Chapter 12
twelve
My time in Charleston moves quickly. I play my first match Tuesday and win easily, enjoying myself on court for the first time in months.
In the spirit of letting loose and doing something for myself, I even go out to dinner with my and Delilah’s teams, like old times.
The next day, I don’t bother to go to the gym outside of stretching with Aleksandr, knowing he’d stop me if I did.
We haven’t mentioned the incident in the pool, and though he still flirts during our sessions, it’s never more than words.
As if the moment of hesitation was all he needed to assume I’m not interested in him.
Which, of course, I’m not.
My match Thursday ends with a straight set win over another seeded opponent, and though my back injury flares briefly, I’m so glad to be in the quarterfinals that I focus on the cooldown Aleksandr has me do and listen when he tells me to see a physiotherapist.
I allow myself another dinner out that evening. Though I’m reticent to believe his try new things list will help me, I order sea bass, which I’ve only had in Greece, and while it may not be as good, I like it enough that, when I get back to my room, I write
Eat more sea bass while traveling
beside today’s date. I scan the last few days.
Went for a walk during sunrise. Work this into my days as often as I can.
Tried a piece of longan (fruit) that Harper got from the nearby Asian market. Didn’t love the look of it (reminds me of a cyclops) but it was good.
I set the list down, restlessness zinging through me.
Usually, I’d burn it off by going to the gym, but I’m trying to heed Aleksandr’s advice, so I decide to go with an alternative: watching the match I lost to Anya in California.
Settling under the blanket I brought with me, I watch my errors over and over again, promising myself I won’t make any of them tomorrow when I play another seeded player in the quarterfinals.
The next day, I win my first set in less than forty-five minutes. The second, though, isn’t so straightforward, especially when I hit a serve in the fourth game and my lower back spasms. I win the game, giving myself a 3–1 lead, but I approach my box after, hiding my grimace.
“Your back?” Aleksandr asks.
“Yeah.”
“Do you want to play through it?” Karolína asks. “No one will fault you if you pull out. We can take a week or two off to get it rested. The last thing I want is for you to make it worse.”
“No,” I answer roughly, glancing across the court to where my opponent bounces a ball, walking toward the baseline to serve. “I can do this.”
Her eyes narrow for a second, but she nods. “Then finish it quickly so you can have more of a break before tomorrow.”
I do just that. Despite my limited range of motion and how exhausted I am after staying up too late watching the match against Anya, I win the next three games. And when my speech and press are over, I disappear in search of relief.
It’s freezing. My limbs are weighed down by the cold, and somewhere, distantly, I hear my name being called.
“Nic! Nic! Nicola!” Each shout is more urgent than the last until I open my eyes.
My teeth are chattering and I’m dazed, confused by the man I’m seeing.
The last thing I remember is my back getting tight during my match and wanting an ice bath.
But by the time I got to the training room after press, I was too tired to put in the ice and just sank into the cool water, hoping a head dunk would wake me. Clearly it did not.
I’m lifted, weightless, out of the tub. The chattering of my teeth gets louder as I’m placed on my feet, a towel wrapped around me. The man pulls me into his body, his hands rubbing up and down my shoulders.
“A—Aleksandr?” I ask, unsure if I’m imagining things. If it’s not him, I’m going to be very uncomfortable very quickly having this person’s arms around me.
“I’m right here, solnyshko. Just…just let me get your temperature back up, okay? Help me get you warm.”
I sink into him, closing my eyes, and instantly recognize I’m safe. “I—I didn’t mean to…to fall asleep,” I manage.
He smooths my hair, cupping the back of my head. “Shh, we’ll talk about it when you’re feeling better.” The towel is soaked, so he pulls it off and tosses it away.
“I’m…I’m sorry.”
He doesn’t answer, picking me up and setting me on his lap on a bench, whole body practically wrapped around mine. I’m not sure how long we sit like that. I believe he has a short conversation, vaguely hear the person’s footsteps receding.
When my teeth stop chattering and my shivering subsides, I whisper, “I think my core temp is good. You can put me down.” I wait for a minute before I open my eyes and pull back enough to glance at him. “Aleksandr? I’m okay now.”
He appears on the cusp of devastation, light brown eyebrows knitted together, a frown pulling at every one of his features. I’ve spent so much of this short relationship wanting to wipe the smile off his face, but now that it’s finally gone, I hate it. I want his wide grin back.
