Chapter Seven #2
“Hailey Greenwood. Either someone is dead, divorced, or about to be sued.”
Hailey smiled despite the nerves in her stomach. “Good morning to you too, Lucia.”
Tyler’s eyes widened slightly.
Hailey turned toward the window, partly to focus and partly because looking at him while doing this made the stakes feel dangerously personal.
“No one is dead,” Hailey said. “As far as I know. I’m calling with a favor.”
“A professional favor or the kind where I need to hide my father’s phone?”
“Possibly both.”
Lucia went quiet for half a beat. “Oh, this is about him.”
“It is.”
“My father is semi-retired.”
“I know.”
“He is also cranky, selective, and currently pretending to write a training memoir no one asked for.”
“I know that too.”
“And yet you called me before nine in the morning.”
Hailey glanced at Tyler.
He stood very still beside the table, coffee untouched in his hand, expression fixed somewhere between dread and hope.
Something about that look made her voice steady.
“I have a player I’d like him to meet,” Hailey said.
Lucia exhaled. “Hailey.”
“His name is Tyler Von.”
Silence.
Then, “The Santa Monica kid?”
Tyler’s head snapped up.
Hailey’s pulse jumped. “You know him?”
“I know of him. My father’s mentioned him once or twice over the years. Good instincts. Strong vertical. Plays with too much emotion when the match gets tight.”
Tyler closed his eyes briefly, as if being accurately described by a legend’s daughter before breakfast was both thrilling and humiliating.
Hailey watched him and tried not to smile.
“That’s the one,” she said.
Lucia hummed thoughtfully. “He and Jack Wright lost the final last year, didn’t they?”
“Yes.”
“Ugly match point.”
Tyler made a pained sound under his breath.
Hailey gave him a look that said silence or I will end you.
He pressed his mouth shut.
“He’s competing again this year,” Hailey said. “The championship is coming up fast. He needs someone who can help him get out of his head.”
“And you think my father is that someone?”
“I know your father is that someone.”
“You realize he does not respond well to flattery.”
“That wasn’t flattery. That was fact.”
Lucia laughed softly. “I forgot how terrifying you are.”
“I prefer effective.”
“Yes, that too.”
Hailey held her breath.
Outside, the waves rolled in and out. Tyler had not moved. His eyes were on her now, fixed and unreadable.
Finally, Lucia sighed.
“My father is in San Diego right now,” she said.
Hailey’s heart kicked. “That’s not far.”
“No. It is not.”
Tyler gripped the edge of the counter.
“I can ask,” Lucia continued. “That is all I can promise. If he says no, he says no. And if he says yes, he will not be gentle.”
“Good,” Hailey said.
Tyler looked mildly alarmed.
Lucia’s voice sharpened with amusement. “Does your player know what he’s agreeing to?”
“He will.”
“Is he your client?”
The question should have been simple.
No.
That was the answer.
Tyler was not her client. This was not business. This was not a contract, a campaign, or another athlete in need of management.
Hailey looked at him across the little kitchen, at his bare feet on the floor, his rumpled shirt, his anxious eyes, his coffee going cold in his hand.
“No,” she said softly. “He’s not my client.”
Lucia heard what she did not say.
“Oh,” she said.
“Don’t.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You thought it loudly.”
From across the kitchen, Tyler’s mouth curved.
Hailey ignored him.
Lucia laughed. “I’ll call my father. Send me Tyler’s basic stats, recent match footage if you have it, and the exact date of the championship.”
“I’ll have it to you within the hour.”
“Of course you will.”
“Thank you, Lucia.”
“Don’t thank me yet. If he agrees, your beach boy may hate you by lunch.”
Hailey smiled at Tyler. “I’m willing to take that risk.”
Tyler’s eyebrows rose.
Lucia laughed again. “I’ll call you back.”
The line went dead.
Hailey lowered the phone.
For a moment, the kitchen was silent except for the ocean and the quiet hum of the refrigerator.
