Chapter 7 #2
She prided herself on being a great all-court player, shifting seamlessly between dominating serves and strong baseline ground strokes, between thoughtful net attacks and relentless defense.
Sydney was surprised to see that, late in the morning on a weekday, all of the tennis courts were in use.
Closest to the entrance, kids no older than six or seven were spread across two courts, hitting balls with varying degrees of success.
Deeper into the center, there were juniors running sprints, practicing their footwork as they maneuvered with agility around a set of cones.
On the five courts that mirrored the ones she was closest to, small groups of adults looked like they were in lessons, practicing ground strokes, playing doubles, and volleying back and forth.
She noticed then, on the farthest court back, on the side where the juniors played, her old instructor, Brian Chester.
It was easy to spot him, even though it had been five years since the last time she’d seen him.
He always covered his gray hair with a tennis-ball-colored hat, and at five-foot-eight, he stood only slightly taller than the girl he was talking to at the net.
Sydney was far away, but she clocked the young player at fourteen or fifteen years old, racket slung across her shoulder as she listened intently to Brian’s feedback.
Her curiosity was piqued, seeing Brian in a one-on-one session when the center was obviously bustling, and she headed for the walkway behind the baselines.
Even with more than two million Instagram followers, it wasn’t like she got stopped daily, but it did happen enough that she was conscious of her public image.
Her agent had posted a message on Instagram that Sydney had written regarding her retirement, including that she’d be taking some time off to rest and decide what would come next.
Sara, almost true to her word to give Sydney space, had only reached out once so far, earlier this morning.
Fans are gutted, disappointed to say the least, and they already miss your glowing face and winsome personality. Not to mention that talent! Just thought you’d like to know that everyone wants to know what comes next!
Well, wasn’t that the million-dollar question.
She hadn’t posted since her retirement announcement; hadn’t even looked at the comments. What anyone else thought about it wasn’t her business.
But at Manhaven, where casual tennis players mingled with young hopefuls who ate, slept, and breathed the sport, she knew she’d attract more attention.
Securing the baseball cap she’d donned before walking into the center, she only looked toward the courts to make sure she wasn’t walking past them while a point was in play.
Once she reached the last court, she dropped her bag and leaned against the wall.
Brian walked back to about half-court, and instead of using the ball machine, he began to hand-feed tennis balls across the net.
They were practicing slices. His student was positioned at the baseline, but she hadn’t yet looked in Sydney’s direction.
Sydney remembered having that kind of focus, being like a dog with a bone, nothing distracting her from the next hit that was coming her way.
Sydney watched intently. The girl had raw talent, even if she was still rough around the edges.
She sometimes moved from the baseline, depending on where Brian hit the ball.
Her intuition was spot-on though, always anticipating where the ball was going but lacking the finer skill of returning it perfectly, a thousand tiny variations of every hit that would become second nature with, oh, ten thousand or so more serves.
“You’ll be there soon enough, Jenna. You have the time. Set yourself up for success,” Brian said as his student—Jenna, it would seem—moved toward the net and sliced, though her ball extended beyond the far baseline, out of bounds.
“Got it,” Jenna said, her voice a little winded as she moved back toward the baseline, then turned around and got in her stance again.
“Sydney, what is Jenna doing wrong?” Brian’s eyes had shifted to her, though she was now realizing he’d known for much longer that she was standing there.
Brian’s skill as a coach was that he didn’t miss a thing, on or off the courts. It was hell for a teenager, but it’d made her a better tennis player.
“What, you didn’t think I spotted you the second you stepped into the center?” he said with a vibrant smile. “Especially when you’re one of the best players I’ve ever had the opportunity to coach?”
Jenna turned around then, her eyes going wide, and her racket almost slipped from her hands.
Sydney gave her a small wave and stepped up to the baseline.
She looked down at the familiar sight of the white line millimeters from her sneakers, being careful not to touch it.
She loved the rituals of tennis, and even though she wasn’t serving, she still treated that line like it was electrified.
