don’t know.”
With a sigh, I set the brush in front of her and go to the bathroom in search of her hair supplies.
When I return, I find her sitting on her hands and looking forlornly at the ground.
“Something on your mind, princess?”
“I wish Sabrina was here to brush my hair.”
Heart cracking wide open, I spray her hair with the detangling solution. “I’m sure she does a better job than me.”
“Yeah, she does.”
Freaking kids. Always ready to kick you when you’re already down.
Gently, I glide the brush through her wet hair and peer around at her profile. “It’s not pulling, is it?”
“It feels fine.”
When the wet strands are smooth and sleek, I step into the living area.
“Do you want to watch a movie together before bed?”
“Maybe. Have you gotten my phone yet?”
“Should be here tomorrow.”
My assistant purchased it already, but she’s having a professional install some additional safeguards and parental controls. There are sick people in this world, and I want to make sure she remains as safe as possible.
“Do you think Sabrina will call me?”
God, every word from her mouth is so much more subdued than it was a few days ago. She’s hurting, and I don’t know how to help her.
“I’m sure she will.” I pull out a chair and sit beside her at the table.
“Do you think she misses us?”
“Yes,” I answer without an ounce of hesitation.
“I want her to come back.”
“I know, princess.” I lay my hand over hers.
“Do you want her to come back?”
A heavy sigh escapes me. “Sabrina needs to be in Texas right now.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
My kid is way too smart for her own good. She’s not even nine, and already, she’s getting close to seeing through all my parental bullshit. I’m not sure I’ll survive the teen years with this one.
“I want Sabrina to do what’s best for her right now.”
She wrinkles her nose, but she lets the conversation drop.
“Now, do you want to watch that movie?”
“Yeah, I guess.”
I shake her shoulder and plaster on a smile. “Come on, where’s the enthusiasm? Don’t tell me you’re already tired of hanging out with your dad.”
It’s almost imperceptible, but it’s there: a small upward twitch of her lips. “No.”
We put a movie on and settle on the couch, and though it’s got to be the most uncomfortable piece of furniture I’ve ever had the displeasure of sitting on, Maddie falls asleep within minutes.
“Gonna play better today or let me whoop your ass again?”
I give Fisher the finger, then check the strings on my racket. Once I’ve looked it over thoroughly, I sit on the ground and stretch.
“Feeling stiff?” he asks.
“Nah, feeling old.”
He chuckles. “We’re not that old.”
“Tell that to my body.”
I’m years from retirement, but there’s no denying the toll professional sports take on the body.
Fisher lifts his chin suddenly, intent on something behind me. I twist at the waist, my heart stupidly skipping a beat in the delusional hope that my eyes are going to land on Sabrina.
Instead, Elias hobbles over, aided by a pair of crutches.
“Look at you,” Fisher cheers
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Elias mutters. “I’m a sight for sore eyes. I know.”
“You’re just in time to help me get this mopey asshole ready to play.” Fisher tosses his thumb in my direction.
“Mopey, huh?” My rival turned friend chuckles. “Heard you sent your girl packing.”
Packing? My stomach twists painfully at the notion. “It wasn’t like that.”
“Really? ’Cause it seems to me”—he makes a show of looking around—“she isn’t here.”
I stretch out my other leg, making sure my muscles are loose.
“A teaching position came up. It’s what she’s always wanted to do. I don’t want to hold her back.”
“Aw, how pathetically sweet of you.” He takes a seat on the bench, turning so he can stretch out his bandaged leg.
I hop to my feet and scoop up three balls. With two stuffed in my pockets, I bounce the third, then hit it lightly over the net.
“Why are you even here?” I ask Elias as I fall into my regular warm-up routine. “Shouldn’t you be checked into some fancy recovery center doing physical therapy and leaving me alone?”
He breaks into a wide grin. “I’m honored you’re so worried about my well-being.”
Fucker. The guy might be my biggest rival on the court, but I’m growing annoyingly fond of him.
“I might not be able to play, but that doesn’t mean I want to pass up on the Olympics. I can at least sit on the sidelines and cheer for your pathetic ass.”
Snorting, I hit a ball to Fisher and notice my right shoulder is feeling a little tight. Hopefully the warm-up will get it loosened up and it’s not something serious.
“You’re not the cheerleader I’d choose if it were up to me.” I catch the ball when it comes back my way and stuff it in my pocket.
Fisher frowns at me. “What are you?—”
He snaps his mouth shut and jogs around the net when I stretch out my shoulder. Behind me now, he works his fingers into the socket.
“Fuck,” I curse. “That hurts like a bitch.”
With a snicker, Elias motions to his bandaged knee. “Have some respect for those of us who are truly hurt, Baker.”
It’s a good thing he has the kind of personality that allows him to easily laugh off his accident. A positive attitude will only help his recovery.
“You know”—he continues while Fisher works on my shoulder—“you’re lucky I got hurt.”
“That so?”
“Yep.” He lifts his chin and grins. “Now you actually have a chance at gold.”
I want an Olympic medal more than anything, but so does every other athlete here. The chances of actually winning one are slim.
“I was thinking”—he curls his fingers in and assesses his blunt nails casually—“maybe next year, you and I should team up for doubles. We’d be unstoppable.”
I’ve never given doubles any thought. And with Elias ?
“Why do you think that?” I ask.
Fisher pats me on the back, then strides to the other side of the court.
I roll my shoulder around, impressed with how much better it feels.
“Our styles complement one another. Why not at least give it a try?”
“It’s not a bad idea,” Fisher hollers. “Might be worth practicing once you’re healed.”
“See?” Elias grins like the fucking cat that ate the canary. Cocky young prick. “Even your coach agrees. Think about it.”
“Are you going to let me practice now?”
With a laugh, he raises both hands. “Show us what you’ve got, Baker.”