30. Piper
PIPER
Extra bleachers had been constructed surrounding courts three and four.
The Azalea Bay Club’s “country club social” attire was on full display and ranged from athletic wear to Kentucky Derby–style dresses.
Waiters in bow ties and cummerbunds milled about the lounge and outdoor seating areas, offering up champagne and the cocktail of the day, the pickle martini.
One of the local sports networks covering the tournament had set up professional high-end cameras on moving platforms.
“Holy shit.” I grabbed Gideon’s arm. “This is way bigger than I imagined.” The long-ago pre-tournament jitters that I used to get seemed way worse than I remembered, and I just hoped I wouldn’t have to sprint to the bathrooms before our first match.
Gideon leaned over my shoulder. “Language,” he whispered. “Ignore all of that stuff. It’s just another game.” He squeezed my hand and adjusted both of our gear bags on his shoulder. “Another game with me.”
My body relaxed. Gideon’s presence beside me grounded my courage. “There’s the registration table.” I pointed to a white tent surrounded by arrangements of pink roses and azaleas.
Janie waved as we approached. She’d transformed from friendly club pro to full tournament director.
Gideon handed over our entry form. “Carpe Dinkum, checking in. We sent the money to the Venmo account.”
When Gideon had wanted to pay our entry fee, I’d refused. He’d grumbled a bit but then agreed.
“Love the name. It suits you two.” She scribbled our names onto her list.. “You’re in the championship bracket. Your first match is in thirty minutes. Carpe Dinkum versus Azalea Royals.”
Championship bracket. What were we doing? I glanced at the team name list and felt guilty as my nerves disappeared—our first match-up was against Dot and Fred.
“Ms. Jones?” A man in pressed khakis stepped out from behind the table, his hand outstretched. I’d seen him, his perfect hair and impeccably pressed pants, around the club but always assumed he was a member. “I’m David Harrison, athletics director. Mind if I steal you for a moment?”
He led me a few steps away from the registration chaos. “I’ve been watching you play this week. Lisa Chen told us that you have a background in sports management. We have a position opening up, coordinating some of our programs. Are you interested in discussing it after your games today?”
“I studied sports management, but I didn’t finish my degree.” Why had Lisa put me in this position?
That detail didn’t seem to faze him. “We can work it out. If you commit to us for a three-year contract, we could offset some of the cost of your schooling. It’s something we can discuss. You come highly recommended. “ He handed me his gold-embossed business card. “Think about it.”
Think about it. Like I could think about anything else. A job at the club and a chance to finish my degree? The jitters in my stomach from the match paled into comparison to the excitement that coursed through my body thinking about this job opportunity.
Our path to the finals was a blur of fairly easy victories. Throughout the day, the crowd had grown, spilling out of the stands to surround the courts, standing room only. By the time we reached the championship match, the energy crackled like the sky over the Atlantic before a thunderstorm.
Margie had claimed an entire section, armed with homemade signs and enough snacks to feed a small army.
Harold sat beside her with his leather notebook, tracking every point like he was documenting the World Series.
Dot and Fred had prime seats, cheering for us despite the fact that we’d knocked them out in the first round.
The hockey players had temporarily adopted their nemesis.
Ace sat with Jameson, Owens, and Morgan.
Ace held up a sign, and I had to squint to read it.
“What does your brother’s sign say?” Gideon had gotten the nice penmanship gene in the Bailey family. Ace’s scrawl was barely legible.
Gideon shaded his eyes to look at the stands. “Oh, Ace.” He shook his head. “They shouldn’t have let him in here. It says, ‘Carpe Diem, don’t let Deez Nets get you down.’”
I rolled my eyes. “It’s a good thing Dot doesn’t know what Deez Nets really mean.”
I shouldn’t have stared at the crowd for so long.
They had been noise before; now they were people that I knew, people that I cared about, and a few that I didn’t, and all of their eyes were on us.
“This is insane,” I whispered to Gideon.
My confidence had grown over the day, and my hands had finally stopped shaking.
“Good insane or bad insane?”
“Ask me in an hour.”
So far, I’d been able to avoid the DHOAB, as I’d nicknamed them.