“Okay with you?” she asked, looking at Jenna.
She’d been used to reverence from younger players who met her, hoping they would become one of the only hundreds out of tens of thousands in their age range who had the skill for professional play.
Now it felt a little strange, given her unceremonious retirement and, for the first time in her life, a lack of confidence regarding what would come next.
Jenna’s head bobbed up and down quickly as she stepped behind the baseline. “Yes. Do you want to use my racket?”
“Sure,” Sydney said, taking the racket that Jenna had already offered her. At least if she did terribly, she could blame it on not schlepping a few extra feet to get her own from her bag.
Sydney bent her knees slightly and let the weight of the racket move between her hands.
She’d missed it, how everything around her stopped while she was waiting for the ball, anticipating what would happen.
Grant and his betrayal were so far from her mind she’d need a passport to get there. Her career, or lack thereof, filtered into the background, unimportant as she felt the court beneath her feet.
And Reese? Well, that one was still hanging around at her periphery, but she made the intentional decision to push her further into the din.
“Your knee okay for this?” Brian asked, expressing genuine concern .
Sydney nodded, settling the grip in her right hand, her left one gently braced on top of it.
Brian bounced a ball. “Ready to show ‘em how it’s done, kid?”
After another nod, the ball was careening in her direction.
She stepped forward deftly, muscle memory taking over as her arm formed into an L-shape.
She felt the racket make contact with the ball in a high-to-low swing path, keeping her wrist in a neutral position even upon impact.
She threw her right shoulder into her movement to put power into the motion, her racket moving across her body but slowing down after contact.
She came back to a standing position, watching the ball as it landed on the two white lines that intersected to form the back left corner of the court.
Brian was already moving toward the net. “Beautiful shot, but I expected nothing less. You can take a breather, Jenna,” he added a little louder for his student’s benefit, given how she looked adorably starstruck.
“Thanks,” Sydney said, turning to Jenna to return the racket before she jogged to center court.
“I wondered if I’d see you around here again.” Brian extended his arms across the net for a hug.
He smelled the same as ever as she leaned into his chest, like a clean aftershave and the shea butter he’d always worn religiously.
“No place like home,” Sydney said as she disentangled herself to look at her old coach fully. “You look good. I thought I’d be coming home to an old man.”
“These knees aren’t what they used to be,” he said as he knocked his racket against his leg and looked down at her own braced knee. “Seems like we have that in common.”
Sydney shrugged. “I’ve had better years.”
“It’s true? You’re officially retired?”
“I hope so because otherwise, I’m overdue at Wimbledon about now,” she deflected.
In her mind, she still told herself that she was on an extended break, that her return to pro tennis was inevitable.
But at least a year of surgery and rehab to fully correct her knee injuries would put her at well past thirty before a return would even be possible, and the same amount of time without full-time practice and training would have passed, too.
It was an impossible dream that would only end in her slogging her way through first-round losses and failing to qualify for the tournaments she used to have a chance of winning.
Brian leaned in closer, clocking the look on her face.
“You doing okay? I know the transition can be hard. We feel like we’re invincible when we’re young, like we can go on forever.
” He placed his hand on Sydney’s shoulder, squeezing it gently.
“I’m here for whatever you need. A hitting partner.
A friend. A drinking buddy,” he finished with a laugh.
“God,” Sydney said, smiling, “I can’t believe I haven’t seen you in so long.”
She’d missed Brian. He seemed to be able to slip between coach and friend and confidant in a matter of seconds, and at the heart of it all, he’d genuinely wanted to help her succeed.
“You’re evading the question.” He was also famously forthright, she was being forced to remember.
Sydney bit the inside of her lip, trying to find the right words.
She wished she had her racket to swing back and forth to distract herself.
Instead, she placed her hands against the white of the net and squeezed.
“I’m managing. I thought I had another couple of good years in me, but life had other plans. ”
“All of our careers end one way or another, and you’ve already had an impressive one.”