Chapter 31
CHAPTER
THIRTY-ONE
Markie
“Grab the wheel,” Jory says as we head toward the park.
“What?”
“Hold the wheel. I need to change my shirt.”
He grips the edge of his shirt, so I lean over and hold the steering wheel so that we don’t crash.
“I cried myself to sleep last night,” I say, making sure we don’t hit a pothole in the road. “And now you’re literally shirtless beside me after telling me that you love me. I don’t know what kind of restraint you think I have, but you’re wrong.”
He kisses me quickly as he twists toward the back seat.
“Wanna talk about restraint?” He sits facing forward, slides on a clean shirt, then returns to steering.
“I walked into your house and saw you with my shirt bunched up at the top of your ass cheeks and I managed to stay focused and not fuck you on the kitchen table.”
“Sounds like we’re even then.”
We exchange a smile as he pilots the car into one of the last parking spots near the courts.
“Let’s go kick some ass,” Jory says, kissing me quickly before we hop out of the car. He grabs our bags and then we make a dash for Court 3.
The crowd gathered around for our match turns as we jog toward them.
“There they are!” a voice says from somewhere in the mass of people.
I wave at George Mathers, and the relief on his face is evident.
Jory holds the gate open and we step onto the court.
The electricity in the park is almost alive, buzzing through the townspeople lined up on bleachers and lawn chairs surrounding the courts. We place our stuff on the bench, still wet from the rain this morning, and take out our paddles. Our opponents stare us down from the other side of the court.
They clearly don’t know me. Intimidation never works.
“You ready?” Jory asks, smiling at me.
“I was born ready.”
“Did you see your friends over there?”
Huh? “No. Where?”
“Behind us. Top row.”
I turn, scanning the audience for them. Finally, at the very end, I spot them all. Audrey and Brooks, Gray and Astrid, Gianna and Drake, and Mira and Hartley. Nettie sits beside one of the guys from the wedding, and when she and I make eye contact, she winks.
My heart swells as they all wave—showcasing the shirts Gianna made them all—and pink and white pompoms shake in Audrey and Mira’s hands.
“How did they know?” I ask Jory. “I told them last night that we weren’t playing.”
“Long story.” He half smiles. “Your brother called me this morning, and then called Mira, I think.”
“Miles called me last night, too.”
His brows pull together. “How’d that go?”
“I’ll tell you about it later.”
“We’re ready to get started on Court 3,” George says into the microphone. “This is Match 13 on your brackets, ladies and gentlemen. We have Jill Jenkins and Darrin Beren taking on Markie St. James and Jory Plath.”
The crowd cheers as the four of us meet to shake hands. George reminds us of the rules as we take our places on the court. We do our best to loosen up in the small amount of time that we have to work with. It’s not enough, but it’ll have to work.
A bubble of anxiety starts to pop in my stomach. I’m usually so good about not getting nervous. This is my dominion, after all. But this all happened so fast, the tide changed in the blink of an eye, and I didn’t have time to prepare. My game face got left in the car.
The ball is handed to Darrin, and he takes his position behind the baseline, waiting for the instruction to begin.
George raises his hand and then lets it fall dramatically to his side.
The crowd roars in applause.
Darrin drops the ball and drives his serve diagonally across the court toward Jory. Jory handles it easily, firing a deep return down the sideline.
Jill’s next shot comes up short, but I dig it without any trouble, dropping a soft dink into the opposite corner. By the time they react, the ball is already bouncing twice.
I lift my hands, a burst of excitement ripping through me, as I turn to Jory. He gives me a high five and takes the ball from George.
“Good job,” Jory says. “Let’s keep it going.”
I face our opponents, ready to work. My nerves are gone. I’m in the zone.
The crack of Jory’s serve echoes behind me. Darrin struggles with the power but manages to get a paddle on it. I send it back with interest, painting the sideline.
Jill reaches it, but her shot hangs.
Rookie mistake.
I scoop it up, and feather another dink into the open court, winning the point.
The crowd goes wild.
“There we go,” I say, clapping my hands. “We got this.”
Jory fires another serve to Darrin’s backhand. He twists, trying to recover, but the ball lands just inside the baseline before he can get his paddle on it.
“That’s a point,” George announces. “That’s 3-0, Team St. James.”
Jory lifts a brow. “Team St. James, huh?”
“I don’t know where he got that,” I say, laughing, too.
“Sure, you don’t.”
“I guess this means you need a shirt with my name on the back.”
He narrows his eyes playfully.
“I could have so much fun with this,” I say, teasing him.
He catches George’s toss. “Stop thinking about my dick and pay attention.”
“Never thought I’d hear you say that,” I say, giggling. “Let’s win this and go home.”
We score the next seven points with little effort. Darrin and Jill manage to put two points on the board, but they never stood a chance.
