Chapter 4
four
That evening, I lie on my back on our couch, my socked feet propped against the wall between the water lilies print and a menu from a restaurant in an old Wyoming ghost town.
Beside me, Nic stares at the credits rolling on the second to last episode of a season of a reality show she pretends she hates, her arm against the back of the couch, palm resting on my shin.
Despite her distaste for contact, thirty seconds of my moaning about needing physical touch was all it took before she slapped it there.
More than vexed by the show, she says, “He asked her in about twelve different ways what she looked like in episode one. She’s just now seeing all the red flags?”
“Maybe she thought he was bad at making conversation. I don’t know that I would do better in that situation.”
Nic glances at me in disbelief. “Surely you would recognize he’s a tool.” When I only blink back, she sighs. “I know my dislike for the male species as a whole is further along the spectrum than most, but you stretch the meaning of giving someone the benefit of the doubt.”
I chuckle. “Maybe.” But I’d rather that than accidentally hurting someone who’s dealing with issues unseen or unknown.
After the intro music of the finale ends, Nic pauses it. I sit up on my elbows, glancing at her. “What happened? Bathroom break?”
“No. I was waiting for you to bring it up, but you haven’t, and now I suspect you’re not going to.” When I don’t respond after a couple of seconds, she crosses her arms, a dark eyebrow raised. “Matteo?”
Ah, that. “There’s nothing to tell. Like you heard, I guess he feels bad about what happened to Austin, so he’s trying to make it up by playing mixed with me.” And there’s something else he’s not admitting. I’ve been thinking about what it could be all day and have come up with zilch.
“He seemed more interested than a guy doing someone else a favor.”
I shrug. “I don’t know. All I know is, with my new endorsement deal, I should be fine this season without doubles, especially if I work my butt off at singles.
” My mind drifts to the warmth of Matteo’s palm in mine when we shook hands and the expression I couldn’t decipher after our hands brushed while we picked up tennis balls.
Another shrug. “I’m sure he’ll forget all about it in a couple of weeks, and then once we’re on tour, I’ll hardly see him. ”
The men’s and women’s tours only overlap during select tournaments.
There are the well-known slams—Australian Open, Roland Garros or the French Open, Wimbledon, US Open—and some lesser known (at least outside of the tennis world) tournaments.
It’s not like we’re together all the time.
I’ll likely see him about as much as I saw him last season, maybe less, since Austin will be out for a few months.
“And you don’t want to play with him?” she asks, then quietly says, almost to herself, “His strokes are a lot like Austin’s in many ways.”
“I’m just…not sold, I guess?” A divot forms between her brows, so I continue, “You know how doubles is. There needs to be good chemistry. He doesn’t know anything about me, and I don’t get the impression he cares to learn.
I’m not sure I want to risk some of my singles time when it could go poorly.
Plus, I have the bigger Stratosphere deal now.
” I raise a shoulder like that’s answer enough.
I went over the contract with Nic when it first came through, since she has a couple of big deals of her own.
So it’s no surprise when she hits me with, “But don’t you get more money if you make it to quarters in both? A good bit more?”
Nic’s pushing harder than expected, but the biggest reason I’m wavering is one I can’t voice.
Not because she wouldn’t support me, but because she wouldn’t understand.
I’ve built almost everything I have myself.
If I were to count the number of people I can rely on for a stream of income, I wouldn’t make it past my right hand.
Playing doubles with Austin was always about having fun with the added bonus that I might make some extra cash from it.
Nic and I worked together so well, and she was always so serious about it that I felt comfortable depending on it to supplement my singles income.
Sidestepping the question, I ask, “Who is this glass-half-full woman, and what has she done with my best friend?”
Nic cracks a rare smile. “Guess I’m used to one of us being optimistic about everything. But you’re right, playing with Matteo might land you with a fine or worse when he inevitably loses his cool.”
I’m not sure I agree with that now that I’ve seen him on court the last few days. Even near the end of the season, he’d calmed down. I hum in response, and Nic plays the episode. It’s the last time we’ll talk about it unless I bring it up again—something I appreciate about Nic immensely.
