Chapter 16
INDY SHUFFLED HER FEET OVER THE SMOOTH, SHORT GRASS deep behind the baseline and blocked back Penny’s forehand, a high arching lob toward the other side of the court.
She twisted her body around just in time to watch Penny run forward and, with a swinging volley, bury a short winner crosscourt.
No chance for Indy to even move in the ball’s direction before it bounced again.
She knew Penny was tough, knew she was a great player.
She’d seen it on her first day at OBX. Indy’s serve had been taken apart thoroughly that day, but she figured she’d come a long way since then.
She’d put in the time, the effort; she’d moved beyond raw talent to a more polished game, making shots instead of just hitting the ball.
So why the hell was the result the same?
She hadn’t managed to hold serve even once during the first two sets, let alone break serve.
That was supposed to be her strength and it was failing her.
There wasn’t anything different about what she was doing.
Her serves were hard and well placed, but she couldn’t get them past Penny with any consistency.
Her opponent would anticipate the location, the speed, everything.
Was Penny just that much better than she was?
The question had plagued her for forty minutes or so, and it was keeping her brain whirring; the only thing stronger than her nerves was the confusion.
The only answer she’d managed to come up with was “yes.” Penny Harrison was just that much better than she was, bum ankle and all.
Indy had underestimated her friend’s abilities or maybe overestimated her own.
Dom would know, but she wasn’t going to ask him.
Dom Kingston was pretty low on the list of people she trusted these days.
But really, realistically speaking, it was just too late.
Penny wasn’t going to blow this lead, no matter how much her ankle hurt.
Indy knew the other girl was trying to hide the pain, but it was pretty obvious, grimaces flickering over the normally stoic poker face, if ever so briefly.
That only made it worse. Penny Harrison, on one leg, was wiping the floor with a full-strength, top-of-her-game Indiana Gaffney.
The crowd had long since stopped paying attention.
Mostly it had thinned out, spectators wandering off in search of a more competitive matchup, and so the umpire didn’t even have to ask for quiet as Penny stepped up to the baseline to serve.
A brief thought of withdrawing flickered through Indy’s head.
Just walking up to the chair umpire and ending the suffering.
It would help save Penny’s ankle for the next round and it would just bring an end to this shit show of a match.
She’d dropped Jasmine for this. Her performance in the singles tournament was supposed to convince sponsors that she was who they wanted to sign for their tennis lines, to represent their brands to the public, and she’d gone out and embarrassed herself.
Indy faced the wall behind her baseline, straightening the strings on her racket.
Briefly she caught the eye of a ball girl, who kept her face blank, but Indy could see the emotion flickering there: pity, disgust, annoyance, boredom, or maybe nothing.
Maybe she was just imagining it.
She shook her head, trying to clear it of the negativity that had seeped in while she took the beating of her life.
She turned away and stepped up to the baseline. Penny was ready and waiting across the court. Indy signaled that she was ready to go, and Penny nodded back.
Then, just like she had the entire match, Penny served perfectly, a laser beam into Indy’s hands.
The placement made it impossible for Indy to return effectively, her long arms a disadvantage as she had to draw them into her sides and try to get the racket face at a decent angle to hit the ball.
She just barely managed it, but Penny anticipated a weak return and had moved up toward the net, easily dunking a soft volley across the court to win the point.
“Fifteen–love.”
Huffing out a breath of annoyance, Indy moved to the other side of the court, waiting for another serve.
She didn’t dare glance up toward where Jack was sitting, couldn’t bear the thought of seeing him caught in the middle, struggling with divided loyalties or, worse, the simple understanding that she wasn’t in Penny’s class.
Instead, she just set herself into her crouch and waited for Penny to choose a ball.
Penny didn’t delay either, and Indy appreciated her willingness to put an end to this misery.
Another serve, this one straight up the center of the court, and Indy didn’t even have time to flinch toward it. Penny’s brow furrowed at her, and Indy shrugged, moving again to the other side of the court.
“Thirty–love.”
The next serve was exactly the same, and Indy lunged for it, tossing her racket at it for good measure, but it didn’t do any good.
The fans who were left groaned a little, and some people let out disappointed whistles.
