CHAPTER 7
I don’t see or hear from Aurelio for the next week.
Fernanda shocks the world by losing in the third round, leaving the tournament wide open for me.
Any lingering doubts caused by Aurelio’s words have been shoved down, hidden by the rush of the game.
I’m attacking better than ever, moving well in the heat.
I’m mentally locked down, the rest of the world pushed away.
The night I win the tournament, under the lights and with the crowd on their feet, I stand alone.
I hoist the trophy up, a heavy glass sculpture, and smile for the numerous pictures.
I thank my father, Vince, and Rafe during my courtside interview.
I graciously give credit to my opponent and her efforts.
It does feel a bit hollow.
“Ames!” Beck calls to me in the media room after the match. My heart lifts, surprised by his enthusiasm. He grins at me, clapping me on the shoulder as I approach. “Fernanda pulled out of Charleston. She has an abductor strain. Should be another easy win.”
I’m frozen. Did he even congratulate me before we’re talking about the next tournament? The next win? Is this how I sounded to Aurelio? Beck picks up on my confusion. “Here, kid.” He grabs the tennis bag off my shoulder, jovial. “I’ll get the car.”
He heads towards the parking lot, whistling. I sink down onto one of the couches they have for press and players to wait on. Vince finds me there, head in my hands. “You okay, Amy?” His voice immediately takes on a professional tone, searching me for injuries. “Something hurt?”
I lower my hands, looking up at him. “No, I’m fine. Just waiting for Beck to get the car.”
Vince’s shoulders drop in relief, though his gaze still searches my face. “You did great out there. Reminded me of my sister.”
It’s a wonderful compliment, so I reward him with a smile. Barbara is exactly the type of player I would kill to be. “Thanks, Vince.” I try to imbue the words with enthusiasm, but they fall a bit flat.
He doesn’t say anything for a moment, stroking his beard thoughtfully. “The match tomorrow should be a good one.” I nod mechanically, hardly listening. “Aurelio’s first 1000 tournament final.”
My head snaps back to him. “Aurelio?” I’ve been purposefully avoiding the men’s draw, avoiding the feelings that come with seeing his name.
Vince nods. “He plays Charles Allard tomorrow.”
I wince. Charles is the number one men’s player in the world. He’s thirty-one and has held the top world ranking on and off for the last five years. Beating him is a challenge many never rise to.
Vince puts his hands in his sweatshirt pocket. “You know…” He watches me curiously. “It wouldn’t be a bad idea to stay an extra day, utilize the tournament’s facilities to recover since we’re the last players here. We could delay our flight.”
I shake my head. “Beck would never go for it.”
Vince shrugs. “He would if I convinced him it would help you play better to have one more day of rest before being trapped on a plane.”
I admire his scheming, barking a laugh. “The flight to Charleston is like an hour long.”
Vince smiles, too. “Semantics.”
My smile fades a little, thinking of Aurelio and how we left things on the beach.
Is he right about tennis, or am I? I won this tournament doing exactly what I planned.
No distractions, no extra space, no extra time.
But he’s in the final with all of those things.
Is there more than one way to get what I want out of life?
“I want to see him,” I finally admit to Vince.
Vince nods, satisfied. “Then I’ll help you.”
He fulfills his promise, immediately weaseling an extra day in Miami once Beck brings the car around.
*
“I’m sure we could get seats.” Vince sits on one of the weight benches behind me. “You have a lot of sway.”
It’s the next day, and blessedly, Beck has left Vince and me alone to do some recovery at the facility’s gym.
Our flight out of Miami has been moved to tomorrow morning.
We’re supposed to be stretching, massaging, using the foam rollers.
Instead, I sit on a yoga mat facing the TV on the wall.
They always show other matches in here, usually so we know when ours will begin.
But now that it’s the finals, the only match on the TV is Aurelio’s.
I can’t bear to explain to Vince that I want to see Aurelio again, but I have no idea if he’d want to see me.
That Aurelio, the nicest man on tour, parted with me so bitterly.
“No.” I shake my head. “It’s easier in here. ”
Vince seems to pick up on my strange mood, and we silently watch the warm-up between Aurelio and Charles. I hold my breath when the match officially begins, Charles rhythmically bouncing the ball in front of him before he serves.
I exhale when the ball first smacks his racket.
The match is close right from the start.
Aurelio moves as well as he usually does, long limbs easily stretching all over the court to return balls.
I can tell it annoys Charles that his serves are coming back to him more than they typically do.
The first set goes to a tiebreak. Aurelio hits a few too many easy balls, and Charles finally lets his frustration loose, hitting screamers just out of reach.
Aurelio loses the first set tiebreak, 7-3.
The next set is just as close. Vince starts getting into it, cheering for Aurelio every time he makes a good point and cursing under his breath every time Charles makes an even better one.
Aurelio has a chance to win the set after breaking Charles at 5-4.
Instead, Aurelio double faults and loses his chance, resetting to 5-5.
I would stomp to my bench, throw my racket, listen in disgust as my father gives me instructions.
Aurelio’s face hardly changes. There’s a grimace at the lost opportunity, but then he takes a deep breath and moves on.
He loses the match in another tiebreak, 7-5. My heart sinks.
Most of the TV coverage after that is of Charles.
The commentators fawn over him like they used to fawn over my father, just as they fawned over me yesterday.
Charles says some kind words to Aurelio, who smiles good naturedly on his bench.
Aurelio receives a little version of the Miami trophy as consolation for losing.
It all goes smoothly. I’m about to turn the TV off when they show a clip of Aurelio after the trophy ceremony.
