Chapter 52
Chapter Fifty-Two
NAOMI
Madrid, Spain – August
Olympics
The night before my first match in Madrid, I called an emergency session with my therapist because I felt like I was going to throw up and didn’t know how exactly I’d be able to step foot on site, let alone back onto that court.
She reminded me that I’d played on clay earlier this year and had no issues.
There weren’t even hesitations. And yes, Madrid clay was the scene of my crime, but the key to being able to play the whole clay court season was to treat all dirt as dirt, and this was going to have to be no different.
Then she re-sent the list of breathing exercises I could do if I needed to calm down, which I already had committed to memory, but it was nice to have at the top of my inbox again.
The drive to site took place in relative silence. Sam kept his hand in mine the entire time, ignoring the fact that my palms were sweaty.
Luck, or the universe having a terrible sense of humour, meant that somehow, my first match was against one of my own.
Lois.
As the two of us sat side by side on bikes, warming up, it dawned on me that this would be the last time we competitively played each other. It seemed fitting that our two final showdowns came on the surfaces we were both best on.
I’d gotten the better of her on grass. Given that we were on clay and there were still a hefty amount of nerves swirling in my bloodstream —because this was Madrid—I had a feeling she was about to get the best of me.
Weirdly, it felt like we were in a bubble, the two of us, just pedalling along, knowing that both of our brains were trying to think of ways to beat the other, like it was even possible to strategise against someone you’ve known for over twenty years.
As I was readjusting my high bun into a low one, Lois’s leg stuttered, and she loudly swore. I twisted my head to look at her.
“You okay?” A quick look at her didn’t bring up anything; her movement still seemed fine, so I didn’t think she’d tweaked anything.
Lois’s eyes darted around the gym. We weren’t the only ones in there by any means, but there was no one in the immediate vicinity.
When they settled on me, I could see tears in them.
“Physically fine, but I’ve just realised this is the last time we’re ever going to play each other,” she said quietly.
“Yeah, I came to that realisation about ten minutes ago.”
“Mimi, this is literally the worst day of my professional career. I’m not ready to say goodbye to playing you.”
I couldn’t help but laugh. “How fitting that we both have the worst day of our professional careers on Madrid clay?”
Lois’s eyes widened before she joined me in laughing. “That’s dark. But fair. How you feeling?”
I exhaled shakily. “Sick. I feel worse now than when I showed up on court in Queen’s after a year out.
I literally called an emergency therapy session last night because I needed her to remind me what I’m supposed to be doing to stay calm.
She didn’t say anything, but I could see it in her face that she was surprised.
I haven’t talked about being nervous on court since this time last year.
I didn’t expect to feel like this. Dirt is dirt. ”
“Your brain is probably making it worse than it will actually be. You’re right, dirt is dirt,” Lois tried to reassure. It both did and didn’t work.
“You’re just saying that because this is your preferred surface.”
A smirk appeared on her face. “To me, it’s all the same. And hey, if all else fails, just remember that it’s me across the net and all’s fair in love and tennis.”
“Good to know you won’t be pulling your punches.”
A bark of laughter erupted from her. “Of course not. You’re on my turf, Mimi. I take no prisoners.”
“Believe me, I know.” I took another deep breath; this one felt more assured. There was no one I would rather face for my one and only return to the courts of this city.
As Lois and I left the locker room and started the walk to court, I felt like I couldn’t breathe.
The tightness in my chest wouldn’t lessen, no matter which of the several techniques I tried to apply to calm me down.
My knuckles were turning white against the straps of my bags, and spots were starting to form in my vision.
The only thing I seemed capable of focusing on was the midnight blue of Lois’s shoes in front of me as we walked.
It was only when she stopped that I stopped, and then her fingers were trying to unpry my hands from my bags.
I let her guide them off my shoulders before she took my sweat-slick hands and pulled me into the bathroom.
She placed her hands on my shoulders, the angle slightly awkward, and waited until I looked at her. Her face was a little blurry, but having a solid focus point was slowly starting to bring me back.
“This court will not define you. You are Naomi Fucking Sullivan, and you have three Madrid titles to your name. That’s who you are on this court.