There was one surefire way to piss off a tennis crowd: let them think you weren’t trying.
But she was trying, and that made it even worse.
Her eyes stung, tears gathering in the corners, but she pushed them down. Screw them. She was trying.
Indy felt the weight of Penny’s gaze on her, but she didn’t look back. She couldn’t. All she could do was wait for the final ax to fall. A spinner, up and away, completely beyond her reach.
“Game, set, and match, Miss Harrison, 6–0, 6–0.”
Indy walked the final few feet to the net and held her hand out to Penny, who took it and squeezed it.
She finally looked the other girl in the eye and nodded once before pulling away.
She didn’t want Penny’s pity. She just wanted to get the hell off this court.
She touched the umpire’s hand in what barely qualified as a handshake and moved over to her chair, shoved her racket into the bag, and hauled it over her shoulder.
She draped her towel over her shoulders and walked straight to where the security guard was waiting for her.
Caroline was right beside him, her lips pressed firmly together in a tight line.
“Don’t start,” Indy muttered as the guard led them from the court grounds, where, over the PA system, she could hear Penny giving a post-match interview.
“I did not say a thing,” Caroline shot back. “You have a press conference. Be gracious. Talk about how well Penelope played.”
“I think that’s pretty obvious,” Indy said as they approached the door to the media room. She set down her bag and the media-relations official introduced her to the crowd of reporters.
It was mostly faces she didn’t recognize, though she did see Harold Hodges, the man who’d interviewed her a few months ago, mixed in with the sea of unfamiliar faces.
He gave her a nod as she took her seat in front of the microphone, lights lining the sides of the raised dais, blinding her just a little, and she waited.
“Indiana, your first match at Wimbledon, how did it feel?” the first reporter asked.
Indy picked a little at the white cloth covering the table in front of her. “Well, obviously I was excited and nervous. I wish it had gone better, but I can’t wait to get out there again.”
“Do you think nerves were a factor in how you played today?”
“No. I think Penny Harrison was the major factor behind how I played today. She was incredible.”
“You and Penny are friends. What was it like playing against her in the biggest match of your career?”
“It sucked,” she said, painting a fake smile across her face. “She’s really good, in case you guys didn’t realize.”
They all laughed, and the media coordinator asked, “Any other questions for Indiana?”
“Did the rumors of your relationship with Penny’s older brother and agent, Jack Harrison, have anything to do with your performance today?”
Indy leaned forward in her chair and stared directly into the reporter’s eyes. “Fuck you.”
She stood up as the crowd of reporters burst into shocked conversation, grabbed her bag, and made her way down from the dais and out to the hall, where Penny was waiting with Jack and Dom.
“Good match,” Indy mumbled, trying to slip by her, but Penny caught her arm.
“Wait.”
Yanking free, Indy muttered, “You beat me. Let’s just leave it at that.”
“Indy…” Penny trailed off, and Indy stiffened at her tone. She could hear pity in her voice. Penny felt bad for beating her, for winning, or maybe just for winning the way she had.
“Don’t,” Indy said, cutting her off. “Just don’t.”
She marched down the hallway, Jack not far behind her. She could feel him following her, so she went straight for the locker room, but he caught up to her before she could go where he couldn’t follow.
“Just go be happy for your sister,” she bit out before trying to push past him.
“Indiana,” he said, his fingers circling her wrist and squeezing. “I am happy for Penny, but that doesn’t mean I can’t be there for you. What that douchebag reporter asked was totally out of line.”
Indy tried to pull away, her pulse thrumming in her neck when his grip tightened. “Let go of me,” she whispered.
Jack’s hand fell away and he took a step back, staring at her, his eyes wide. “I’m sorry.” He swallowed roughly and then looked away from her.
“Just go,” Indy ground out.
He nodded once and turned, his feet carrying him down the hallway away from her. Indy watched him go, half hoping he’d turn back.
He didn’t.
So she turned and slipped into the locker room, where she’d be just another wildcard who lost to a top seed in the first round and not the girl who’d managed to alienate pretty much every single person she cared about in the span of just a few days.
She let herself spend extra time in the shower to calm down.