Six Dominic
Six
Dominic
“I ’ve set up something great for you,” my agent, Scott Barr, says when he walks inside my home in Paradise Valley. It’s in the same area as my mom’s place, but in a more exclusive neighborhood.
I’m feeling relaxed after my month-long sabbatical at a Sedona spa and ready for the rest of my hiatus. Micah is on an extended vacation. The young man was excited about the break and stated he planned to bum around Europe for a couple months.
“Hello to you too.” I roll my eyes as Scott walks inside.
I close the door and follow him into the living room. As usual, Scott is dressed immaculately in cut trousers, a silk button-down shirt and leather loafers sans socks. There isn’t a hair on his head that’s ruffled or out of place. Scott prides himself on his appearance.
“I hope it’s not another match on the tour. I told you I need a break.”
“It’s what you always say,” Scott responds, and takes a seat on the plush sofa. “I know you. I’ve been your agent for over a decade, which is why you’re going to thank me for this.”
“Ya think?”
“Hear me out. Yes, you would play tennis, but it’s only for fun. A charity tournament called the Phoenix Desert Smash. It would be great press for you. Not to mention it’s a cause near and dear to your heart, foster children.”
Dammit if the man’s not right.
Do I want to play right now? No. I’ve enjoyed the last month. Sleeping in rather than getting up at the crack of dawn like I usually do when I’m training. At the spa, I relaxed with long walks on the hiking trails and wonderful ninety-minute sports massages.
When I’m quiet, Scott stares at me. “Well?” he asks. “What do you think?”
“How much time would be required?”
“As much or as little as you want to give,” Scott replies. “They’ve only asked you to play in the one tournament, but if you lend your name and efforts to help raise more cash, I’m sure the country club’s tennis committee would be thrilled.”
I rub my goatee thoughtfully. When was the last time I played for fun? Too long. Plus, it is for a good cause. “All right, I’m in.”
“I thought you would be.” Scott reaches inside the briefcase he brought with him and pulls out some legal documents. “I took the liberty of negotiating the contract and one appearance.”
I laugh out loud at his high-handedness. “Am I really that predictable?”
“No, but you pay me well to know what you will and will not take on.”
“Yes, I do.” Scott is one of the top agents in the business, and he’s worth every penny. He negotiated the highest endorsement I ever received, one hundred million dollars, when I was twenty-two years old. It was no small feat and everyone wanted to sign with him, but Scott doesn’t accept just anyone. He wants consummate professionals. Divas need not apply.
“When do I need to show up?”
“The event is at the end of April, which works perfectly with your hiatus. You’ll be gearing up for the French Open at the end of May. It’s up to you how much or little you wish to practice beforehand.”
“Sounds perfect.”
“Now that you’re committed, they have asked if you’d be willing to come to their cocktail party event for sponsors next weekend. You absolutely don’t have to do this, but my friend’s wife, Mitzi, is chairing the event and it would mean a lot if you could do me a solid.”
“Scott Barr is asking for a favor?”
“Yeah, don’t get used to it.” He chuckles. “Can I depend on you to pull through?”
I smile good-naturedly. “Of course I’ll come. You don’t usually ask for favors so it must mean a lot to you.”
“Darren and I go way back. He spotted me the money to help set up Barr Sports Management. I wouldn’t be where I am if he hadn’t given me a chance.”
“You’re a good man, Scott.” I lean across the short distance and shake his hand. “I’ve always appreciated your loyalty.”
“I’ll always have your back, Dominic, even if I don’t always agree with your choices. I’ll text you the details,” Scott says.
I chuckle. Scott didn’t want me to come on this sabbatical. He wanted me to stay focused on the tour and prepare for the French Open, but it’s months away and I need downtime. After the injury last year, I clawed my way back to the top. I’ve realized over the last month that my time with tennis is nearing its end. Although I love to win, it’s getting harder and harder to push my body to compete against my younger competition.
