11
“It Appears That Aldridge Did Anything but Relax During Her Eight-Month Break”
—Tennis Today
RANKED AT SEVENTY-FOUR, and I almost beat the third best female tennis player in the world. I’d usually be exhausted after a final match, craving a nap and a massive cinnamon raisin bagel, but I was ecstatic.
Pumping my legs on the stationary bike, trying not to think about the slick clothes seeping into my skin, I felt relieved. Happy almost. Eight months of anxiety and heartbreak and fear of the public, and I was playing tennis better than I had anticipated.
But I wanted more. I wanted to be better. I wanted my old ranking back.
“You were a champ out there. You tired her out and pulled out her weaknesses within the first set. You play like that the rest of the season, and the US Open is yours,” Felix spoke gleefully, patting me on the back, not caring about the sheet of sweat covering my shoulder blades. “Be proud of yourself, okay?”
I nodded, releasing a breath. “I am. I’m really proud.”
He eyed me with suspicion. I laughed, shelving my mental replay of the match for later. Thinking about every move I could’ve done differently wasn’t going to change anything right now. “Okay, I kind of killed it,” I said with a shrug.
“That’s what I want to hear.”
Once I finished cycling and stretching, I left to change for an ice bath. My right ankle was sore, and my fingers were swollen from gripping the racket for so long.
In the back of the locker room, in a closed-off space where a tub was separated by a frosted door, I peeled my clothes off, allowing them to roll up and fall. I stepped into the ice bath, swiftly plunging my hips and head under the water.
The cold bit my skin like a swarm of mosquitos, bringing goose bumps to the surface. It was so cold it burned when I came up for air. Closing my eyes, I took deep breaths, trying not to think about how much longer I had to remain as a human-sized ice cube.
The door to the room clicked open, and I jolted as Kieran walked in. I yelped, utterly bewildered. I raced to cover my exposed chest while resisting the urge to get out of the water and wrap myself in a towel.
“Mierda, lo— I’m sorry,” he cursed before rushing back out and slamming the door.
What was he doing here? These were private locker rooms that even the male tennis players didn’t have access to.
My second thought was even more urgent: What did he manage to see?
“What are you doing down here?” I yelled, trying not to let my blush bleed into my voice.
“Your nutritionist pointed me in this direction,” Kieran explained quickly through the door, his silhouette pacing.
Amir, of course.
“And you listened to him?” I spoke louder so he could hear, pulling my hands away from my chest.
“Well, seeing as he knew where you were, and you know who I’m talking about, I took him as a trustworthy source. I didn’t think the consequence of listening to him would be finding you naked—”
“Did you just call seeing me naked a consequence?”
“Would you rather me tell you that I was flustered—”
“Never mind, I don’t want to know.”
“I didn’t see anything, Aldridge. I promise,” he said, his voice serious.
“It’s fine, I used to share a locker room with boys as a teenager, it”—nudity—I just couldn’t say it to him for some reason—“doesn’t faze me, I was just surprised.”
“Not being able to see you, I can’t tell if you’re lying to make me feel better.” Not being able to see you. Something about that made me feel more naked than before.
“Oh, you’ll know if I’m lying to you.”
He leaned against the other side of the door, his back spanning the frosted glass, his head tilted up. “You know, I’m questioning why I bothered coming down here in the first place.”
“To romance me?”
Now it was his turn to laugh. “You’ll know if I’m trying to romance you,” he mimicked my words, but I didn’t laugh. Rather, blood rushed to my face. I imagined it wouldn’t be difficult to be charmed by a man who played romantic leads. Especially since he had charmed me once.
“I didn’t expect you to be at the match today.”
“Honestly, me either.”
“So why did you?”
“So that you wouldn’t send an assassin through my window in the middle of the night to have me killed.”
Unexpected laughter shot out of me. “I may be more inclined to do that now that you did show up. But I’ll send an old assassin, don’t worry.
One who’s been beaten down by the demands of the job and can’t get his leg over the windowsill without complaining about it.
Maybe the noise will give you an upper hand, but it’s doubtful. ”
“I’ll have you know, I’m an incredibly heavy sleeper. He could break an ankle on his way in, use my oven to bake a soufflé, host a poker game, and I’d never know—no upper hands in sight.”
“It sounds like it’d be more cost-effective if I did this job myself.”