He’s climbing into the stands, heading towards his box.
His face is gleaming with sweat. He’s swiveled his white hat backwards so that everyone can see his grinning face.
He jumps into his coach’s box with enthusiasm.
We can’t hear what he says, but he throws his arms around his head coach Antonio first, who’s closest. They exchange some words and clap each other on the back.
His two other team members, his hitting partner and physio, wrap him into a group hug, all laughing.
Finally, Aurelio steps around them to embrace his family.
I’ve never seen them before. They must have come because he made it to the final.
He hugs a dark-haired older man first who must be his father.
They have the same warm gaze. His father swipes a few tears away once they break apart.
Aurelio’s brother looks just like him but with shorter hair and fewer freckles.
He’s beaming at his little brother, pounding his back so hard Aurelio coughs.
Finally, Aurelio reaches his little niece Bianca.
He sweeps her up into his arms, kissing her cheek.
She’s wearing the sunglasses he bought her.
The TV fades out on their image, as though it was Aurelio who won the tournament and not Charles.
The images are so burnt into my brain that I don’t even hear Vince approach. He places a gentle hand on my shoulder. “You should go,” he advises me. “Wait for him in the media room.”
I look up at Vince, feeling younger than I have in years. “You saw him and his family, Vince. He doesn’t need me.”
Vince offers me a hand up. I accept, getting to my feet. He regards me kindly. “That’s a good thing, Amy. A healthy relationship isn’t built on need.”
I need tennis. I need Beck. I need to win.
I don’t need Aurelio, and he doesn’t need me.
But I like him. I like his warmth, his kindness, his optimism.
I like watching him play. I like the way he talks about his family and the stars.
I like his freckles and golden hair. I like the way he says my name, emphasizing the second syllable.
I like the idea of having more in my life, of being more than just a tennis player.
I like Aurelio’s version of me, whether she’s real or not.
Vince reads the decision on my face. “Go.” He nudges me. “I’ll wait in the car.”
I’m already backing out of the room.
*
I wait for Aurelio in the largely empty media room, just like he did for me a few short weeks ago.
I fidget with the cuff of my sweatshirt as I wait for him to exit his press conference.
Finally, after an agonizing half hour, he emerges.
He’s freshly showered and still strangely happy for someone who lost one of the most important tournaments of the year.
His expression clouds a little when he sees me. Fortunately, it’s mostly confusion.
“Amy.” He slowly walks my way. “You’re still in Miami?” He stops a foot from me, eyeing my workout clothes curiously.
I shrug. “Vince thought it would be a good idea for me to do an extra day of recovery here before we head to Charleston.”
“Ah.” He looks around the empty room. “Well, I must meet Antonio—” He takes a step, as if to leave the room.
“I also wanted to see you,” I blurt out. He stops in his tracks, turning back to face me.
“Why?” he asks warily. “I thought we didn’t want the same things.”
I take a deep breath. “Yesterday, I won my match. I won the big trophy and gave the big speech. I was so happy at first. I thought I had proved you wrong. That the only way to be a successful tennis player was to give it everything. To let it swallow up all of your world. But afterwards...” I almost stumble over the truth.
“My father didn’t even say congratulations.
He was too excited about winning our next tournament and crowing over Fernanda’s injury. ”
Aurelio winces in sympathy. “I’m sorry, Amy, about your father.
And I’m sorry for what I said on the beach.
I never want you to think that I don’t care about your success or that I want you to ease up.
I admire your intensity.” A smile breaks on his face.
“Sometimes I just think it could be turned elsewhere.”
I smile at that, too. “No, you’re right.
Today, you jumped into your box as if you won.
And you almost did win. You’re going to win big tournaments this year, Aurelio, that’s how great you are.
You’re proof that you don’t have to let tennis drown you to be great.
My father only sees tennis one way.” I take another deep breath, trying to calm my racing heart.
“I wonder if I could see it a different way.”
He reaches out and takes my hands in his. A shiver skitters up my spine. “I just want to spend time with you, Amy. Talk to you. Practice with you.” He brings our hands up, as though to spin us around in a waltz. “Dance with you.”
“I want those things, too. I want to try something different.” It feels like relief to admit it out loud.
He lowers our hands but doesn’t let go of me.
I look at his freckled hands on mine. I don’t think I’ve ever held anyone’s hand before, unless it was to lead me into a shadowed hotel room.
Aurelio just holds them because he wants to.
I peer up at him through my eyelashes. “And you’re different from any man I’ve ever met. ”
“And your father?” Aurelio asks. I can tell he’s trying not to let judgement bleed into his words. “Will you tell him we are dating?”
I grimace at the imagined conversation with Beck. “I don’t think I’ve ever told him I was dating someone.” I raise an eyebrow at Aurelio as something occurs to me. “Also, I don’t think we can call it dating if we’ve only been on one date.”
Aurelio grins, dropping my hands and slinging an arm over my shoulders. He steers me gently towards the exit and out into the Miami night. “One dance, one date, one practice, two secretive meetings in the media room—it adds up.”
I snort. “Well, we won’t have many opportunities to hit the town. I travel to Charleston tomorrow. Where are you headed? Rome?”
“Home,” he confirms, the word falling contently from his lips.
I look up at him from under his arm. “So, for now, why don’t we just try the phone?” As we reach the curb, I see Vince waiting in the car. “Call me?”
“I will,” he promises. “As soon as I get in the car. I’ll call.”
I turn and head to my ride. I slide into the passenger seat, avoiding Vince’s all-knowing grin.
A minute later, my phone rings.