Later, I will assure myself that it’s the cold-induced confusion that has me smoothing the tension from his brow. The blue of his eyes seems to lighten a fraction, and I know I’ve lost it when I take his cheeks in my palms and pull the corners of his lips up with my thumbs.
“Something tells me you’re not quite back to normal yet,” he jokes weakly. “The Nic I know wouldn’t deign to touch me.”
“You’re right,” I’m quick to agree. “I must still be feeling the effects of the bath.”
“I’ll have to keep holding you. To keep you warm. Just in case.”
“Alright,” I answer softly. Though it’s a physical intimacy I’m not used to, even with hook ups, I allow him to hold me in all the places my sports bra and spandex shorts don’t, a warm palm resting against the outside of my thigh and the other on my waist. My head falls back into the crook of his neck lazily, and I enjoy the slowing of his heart against my shoulder as his breathing returns to normal.
“What happened?” he asks after a few minutes of silence.
“My back.”
He sighs. “You played through it beautifully.”
The compliment knocks me off balance. Aleksandr squeezes me once, and I remember I haven’t explained fully. “I wanted to do a full ice bath after press, but I was too tired. I just turned the water on and got in.”
“Why are you so tired? We had a short recovery session yesterday and your match was quick.” At my silence, he pulls away, frowning again. Ruining my hard work. “You didn’t go to the gym last night, did you?”
With a sigh, I admit, “I was up late watching old matches.”
The disappointment is immediate, and it bothers me more than it should.
“Nic, we’ve talked about this. You need sleep.
You’re playing a match a day at these 500s.
Recovery is more important than anything right now, and that includes sleep.
What were you watching? You’ve played a near perfect tournament. ”
“You think so?” I ask, hoping to divert his attention.
“Of course I do. You haven’t dropped a set. It’s like you’ve been playing on clay this whole time while people are still finding their sea legs.” Right as I believe I’ve successfully distracted him, he asks again, with more force, “What were you watching?”
“The Indian Wells final, okay? I was watching myself lose to your sister again and again and again.”
The tension in his face releases with his sigh. He shifts me so I’m on the bench beside him, and the loss of his warmth feels like a punishment. Hands resting softly on my shoulders, he turns me until they ghost over my back. A lingering shiver races through me. “Alright if I massage it?”
I nod, and he begins softly, then deeper until I can’t help the moan that sighs out of me when he hits exactly where it’s tight.
Aleksandr clears his throat. “This knot is like a rock.”
“I’m an intense person.”
A chuckle rumbles from his chest. “I like the self-awareness.” His hands keep going until the knot weakens and the tension in my lower back dissipates. “Think you’ll be okay for back-to-back matches tomorrow and Sunday?”
Back-to-back. He’s assuming I’ll win tomorrow. His confidence in me couldn’t be clearer.
“I’ll have a week at home to recuperate.”
“Not what I asked.”
I sigh. “I’ll be fine, Aleksandr. Stop worrying about me.”
“I find that to be an impossibility. You’re constantly doing things that worry me.”
Turning back to him, I raise an eyebrow. “Maybe that says more about you than it does me.”
His small smirk is back. He starts pulling his quarter-zip off, and of course, beneath it, he’s wearing his beefy boy shirt that barely covers him.
The sweatshirt lifts his shirt up until I’m forced to see the cut of his abs.
I don’t look away quickly enough before he’s holding the quarter-zip out to me with the holes for the arms extended, his smile growing.
“You seem to like when I raise my arms. Fan of my hard work?”
I roll my eyes, shoving my arms into the sleeves and allowing him to tug the soft cotton over my head until I’m enveloped in both his warmth and his scent.
Citrus and something spicy. “Tired of you inappropriately flashing me, more like. Do you own anything that isn’t two sizes too tight and short on you? ”
“I can’t help being muscular. It’s a product of the job.”
“Is it?” I ask seriously. “You’re training others. Not yourself.”
He shrugs. “I’m in the gym so often, just makes sense to exercise too.”
For maybe the first time in my life, I can read someone.
Pick up on subtext that usually leaves me an outsider.
Something about Aleksandr allows me to understand that there’s more than what he’s telling me.
It’s a rush. How embarrassing to be so excited to understand social interaction. “I don’t believe you.”