I flip around to face the TV, and as I laugh and she scoffs at the ridiculous antics of the people on screen, I remember the real reason I’ll miss playing with her so much.
The money was good, but more than that, it was the only chance we got to spend this much time together during the season.
Next season, we may not even play in the same tournaments.
Our friendship bloomed so quickly. It was mainly because I wouldn’t leave her alone the first couple of months—adding her to conversations she rarely seemed interested in during rest day walks around the track with Sahar, Harper, and Maya, finding her eating at the players’ restaurant and sitting with her, jumping at the chance to pair up for singles work when she didn’t have someone to hit with—but she seemed so sad and lonely on the outskirts, and that’s always been my kryptonite.
Once Maya left the tour, and with Sahar and Harper as close as they are to each other, I naturally drifted more toward Nic. While she tried her best to keep me at arm’s length, I tried harder to be let in.
We’ll still see each other, get dinner a few times a month, and maybe get to spend an evening watching a movie here and there, but it won’t be the same.
Right as a couple threatens to end their relationship at the altar, my phone flashes with a call.
When I realize it’s my brother Chase, I fumble to grab it, already answering as I say, “Sorry, sorry. I’m going to take this.
” Nic nods her understanding, and I disappear into my room, closing the door behind me.
“Chase? Is everything okay?” I’m so used to being the one who calls him, seeing his name on my screen sent anxiety slashing through me.
“Hey. Something’s wrong with the car, and it’s going to need some work.”
I blow out a breath. Every time I think I’m going to be able to make things work, another obstacle crops up. “Oh. Alright. Did you get a quote?”
When he tells me the amount, I clutch my bookshelf, the vases full of fake flowers swaying.
I take stock of the repairs I’ve paid for over the last year and try my best not to feel upset with him.
Though I haven’t been able to spend more than a few days at a time with him in years, I’ve never known him to be reckless. I’m sure it’s just wear and tear.
“Okay. That’s fine. Obviously the three of you need the car, so we should definitely get that fixed.”
He doesn’t answer right away, and as I begin to ask him how he’s doing, Chase says, “I got accepted into FSU. I’m thinking about transferring.”
My heart leaps at the words, and now I’m clutching the bookcase for a completely different reason. “Chase! That’s amazing. Have you talked to a counselor at the community college? Everything looks good for a transfer?”
“Yeah.”
Sandpaper bites the back of my throat, happy tears filling my eyes.
This is all I’ve ever wanted for him. And for the twins.
It’s why I chose to go straight to the tour—to make money immediately rather than trying to work a job while playing collegiate tennis, even though college was something I’d always wanted to try.
I want them to find something they love, to get the education they need so they’re set up for the lives we deserve.
And Chase is doing it. He’s putting in the effort to get good grades and he’s doing it.
For a moment, I think about the cost but immediately hate myself.
We’ll make it work. “I’m more proud of you than you could ever know, Chase.
Truly. I—” My voice breaks, and I pull my hand from the bookshelf, shoving my nails into my palms to keep the tears at bay.
I’m the eldest. The strong one. I don’t cry.
“I’m really proud of you. And so excited.
Tell me how much you need, and I’ll transfer it into the joint account so you can pay tuition, okay? This is the best news.”
“Okay,” he answers quietly. I would hope for more enthusiasm with news like this, but this is just Chase. The moment he found out he got accepted, he probably took a nap because it was so mundane and unimportant to him.
He doesn’t give me anything else to work with, and because it’s been almost a week since I heard his voice, I ask, “How’s everything at home?”
I think of my last text from Dad, telling me how proud of me he is and asking about Nic and Austin.
That was weeks ago, but it was nice. Made me feel like he was paying attention.
I wonder—is it a sober or drunk week for him?
And what does that mean for the twins? Are they having to do more of the caretaking I tried so hard to protect them from?
“Dad’s passed out on the couch. The usual. The twins are fine.”
A drunk week, then. I walk the few feet to my bed, settling against my pillow and staring at the popcorn ceiling. Mindlessly, my free hand reaches for my nightstand, pulling a small photo from my wallet.