Chapter 10
Ten
Reese could get on board with playing tennis every day if it meant that she could watch Sydney move around the court, long limbs sprinting gracefully as she hit seemingly impossible shots.
It was one thing to watch a professional tennis player on television, when the camera was zoomed out and the whole court was visible, two opponents battling back and forth with commentators explaining the hits and volleys.
This was something else. Like magic, Sydney seemed to anticipate the ball before their opponents, Brynn and Stan—unluckily for them—had even finished the follow-through on their racket.
“I’m starting to regret telling you that I didn’t want you to take it easy,” Stan said as he missed a shot down the doubles line, the ball skittering off and across the court where Grant, much to his obvious chagrin, and Reese’s dad, were playing a half-hearted singles match.
Sydney laughed, animated and light, as she spun her racket in her hand.
Sydney looked so free, her skirt billowing around her as she covered her half of their side of the court nimbly, her leg brace looking more like a decoration than a necessity for her safety.
This was Sydney King in her element, laughing and letting out little puffs of sound when she hit a shot, practically skipping when she returned to her position before the next point.
It was infectious, the lightness that permeated the match, fun and exciting and good-natured, like all Sydney was thinking about was the next shot.
Not their scheme.
Not how Grant had betrayed her trust.
Not how Sydney was playing against her ex-boyfriend’s new fiancée.
Reese wished that she could let go to that degree and just experience the thrill of an enjoyable game without all of her baggage seeping into her consciousness.
It didn’t help that she couldn’t miss how her father kept looking over at their court, like missing an hour of networking with Stan would somehow send his whole life toppling into disrepair.
So, maybe it was a little more obnoxious than intended, when she laughed, too.
“You’re pretty good, Reese. Does Sydney give you lessons?” Brynn asked as Reese stepped back to the serving line. Brynn dropped into a low stance diagonally across the court from her, ready to receive the serve on their new game.
Reese shot an amused grin at Sydney, wondering if she’d take credit for Reese’s passable serve, which was rusty after years of disuse.
Sydney winked at her, doing a trick where she spun the bottom of her racket on her index finger.
“I take zero credit for Reese’s impressive athletic abilities.
If anything, I feel like she’s been holding out on me.
Competitive much, babe?” she asked as she lined up at the edge of her service box to await Brynn’s return, looking over her shoulder and smirking.
Beyond Sydney, who’d trained professionally, both the Devereuxs and the Fitzpatricks had grown up in the world of country clubs, where a weekend of tennis was as normal as seeing a movie or going shopping.
In Stoneport, her parents were members at the local country club, and she’d spent summers on the courts, having taken lessons when she was younger to learn the fundamentals.
Honestly, she preferred golf, but that was because she’d spent years working to get better at it, hoping she’d be able to tag along with her dad on the weekends when he’d headed to the course.
By the time she was a teenager, she’d given up asking, knowing that he would come up with some variation of the same excuse.
That she’d get bored.
That the course was no place for his young daughter.
Maybe that was why it hurt all the more when, at the same age she’d wanted to start joining him, Grant had started going with him instead.
“A boy needs to learn about the finer things in life. Deals are closed on the course, not in the boardroom,” he’d said. Reese remembered the way he’d ruffled Grant’s hair, her brother looking so disinterested that she wondered if he’d even heard Tripp.
And then, Reese had thought to herself, at the age of twelve, that The Devereux Group didn’t have a board. They had an executive team of men who looked and acted and thought just like her father, the same men with whom he spent weekends on the golf course.
But at the head of the pyramid was Grant Devereux III, and at the end of the day, he was the gatekeeper.
At some point, he’d deemed Reese unworthy of seeing behind the curtain.
It didn’t stop her from spending her adolescence trying to prove it to him. To be smarter, more successful than her brother.
Along with playing tennis at the club, she’d taken private golf lessons, like a minor league baseball player, just waiting for her chance to be called up to the majors.
When it happened, she wanted to be ready .
And when she’d finally accepted that it wouldn’t happen, she knew, deep down, that there was a small part of her that still held out hope.
It was where the resentment festered, tucked away from the light but finding a way to bloom in the darkness, fed with a lifetime of unresolved wounds that she hadn’t found a way to heal.