While I generally enjoy a more competitive game, after last night, it’s fun to relax a little.
My friends cheering us on, the warm sun on our faces, and the spirit of the Sugar Days Festival buzzing around us—it’s exactly what my soul needed.
And with Jory beside me, I couldn’t ask for anything more.
“We need one more,” Jory says. “You ready?”
“Yup.” I grin, leaning closer. “Darrin is creeping toward the center line. That sideline is wide open.”
“You got it, boss.”
Jill drops the ball and fires a serve my way. It’s shallow, like ninety percent of her serves today. I handle it easily, dropping a lob over the net. Don’t crowd the kitchen, Jill. Darrin poaches it, almost knocking her over, and sends it ripping toward Jory.
He drives it down the sideline, but Darrin somehow gets ahold of it, and the pace changes instantly.
I adjust. But, when I plant my foot to pivot, my sneaker lands in a puddle of water.
I gasp, realizing what’s happening way faster than I can stop it.
Panic bolts through my veins as I try to stay on my feet, but my foot slides. Knee twists. Ankle pops.
And then I’m falling, the court rushing toward me.
I hit the asphalt hard.
“Ah,” I yell, dropping my paddle to the sound of the audience gasping. Fire shoots through my calf and foot just as Jory reaches me.
“Hey,” he says, kneeling beside me. “What happened?”
“Water. I think.” I moan, wanting to hold my ankle but also not wanting to touch it. “Oh, my gosh, this hurts.”
Tears fill my eyes—red hot. They burn my cheeks as they drip onto them.
“Let me look,” Jory says gently.
“Please, don’t touch it.”
I tremble from the pain, looking at the sky and wishing I could redo the last two minutes.
“Babe, it’s really swollen,” Jory says, just as Mira reaches my side. “I think we need to get you to a doctor.”
“Markie, are you okay?” she asks, squatting next to me. “Oh, that doesn’t look good.”
“It hurts so bad—ugh,” I say, hissing a breath. “I can’t walk on it. There’s no way.”
Mira and Jory say something, but I can’t hear them over the roar of blood across my eardrums.
“I’ll talk to George,” Mira says.
I blink back tears as I peer up at Jory. “All of that driving last night for nothing.”
“For nothing?” He shakes his head softly. “It was never about this tournament for me, Markie. It was just about showing up for you.”
He kisses my forehead as a medic arrives to look at my foot.
I groan as the woman tries to move it.
“I know this sucks for you,” Jory says. “I know how important it was to win and to beat Jasper.”
The crowd’s on their feet, watching the EMT check me out. And as I look at them—recognizing friends, old opponents, and Alfie and Mr. Crowder—I realize something else.
It was really never about this tournament for me either.
This tournament was a way for me to cling to a time in my life that was special to me. The last time in my life when I felt fulfilled. It represented a way of life that I missed, a nostalgia for a life I didn’t think I’d have again.
The Jasper part? That was petty. We all have our moments.
The only thing that matters is the man holding my hand, ensuring the EMT doesn’t hurt me, and keeping everyone away from me so I don’t get overwhelmed.
The man who drove sixteen hours to take care of his son and me in the same night.
The man who defended me when he didn’t have to, who kept his promises when it didn’t seem possible, and whose actions have made me feel loved beyond comprehension.
“Gonna need you to stop crying,” he says, smiling sadly.
“These are happy tears.”
He grimaces. “I find that hard to believe.”
“I don’t need to win this tournament, Jory. And I don’t give a shit about Jasper.”
“Really?”
I stare into his eyes. “I was just biding my time, I think. Keeping busy until you showed up. I mean, it would explain why I never got a full-time, year-round job. And why I could never figure out what path I was supposed to take in life.” I shrug. “I was waiting on you and Gus.”
“He’ll be very glad to hear that.” He laughs, his eyes clouding. “And I’ll show you once we’re alone how happy that makes me.”
“I love you, Jory.”
“Oh, babe. Not nearly as much as I love you.”
His lips find my forehead as the EMT suggests taking me to the hospital for an X-ray. Jory assures her that he’ll drive me there himself.
He lifts me in his arms to applause from the crowd. I find my friends in the stands. Brooks holds his hands out as if to say, “I told you I was the best choice.” It makes me laugh despite the pain in my foot.
I hold up my hand and the crowd claps louder. Jory turns me in a circle so I can see everyone. Because this is my retirement from pickleball. May the next champion reign as happily as I have.
Except Jasper. Fuck Jasper.
“I’ll meet you at the hospital,” Mira says, walking off the court with us.
“You don’t have to do that,” I say. “I’ll be fine.”
She looks at Jory and smiles. “I know you will.”
I look up at him, too.
That makes two of us.