“I have no doubt you’d thrive as a spy based on that match, and your chilling ability to intimidate with a single stare, of course. But remind me to never give you my address.”
“I’m sure it’s on the internet somewhere.”
“Thank you for being a living reminder of everything I fear.”
“What a compliment. Why, um, why did you come down here?”
“To be verbally attacked and take a bath in a tub full of ice, why else?”
“Is there a serious bone in your body?”
“Not when you bring spies into the conversation.”
“Fine, spies are off the table.”
He shook his head in silent laughter, as if he forgot I could see him. Something about it felt… genuine. A flash of the first night we met, when he looked up at me, touched by the rain. But it was also a reminder of everything that followed.
What an excuse for a tennis player.
I was doused with cold water—colder than this.
“I just… I don’t know. I wanted to see how you were after the match,” he said. But I didn’t believe him. I shouldn’t have even entertained a conversation for this long.
“Because I lost?”
“I—” His words dropped off.
“I don’t need to be coddled or—or checked on. I’ve lost matches before. I’m fine.”
To be honest, I had forgotten he was coming today. Even if I had remembered, I wouldn’t have expected him to actually show. When the second set arrived and I switched sides on the court, I had whiplash catching him in the stands.
Jeremiah had been the last man I invited to watch me play. Seeing Kieran up there felt like some cruel joke.
The sight of his linen button-down, baseball cap pulled forward with wisps of blond hair escaping, and clasped hands parting to twist a ring on his pinky finger were burned in my brain when I looked across the arena.
The balance in my footing was off the moment I served, my equilibrium wandering away, sending the ball straight to my opponent.
What an excuse for a tennis player.
The last thing my reputation needed was him mocking me at my own match, surrounded by spectators who were deciding whether or not I deserved to be here.
It was the equivalent to inviting your killer to your funeral.
My skin was hot to the touch. My heart pounded in my ears. My hands itched with the urge to grab his neck and dunk his face under the water.
He picked his words back up. “No, that’s not—I know you don’t. But my brother said it was your first match back in a long time and…”
What an excuse for a tennis player.
There was a singular moment in a match when you fell into a rhythm. It didn’t always happen, but with the most magical matches, it always did. Where the racket became an extension of your arm, and the ball grew magnetic, finding you instantly.
You didn’t even need to think. You simply reacted.
Fighting with Kieran felt the same way. It required no thought. Nothing was clouded by anxiety or perfectionism. Just simple, utter passion.
Or in this case, loathing.
“And you wanted to see if I survived? If I’d quit again?”
“Now you’re just putting words in my mouth.”
“God forbid I don’t want to entertain a conversation with someone who doesn’t even take this sport seriously.”
“I never said—” He groaned. “It’s not like you invited me here. It’s in our contract. I didn’t know you suddenly wanted me to care or that it was a requirement in order for me to talk to you.”
“Well, thank you so much for gracing me with your presence!”
“You know, I came today as a favor, despite knowing you’d hate seeing me here.”
“A favor?” I scoffed. “You’re grossly mistaken if you think I need any favors.”
He heard the argumentative tone in my voice, and finally, his jabs were no longer passive-aggressive. “Based on the way PR has been acting, they’ve made it sound like you need any favor you can get. So don’t give me a hard time just because you’re the one who needs the good publicity—”
That struck an old chord I had been trying to keep covered in the dusty depths of my heart. I was so tired of hearing about how men got to determine my image. “I don’t need anything. If you had actually watched the match, you would’ve seen I’m perfectly fine without some talentless stuck-up actor—”
His voice rose outside the room. “I’m stuck up? I came down here to pay you a compliment.”
I leaned forward abruptly. The water in the tub sloshed over the edge.
“A compliment? I don’t need your pathetic compliment when I just competed against the third best player in the world for two hours after almost a year break while you sat on your ass and watched, knowing nothing about the sport. ”
“I don’t even know why I bothered coming down here. You’re infuriating.”
“You just can’t stand to hear that you’re wrong, and that makes you as pitiful as every other man in Hollywood.”
“And yet you’re willing to date this pitiful man because you’re so desperate for everyone in this industry to love you.”
We were racing to see who would make a spectacle first. Who would leave and shout at PR to write up a new agreement that allowed us to be Photoshopped into the same pictures so we never had to be near each other again.
But I refused to cave. I’d rather deal with the knives in my chest before admitting that I couldn’t handle his presence.