Reese looked over at her father, who only acknowledged the conversation happening on her court if it was Stan’s voice echoing across the net.
She held the tennis ball in her fingertips, launching it precisely above her, right arm coming down to connect her racket and hit it across the court to where Brynn waited to return it.
The serve was hard but inaccurate, hitting the court outside of the service box.
She appreciated that Brynn didn’t yell ‘fault,’ the two feet beyond the white line where the ball touched down making it obvious the serve was no good.
“Quick timeout,” Sydney said, throwing her hands up into the ‘T’ symbol and already jogging back toward Reese. Quickly, she was at her side, and she wiped a stray tendril from her ponytail. “Mind if I give you a piece of advice?”
Reese nodded, trying to quell the frustration that was bubbling up. “Yeah, go for it.”
“Strength is good. Anger, not so much,” Sydney said, sympathy written across her features. “You look like you want to murder the ball right now.”
“I’m pretending it’s my father,” Reese responded seriously as she pulled a new ball from the pocket in her skirt.
Sydney turned away from the Fitzpatricks so that she was standing between their view of the conversation and Reese. “Did he flip you the bird or something when you were serving?” she asked, joking but tentatively concerned.
Reese wasn’t in the mood for it, but she also wasn’t going to take her frustration out on Sydney, who she knew was just trying to help calm her down .
“Weird time to have this conversation,” Reese said as she nodded past Sydney, acknowledging they were in the middle of a match, “but I’m realizing I’m not as over all of my family stuff as I may have believed.”
Soft, searching eyes met hers. “In my experience, things like that come in waves. I’ve thought at least a dozen times during this match about my retirement and how my best tennis days are behind me.”
Reese’s eyebrows drifted upward in surprise. “I’d never have known that. You look so… free.”
Sydney shrugged, but she reached out and put her hand on Reese’s forearm, her fingertips warm from their game.
“Tennis is ninety percent a mental game. I’m free when I focus on what’s right in front of me.
On how the ball feels in my hand. How the court smells.
How the sun feels against my skin. How enjoyable it is to watch you hit an impressive shot.
I make myself believe that nothing else exists except what’s happening at this moment. ”
“So you’re avoiding reality?” Reese said sarcastically.
But Sydney only smiled. “Maybe. But I can either have a shitty game and then be in a bad mood after it, along with also having the same problems I already had before, or I can enjoy myself and then decide when I want to handle the other things that were throwing my concentration.”
Reese looked at her dubiously, but instead of focusing on her anger, she focused on enjoying the softness of Sydney’s hand, how its warmth permeated into her own skin and calmed her racing nerves.
“When it comes down to it, humans are both incredibly complex and incredibly simple. We have these big brains, but at the end of the day, we mostly use them to fight or fuck or feel.”
She could categorically say that she hadn’t expected Sydney to say that, so she let out a surprised laugh, her eyes going wide.
“So, what do you say?” Sydney coaxed, her earnest stare mapping across Reese’s features like she was trying to anticipate Reese’s response .
And Reese herself didn’t know what it would be until she leaned her shoulder into Sydney’s, bumping gently against her as she rolled her eyes good-naturedly. “You make a compelling case, King.”
“Damn straight,” Sydney said, her eyes alight as she beamed a bright smile in Reese’s direction. Leaning down, she whispered to Reese, and her lips sent chills running up her spine when they grazed the edge of her ear. “Now, let’s go show them who’s in charge, babe.”
They’d won the match, unsurprisingly.
Reese had held her own, but Sydney, even playing at half-speed, was a force to be reckoned with.
And she’d given Reese a pep talk that was both comforting and electrifying, which had been sorely needed.
They wrapped up by shaking hands at the net before Stan clapped everyone on the back and pulled them in for what Reese could only describe as a ‘group hug.’
“What a match,” he said, seemingly thrilled to have lost. “I’d love to do that again sometime soon.”
“Sounds like a plan,” Sydney said excitedly, moving toward the side of the court, where she placed her racket back in her bag.
Tripp was already on their court, heading for Stan like there was an invisible string pulling him over. Reese could practically see his tail wagging.