Tyler stared at her. “Did she say her father has mentioned me?”
“Yes.”
“Coach Medrano knows who I am?”
“Yes.”
“He said I play with too much emotion?”
“Yes.”
Tyler dragged a hand over his face. “That’s somehow both the best and worst thing I’ve ever heard.”
Hailey set her phone on the table and picked up her coffee. “Welcome to professional feedback.”
He looked at her then, really looked, and the expression on his face made her forget the mug in her hand.
“What?” she asked.
Tyler crossed the kitchen slowly.
“Thank you,” he said.
“It’s only a maybe.”
“It’s not only a maybe.”
He stopped in front of her, close enough that she had to tilt her head back to hold his gaze.
“You made the call,” he said. “You didn’t have to. You woke up this morning after spending the night with me, and instead of making it weird or running away, you called one of the most important contacts in the sport because you believed I was worth the risk.”
Hailey’s throat tightened.
“I never said I wasn’t making it weird.”
His smile softened. “You’re definitely making it weird.”
She laughed, but it came out shaky.
Tyler took the mug gently from her hand and set it on the table. Then he cupped her face between both palms and kissed her.
Not like last night.
Not with the same urgent heat.
This kiss was gratitude. Hope. Fear. Something neither of them was ready to name.
Hailey held onto his wrists and kissed him back, because there was nothing else to do with the feeling moving through her chest.
When he pulled away, his forehead rested against hers.
“I don’t know what happens next,” he said.
“Neither do I.”
“But I’m glad you’re here.”
Her eyes burned unexpectedly.
She closed them before he could see too much.
“I’m glad I’m here too,” she whispered.
The admission scared her more than the phone call had.
Tyler kissed her once more, softer this time, then stepped back as if he understood she needed air.
“So,” he said, clearing his throat. “What now?”
Hailey opened her eyes and reached for her phone again. “Now we get to work.”
His brows lifted. “We?”
“Yes, we. I need your stats, match footage, schedule, anything that shows your current training level, strengths, weaknesses, and proof that you are not wasting Coach Medrano’s time.”
Tyler stared at her for a beat.
Then he grinned.
“There she is.”
“Who?”
“Vice President Greenwood.”
Hailey pointed at him. “Careful.”
“I like her.”
“She bills in six-minute increments.”
“I definitely can’t afford her.”
“No,” Hailey said, already opening a notes app. “You cannot.”
His grin deepened. “Good thing I have other qualities.”
She looked him over once, slowly enough to make him notice.
“Yes,” she said. “You do.”
Tyler’s smile turned wicked.
“Focus,” she said.
“I’m trying.”
“Try harder.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
The words should not have done anything to her.
They did.
She narrowed her eyes. “You are impossible.”
“You seem motivated by challenge.”
Unfortunately, he was not wrong.
Within twenty minutes, Tyler had called Jack and Aaron, who both answered with the kind of immediate suspicion that suggested Tyler did not normally request match footage before coffee. Jack’s voice came through the speaker, far too loud and far too amused.
“Is this because of Hailey?”
Tyler closed his eyes. “Send the footage.”
“Oh, it is absolutely because of Hailey.”
Hailey leaned closer to the phone. “Jack?”
A pause.
Then Jack said, “Yes?”
“Footage. Now.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Tyler pointed at the phone. “Why does that work for you?”
“Because she’s scarier than you.”
“Accurate,” Hailey said.
Jack laughed. “I like her.”
“Everyone keeps saying that,” Tyler muttered.
By the time they had enough material to send Lucia, Hailey had transformed the bungalow’s small dining table into a command center. Tyler’s match clips were queued on his tablet. His schedule was written in her neat handwriting. His strengths and vulnerabilities were listed with brutal efficiency.
Tyler looked over her shoulder as she typed the email.
“You’re calling my serve inconsistent under pressure?”
“Because it is.”
“Ouch.”
“Would you prefer vague encouragement?”
“No.”
“Good. Vague encouragement does not win championships.”