A winner. And this time, you get to step back on that court as an Olympian.
Not that woman who broke her ankle, an Olympic athlete.
And not to make this about me, but if the last time we play together, you don’t give me your best, I’m gonna be so pissed at you. ”
That forced me to laugh. A wet, broken, almost harsh sound. But it made Lois smile regardless.
“I thought I was a winner?”
She waved a hand between us. “Yeah, yeah, you are. But with the boyfriend, not against me.”
I laughed again in a way that sounded more like me as Lois wet some paper towels and handed them over. I pressed them against my face and then did a final mirror check.
“The good news is, you’re never gonna have to be my emotional support buddy in the run-up to a match again.”
Our arms bumped together. “Never a chore, Mimi. You feel ready?”
“No. But I’m better. Thanks.”
“Good. Let’s go give these people a show.”
Lois told a small lie when she said she wouldn’t go easy on me.
She won the toss, and I think for any other opponent, knowing they were as nervous as I was, she would have elected to receive because she was more likely to get an early break and cruise from there.
But she didn’t. She chose to serve first. Giving me a chance to settle.
It didn’t quite work.
For the first twenty minutes, I struggled to find my groove.
My serve speed was down, I wasn’t running for balls that I usually would, and I was second-guessing my footing with almost every shot and not hitting the ball as cleanly as I would’ve liked.
The match was still close, but I knew I could be putting in a better performance.
At the second changeover, I buried my face in a towel and remembered one of the last things Lois had said to me before we came out.
I was not the woman who crumpled on court anymore.
I had a whole year of incredible results behind me, and I was a fucking Olympian now.
This was the last time the two of us were going to play each other, and I’d be damned if I was going to let a lingering doubt about what happened to me over two years ago—that I recovered from—stop me from making sure she had to earn her shot at gold.
When I got up from the changeover, I watched Lois get ready to serve.
I took a deep breath as I dropped into a squat and started twisting my racquet in my hands, slowly exhaling through pursed lips.
I zeroed in on the way Lois threw the ball in the air.
When Lois served out wide, she threw the ball higher.
Not by much, but enough for me to notice after so many years.
I leapt into action and moved to the outside of the court with enough time to get my forehand swing just right, sending it down the line with a shot that Lois had no hope of returning.
She smiled across the net in disbelief, and I felt the last of my nerves disappear. All I had to do was trust that my body would be able to do what I’d built it to do.
Then the match got really fun.
By fun, I meant impossibly tight.
Once again.
Another three sets, all three decided by tiebreaks.
Given that I won last time, balance would suggest that this one would go her way. But I wasn’t going down without a fight.
Or at least I wasn’t until I double-faulted to go down a mini-break. Then I read a serve properly, but couldn’t get myself into the right position to return it the way I wanted. Twice.
Match point for Lois.
I served out wide with a ball we both knew she had no hope of getting back across, and again, Lois could do nothing but laugh to herself. But I wasn’t out of the woods yet.
I didn’t get away with a wide serve again.
The out call came, and then the screen showed I was out by millimetres.
My second serve went down the T, but it was so easy to get back across, I was already shifting to my forehand to smack it back over the net.
We ended up trading baseline balls until I decided to shake things up with a drop shot.
Most people wouldn’t be able to reach it.
Or wouldn’t want to risk it. Clay could be slippery.
Damage could be done from the most innocuous of things on this surface. I knew that firsthand.
But Lois wasn’t most people.
And I was on her surface.
Lois slid up to the ball, her racquet face up and ready to pop it back over the net. I knew there was going to be no pace on the ball. No depth. It would bounce on my side and probably die before I could even pretend to get a touch on it.
I was walking to the handshake just as the ball did exactly what I thought it would. Game, set, and match. Lois.
She pulled me into a hug when she reached the net.
“I’m going to fucking miss playing you.”
“No one I would rather go out to. I love you.”
When she pulled back, she had tears in her eyes. I could feel my own starting to get misty, and we went our separate ways. I kept my head down as much as I could as I packed my things up quickly. With one final wave, I said goodbye to my singles career.