Chapter 33 #2
Dora’s voice cracks, but she clears her throat and swallows the bad memories like only she knows how to. “You know he kept close track of your tennis career, right? And—”
“Mom …” Henry’s voice gets more pointed with every repetition.
“Tell me more,” I urge, grinning. Dora laughs. “Tell me everything I missed while you were off the grid.”
“You know what?” Dora says. “Let’s wait for him to doze off again. Then you and I can sneak downstairs for coffee. I’ve got stories.”
“Oh, I’d love to hear them!” I do a small double clap in front of me.
“You should’ve stayed in Chicago,” Henry mutters. “You’re already teaming up against me.”
We let out a conspiratorial laugh. Ugh. I missed Dora, and I hadn’t even realized it.
There’s a knock on the door.
A nurse, Dr. Rivera, Drew, and Jacques, Henry’s former coach, file in like it’s first period. And just like that, the room feels two sizes too small.
The nurse checks on the IV drip and leaves promptly while Dr. Rivera approaches a baffled Henry to ask him some standard post-op questions. He seems shocked by Jacques’ presence.
I am, too.
Drew went all-in with his secret assignment.
“My sweetest Dora,” Drew says, approaching her for a hug. Drew was close to Mitch back in the day. He was his publicist, too, for a while. “It’s been ages, dear. How are you holding up?”
“Still vertical and caffeinated, so I must be doing something right,” Dora says with a smirk. “But thanks for asking, Drew. Really.”
Jacques greets Henry with a warm, affectionate smile and shakes Dora’s hand after Drew introduces her.
Dora and I scurry over to the loveseat, giving space to the men who are clearly gathered with one purpose: to talk to Henry.
Dr. Rivera explains that the surgery went smoothly and adds that Henry’s rehab specialist will stop by tomorrow at noon to walk him through the recovery process before discharge.
My throat makes an excited, squeaky noise, but I quickly smother it.
“That shoulder’s going to heal nicely,” Dr. Rivera says, reassuring him. He points at Jacques and Drew. “Get him signed while he’s still fresh out of the oven.”
He winks at Henry, and we all laugh. With that, Dr. Rivera leaves.
“Ma’am, you just dropped your jaw,” Drew says, full of sass. “You said … Wait, ’cause I literally wrote this shit down last night.”
He pulls a small yellow Moleskine from his inner jacket pocket, licks his finger, and flips through the pages.
“I want Jacques on board and sponsors stacked like pancakes at a press junket. Did you not?”
Who even talks like that?
“Those weren’t my exact words,” I mutter, rolling my eyes. “But yeah … pretty much. I just didn’t expect you to fly Jacques in overnight. But I’m so glad you did.”
I smile at Jacques, and Henry flicks his gaze at me.
What have you done this time, necia? I can practically hear him say.
“I don’t get paid enough,” Drew says, wagging his finger like he’s presenting courtroom evidence. “I’m telling you.”
He absolutely gets paid enough. The solid-gold, diamond-encrusted watch and custom-made designer suit say so loud and clear.
“Anyway …” Drew claps once and produces a box of cigarettes from his pants pocket. “I’ll leave you guys to it. When you’re done, hit me up, and I’ll come back so we can go through the list of sponsors dying to jump in.”
He winks at me and points at Dora.
“We are going to turn him into a superstar!” Drew lets out a hyped little scream and zooms toward the door. And right before he leaves, he pokes his head back in. “Okay … call me!”
And he’s gone.
I shake my head, but God, I love him.
Dora giggles.
Henry exhales slowly as Jacques moves to stand beside him.
That was a lot, even for Drew. Henry hasn’t fully metabolized the anesthesia, and Drew’s already trying to stick his face on a Wheaties box.
I just don’t want him to feel too overwhelmed too soon.
Jacques steps closer, arms crossed gently over his chest, his expression soft but sharp, like he’s trying to gauge how much Henry can handle at this moment.
“You look older.” It’s said with affection, not insult.
Henry lets out a breathy laugh. “I feel older.”
He shifts against the pillows and winces. “I forgot how much this part sucks.”
“The pain?” Jacques asks, pulling the nearby chair closer.
“No.” Henry blinks slowly. “The hope.”
That makes Jacques pause.
“You didn’t have to come,” Henry adds after a beat, quieter now.
“Yes, I did.” Jacques’s tone is firm but kind. “You may be too tired to remember, but the last time we spoke, I told you something.”
Henry’s brow furrows. “You said … I wasn’t finished.”
“I meant it.”
Jacques leans forward slightly.
“You still have a game inside you. Maybe it’s not the same, but maybe it’s grown into something better. Stronger. Only time will tell. But you are not done, Henry.”
Henry swallows. His eyes flicker to mine for half a second before returning to Jacques.
“What if I can’t?” he says, his voice vulnerable and broken. “What if my shoulder gives out for good?”
Jacques gives the smallest shake of his head.
“You’re thinking like a boy who lost something. Not a man who’s about to earn it back.”
It lands. I can see it in Henry’s eyes. Faint but undeniable.
Jacques watches him a moment longer before nodding toward me.
“You’ve done good work with her,” he adds. “I’ve seen it.”
Henry looks away, like he doesn’t know how to take the compliment.
“You think like a coach now,” Jacques continues. “You lead. You guide. And that’s great.”
He pauses for a moment.
“But something tells me a bigger part of you still thinks like a player. And if that part’s still loud, Henry … it won’t go quiet just because you will it so.”
Henry’s jaw clenches slightly. Not defensive. Just … conflicted.
“You dipped your toes into coaching,” Jacques says, motioning toward the bed, toward me, toward Henry’s courage to keep going after everything he’s been through. “But your true strength lies on the court. And that’s not something you should throw away just because life hurt you once.”
Henry doesn’t respond, but he doesn’t push back either.
Jacques softens.
Dora and I are at the edge of our seats, eyes prickling with tears, hearts heavy with feeling.
My phone rings, shattering the moment.
It’s Drew.
“Are you guys done?” he whispers unnecessarily. “Can I come up now?”
“No!” I mutter into the phone. “I’ll call you back.”
I end the call and ease back into the conversation.
Jacques looks at Henry, his voice low but certain.
“You don’t have to decide now. But I’m all in … if you are.”
Henry gives him a sharp nod.
Jacques says his goodbyes and heads for the door.
He’s halfway through yanking it open when Henry yells:
“Wait!”
Jacques turns.
“I’m in.”