I walk Scott to the door and then head back to my brother’s prospectus for his new business. I need to get prepared for the next phase of my life.
* * *
The following weekend, instead of driving myself to Manuel’s, the upscale restaurant where the Phoenix Country Club is holding their event, I hire a driver in case I want an adult beverage. Rather than wearing jeans and a T-shirt, my normal attire while on vacation, I settle on a black silk shirt and trousers with Gucci loafers. I read through the info Scott gave me about the tournament, which is nearly twenty years old.
When I arrive at the restaurant, a valet opens my door. There’s a small red carpet and backdrop for the event, but I don’t pause for photos. I hate the whole song and dance that’s part of being a celebrity athlete. For me, it’s about the game. I walk to the entry and am greeted by a brunette in a slinky dress.
“Omigod, you’re here!” she squeals as I step inside the lobby. “My husband told me he could make things happen.”
“I take it my presence is a good thing?” I inquire. I glance around. The restaurant exudes sophistication and timeless glamour. There’s a lush dining room with crystal chandeliers, a floating fireplace and a cobblestone terrace with mountain views.
“Oh, absolutely. You’ll lend authenticity to the tournament. Having someone of your caliber is a godsend. You’re a legend.”
I smile. “I don’t know about all that.”
“You’re a Grand Slam winner. You’ve won five Wimbledons, five Australian Opens, two French and five US Opens.”
“Keeping score?” I ask with a smile.
She shrugs. “I love tennis. I’ve been following you a long time.”
“I appreciate the support. And your name is…?”
She smacks her forehead. “I’m so sorry, my name is Mitzi Jones. I’m cochair for the event tonight. My fellow cochair is over there with a former player you might know, Teagan Williams.”
Hearing her name with no warning, after thinking about Teagan earlier, leaves me shell-shocked. “P-pardon?”
“They’re over there.” Mitzi points to a crowd of women across the room, but all I can see is the spotlight beaming on Teagan, making her shine brighter than any other woman. Bright like a diamond. Seeing her is like a punch in the solar plexus. I don’t know if I want to rush over and take her in my arms or rail at her for giving up on us so easily.
I need a moment. “Where is the restroom?” I ask quickly, desperate for some purchase.
“Across the hall,” Mitzi advises. “Whenever you’re ready, I’ll introduce you around.”
She walks back inside the restaurant, giving me time to move into the shadows and get a better look at the woman who has haunted me for years.
Teagan is more stunning now than when she was the teenager I fell in love with, on the cusp of womanhood. Even from where I’m lurking, I can see her beautiful peanut-butter-colored skin is clear and bright. Her deep-set dark brown eyes are alight with merriment as she chats with the other cochair of the tournament. She’s got the same short haircut she rocked when we were young, but now the style is chic, slicked back and coiffed to surround her face. As for her figure, the years have been good to Teagan. Her curves have filled out in all the right places, and she looks divine in a beaded strapless black dress. Is she taller than the five foot nine I remember? I glance down to her feet. She’s rocking some killer stilettos.
She’s fascinating.
A woman I’ve never forgotten. Teagan Williams knew me inside and out. We shared the same passion for the sport that brought out our competitive nature. At times rivals. At times lovers. No woman has ever come close to comparing to Teagan. She knew exactly how to kiss me, touch me, love me.
She’s the one who got away.
I know she thinks I let that happen, but there were more circumstances at play, ones she has no idea about. I’ve never told her, not that she would have allowed me. Teagan was so angry with me after she was injured. I could continue to play the sport we both loved and she might never play again. I would have been there for her, but she didn’t seem to want that. Preferred to believe I didn’t want to be there for her.
And I was angry at her for thinking so poorly of me. I’m not the kind of man to walk away from the woman I love for money. But that’s who she thought I was. A spineless coward in love with the almighty dollar. True, I had a family to support who needed my income and the endorsements I was bringing in, but I would never have given up on us.
She gave up on us first.