He smiled faintly. “You sound like Medrano already.”
“Then I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“It was meant as one.”
She paused just long enough to glance at him.
The smile faded between them into something quieter.
Then her phone buzzed.
Lucia.
Hailey’s stomach dropped.
Tyler straightened so fast his knee hit the underside of the table.
“Ow.”
Hailey winced. “Very athletic.”
“Answer the phone.”
She did.
“Lucia?”
“Good news,” Lucia said. “My father is intrigued.”
Hailey gripped the phone tighter. “Intrigued enough to talk?”
“Better. Intrigued enough to come.”
Hailey’s breath caught.
Tyler went utterly still.
Lucia continued, “He can be in Santa Monica tomorrow morning. Six-thirty. On the beach. If Tyler is late, my father will leave. If Tyler argues, my father will leave. If Tyler wastes his time, my father will make him wish he had left.”
Hailey looked at Tyler.
His face had gone pale beneath his tan.
“He’ll be there,” Hailey said.
“Good. And Hailey?”
“Yes?”
“My father watched the match point from last year after I called him.”
Hailey glanced at Tyler. “And?”
Lucia’s voice softened slightly. “He said Tyler did not choke.”
Hailey’s heart squeezed.
Tyler’s face changed.
Just a flicker.
But she saw it.
“He said Tyler tried to win the point before he earned it,” Lucia continued. “Different problem. Easier to fix.”
Hailey swallowed around the sudden tightness in her throat.
“I’ll tell him,” she said.
“Do. And send him to bed early. My father starts with conditioning.”
“Understood.”
Lucia hung up.
Hailey lowered the phone slowly.
Tyler did not speak.
The ocean moved beyond the windows, bright now beneath the full morning sun.
Finally, he said, “He said I didn’t choke?”
Hailey nodded. “He said you tried to win the point before you earned it.”
Tyler looked away.
For a few seconds, his expression was unreadable. Then he sat down heavily in the chair beside the table and braced his elbows on his knees.
Hailey knelt in front of him before she could think better of it.
“Tyler.”
He shook his head once, a small, sharp motion. “I’ve replayed that point in my head for a year.”
“I know.”
“I called myself a coward for a year.”
Her chest hurt.
She reached for his hands. “You’re not a coward.”
He looked at her then, eyes bright with something he was fighting hard not to let fall.
“You don’t know that.”
“Yes,” she said firmly. “I do.”
The words were not strategy. They were not comfort for the sake of comfort. They were conviction.
Tyler stared at her like he wanted to believe her and was afraid of what it might cost if he did.
Hailey squeezed his hands.
“Tomorrow morning,” she said. “Six-thirty. You show up. You listen. You work. That is all you have to do.”
His mouth trembled faintly before he pressed it into something like a smile.
“That sounds simple when you say it.”
“Good. I’m excellent at simplifying disasters.”
“I’m a disaster now?”
“You’re disaster-adjacent.”
He laughed, and the sound was rough enough to make her eyes sting.
Then he pulled her up and into his lap, wrapping his arms around her so tightly she barely had room to breathe.
She did not complain.
For once, being needed did not feel like a burden.
It felt like being trusted with something tender.
Hailey held him back and let herself feel the terrifying shape of what was happening between them.
She had come to Santa Monica to rest.
To escape.
To remember who she was when she was not fixing everyone else.
But here she was, helping Tyler, and somehow it did not feel like losing herself.
It felt like finding another piece.
Outside, the beach waited.
Tomorrow, Coach Medrano would arrive.
The championship was coming.
And Hailey had the sudden, wild feeling that everything she had run from in New York had only brought her here—to this bungalow, this man, this morning, this choice.
Tyler drew back just enough to look at her.
“What are you thinking?” he asked.
Hailey brushed a thumb along his jaw.
“The truth?”
“Always.”
She smiled softly.
“I’m thinking this vacation is getting very out of hand.”
Tyler laughed, then kissed her like he agreed.
And for once, Hailey did not try to put anything back in order.