Now, Izzy, Kensie, and a new one that I didn’t recognize sat in the first row.
All three of them looked like they’d stolen dresses from the Princess of Wales’ closet.
They surveyed the crowd, pausing every once in a while to titter amongst themselves.
“Ignore the mean girls,” Gideon said. “Focus on what we’re going to do next.”
“Easy for you to say. You’re not in the Desperate Housewives of Azalea Bay crosshairs. They’re probably calculating how much I spent on my outfit right now.”
He stepped close enough that I caught the scent of his cologne. “You look perfect.”
Heat pooled in my stomach, and I stopped myself from resting my head against his chest. Not the time, Piper. Instead, I stood on my toes and whispered in his ear, “I’ve got a treat for you after we win.”
His cheeks flushed. “Then let’s get this over with.” He patted his paddle on his hand.
The championship match was against Sloane, the nicest of the mean girls, and Preston, the club champion. Sloane strutted onto the court like she was walking a runway, her perfect ponytail swaying with each step. Preston followed, his movements measured. The man was focused.
Gideon’s hand brushed mine as we took our positions. It was just a whisper of contact, but it seemed like his way of saying, “We’ve got this.”
The match started ugly. Sloane hit harder than anyone I’d faced, and Preston moved like he had something to prove.
Beating him the other day must have shaken up his ego.
They jumped out to a 7-2 lead, and the crowd’s energy shifted.
Doubt crept into my game, bringing back the shaky hands.
My shots were going wild. I was setting them up for slammers, and they weren’t holding back when they took them.
I’d had to duck and deke a few times to the balls rocketing at us.
“Time-out,” Gideon called.
He pulled me to the sideline, his hands settling on my shoulders. “Talk to me. Where’s your head?”
“The money. The job. Everything.” The words tumbled out in a rush. “What if we’re not good enough? What if—”
He kissed me. Right there, in front of the entire Azalea Bay membership. It was quick and hard and interrupted my negative thought spiral in the best way possible.
“Better?” he asked when he pulled away.
“Much.” And I meant it.
We battled back point by point, the crowd rising to their feet as the momentum shifted.
When I ripped a backhand winner down the midline to tie it at nine-all, Margie’s cheer could probably be heard in Tampa.
Sloane and Preston shot each other disgusted looks.
It wasn’t called the divorce line for nothing, and these two weren’t even married.
“Ten-nine-one,” I called out. It was my serve. We were one point from winning. One point from twenty-five thousand dollars. One point from everything changing.
The rally that followed was textbook. Every shot we made was perfect, our movements synchronized. We moved around the court like an invisible force held us the perfect distance apart, like two north magnets.
Then I heard it.
“Ball!”
The shout came from the adjacent court. The consolation match was happening at the same time. A yellow ball rolled across our court, right into my path, as I rushed forward for a drop shot.
Time didn’t slow down. There was no time to react or change course. My foot hit the ball. My ankle twisted. Control vanished, and the world tilted sideways as I crashed to the court, my left wrist taking the full impact. The crack was loud.
Pain exploded up my arm. Black spots danced across my vision. When I looked down, my wrist was bent at an angle that made me want to barf.
“Piper!” Gideon’s voice seemed to come from underwater. Then he was beside me, his hands gentle but urgent as he assessed the damage. “Don’t move, Pipes. Just breathe.”
The tournament stopped. Players abandoned their matches and rushed over. Through the haze of pain, I caught a glimpse of Chelsea standing on the adjacent court. I couldn’t be sure, but I thought I saw satisfaction flicker in her eyes.
“Oh, honey.” Judy’s voice broke through the chaos as she pushed through the crowd, Keith right behind her. They were wearing match floral prints, his in a button-down, hers in a full-length dress, their faces pale with worry. “Don’t you worry about a thing. We’re here.”
“Clear the way for the medic,” someone called.
“I can get up.” I grimaced.
Familiar firm hands planted on my shoulder stopped me from struggling to my feet. “I’ll get Olive,” Gideon promised, his voice in my ear.
Everyone stepped aside as the paramedics dropped beside me. All I could think about was the scoreboard frozen at 10-9-1. One point. We’d been one point away from everything.