CHAPTER 11
ALEXANDRA
It’s been days since the juniors’ graduation. Olivia gave a speech, voice steady, barely looking nervous. Some of the kids hugged her after, like she was the main character in their coming-of-age movie. Maybe she was.
She’s on her way to Montreal. I didn’t say goodbye, not that it was dramatic, I just… couldn’t. And here I am, on the move too, already tagged for Ohio. No time to linger, no room to dwell.
Ohio in August doesn’t waste time reminding you where you are. The humidity clings to the collar of my shirt, sticky and familiar.
The player entrance at the Cincinnati Open is its usual chaos, security scanning badges too slowly, media leaning over barriers trying to snatch a quote before we’re even inside, interns pointing us toward three different doors at once.
Coach Kit adjusted his cap beside me. “Back to reality,” he muttered.
It was always like this: the noise, the waiting, the questions. It just felt louder this time. Or maybe I’d just forgotten how loud it could be.
Inside, the tournament director greeted us with the kind of energy I was far too tired for.
“We’re thrilled to have you back, Alexandra,” he said, smiling like he knew something I didn’t. “Your comeback has been on everyone’s lips. You came a week early, which is great. We’ve slotted your press block. Nothing major, just a few outlets. The usual welcome back questions.”
“Right,” I said, forcing a polite smile. “Looking forward to it.”
The sarcasm practically rolled off my tongue, but he didn’t seem to notice, or chose not to.
Coach Kit shot me a glance like behave, but didn’t say anything. Bobby, meanwhile, was quietly pretending to cough into his sleeve to hide a laugh.
We barely had time to drop our bags before I was being ushered into the media room. Same bright lights. Same blue backdrop cluttered with sponsor logos. Same plastic water bottle on the table that no one ever actually drank from.
I sat down, leaned forward the way they always ask you to, and waited for the first question.
“Alex,” someone began, a reporter I half-recognized from the Australian Open this year, “after the shoulder injury and so much time away from the tour, what made you decide this was the moment to come back?”
I cleared my throat. “We’ve been building back slowly, making sure everything was where it needed to be physically. Cincinnati was always the target. And with the US Open coming up, this felt like the right time.”
Another hand went up. “So, Alex, can we officially say you’re back on tour?”
I didn’t pause. “Yeah. I’m back.” Simple. Final.
A reporter near the front leaned into the mic. “And how do you feel about your ranking right now? Before the injury, you were sitting inside the top 20. Now you’re further down the list. Is that something you think about?”
I gave a small shrug. “Honestly? I don’t. Rankings are just a number. They don’t step onto the court with me, they don’t hit a serve or fight through a tiebreak. What matters is how I’m playing and how I’m competing. The rest will sort itself out if I keep doing my job.”
Someone further back cleared their throat into the mic. “Alex, given how well your brother’s been playing this season, do you feel pressure to measure up now that you're both active again?”
There was a pause. I met the reporter’s eyes. “No,” I said, calm, almost detached. “He’s doing his thing, I’m doing mine. I’m proud of him, of course. But that question?” I let my tone linger just enough. “A little dramatic, don’t you think?”
The moderator leaned into the mic, voice firm but measured. “Last question.”
A woman up front jumped in. “What can fans expect from you this week? Will your playstyle change post-injury?”
I offered the smallest shrug. “Maybe, and also sharper. I’ve been working hard. Who knows?”
Nothing flashy. Just truth. I wasn’t here to promise fireworks. I just wanted this to be over with.
The moderator thanked everyone, and just like that, the press block was done.
As we stepped out into the hallway, Bobby let out a low whistle. “Well. That was… warmly received.”
Coach Kit glanced at me sideways. “You didn’t bite his head off. That’s growth.”
I gave them both a look. “Was that a compliment?”
“Don’t push it,” Coach Kit said, smirking as he handed me a water bottle.
Bobby nudged me with his elbow. “Next time, maybe smile once. Just for the cameras.”
“I did,” I said. “Internally.”
That made them both laugh, and the tension slipped off my shoulders a bit.
We made our way toward the exit, press fading behind us, the hotel van already waiting by the curb.
By the time we made it to our hotel room, headlines were already circulating.
Bobby, sitting across from me in the hotel lounge, grinned without even looking up from his phone. “Well, congrats. You’ve broken the internet again.”
He turned the screen toward me. A paused video of me at the press conference, mid-sentence. The headline underneath read:
‘We’re different people,’ Alex Cadiz responds to a comparison with twin brother Archer.
“You didn’t just show up,” Bobby said, smirking. “You gave them a soundbite.”
Coach Kit stood and stretched. “Alright, enough with the conference. Early hit tomorrow. Let’s get you moving sharp again. You haven’t played a match in months, don’t try to win the whole tournament in one practice.”
I nodded, the weight of it all catching up in my bones. “Copy that.”
Cincinnati always felt like the calm before the chaos of New York. But this time, I wasn’t just easing back in. I was being watched.
Later that afternoon, back at the hotel, I was half-reclined on the edge of the bed, remote in hand, flicking through the tennis coverage. Montreal feed.
I landed on the tennis stream without even thinking about it. Olivia’s match was mid-second set. The commentators were mid-sentence, talking about her clean footwork, how she was constructing points with more confidence than ever.
She looked good. Really good. There was something sharp in the way she moved, like she’d finally shaken something off.
I didn’t even notice Bobby walked in until he plopped onto the bed opposite mine with a loud sigh and a bag of chips.
He didn’t say anything for a moment, just crunched through a few chips before tilting his head my way.
“You know, for someone who claims to just be ‘keeping up with the tour,’ you’ve got some suspicious timing. ”
I gave him a look. “It’s a good match.”
“It’s a good Olivia match,” he grinned, unbothered. “You’ve got a crush the size of Center Court. It's not even subtle.”
“I don’t have a—”
“Please. You follow her results like it's your job, you literally paused a conversation yesterday when her name popped up on the news, and don't think I missed the way you watched her Wimbledon Finals.”
I sighed, sinking back against the headboard. “Okay. Maybe I do.”
There was a pause, not awkward, just quiet.
Bobby nudged his shoe against mine. “Does she know?”
I shook my head slowly. “No, I don't want her to know. It's just a small crush, okay?”
“But it meant something,” he said gently.
“Yeah,” I admitted. “She made me feel like myself again,” I continued. “Not the comeback. Not the shoulder rehab. Not the twin of the guy everyone keeps comparing me to.”
Bobby looked over, his voice lighter now. “Okay, well, reminder that you’re Alexandra freaking Wilson-Cadiz. You break the internet by talking. And I know Archer’s your person, but just so you know... you’ve got me too. You don’t have to go through all this alone.”
For a moment, silence stretched, and then I found myself smiling faintly. “It’s kind of mad, isn’t it? We’ve known each other since I was, what, thirteen?”
“Thirteen,” Bobby confirmed instantly. “Back when you were doing triathlons in the morning and tennis tournaments in the afternoon. I still don’t know how you had the energy. I’d be wrecked just watching.”
I laughed. “I was too stubborn to admit I was wrecked. Dad had just brought you on then, right?”
“Yeah. He told me you needed someone who wouldn’t let you get away with murder but also wouldn’t crush you with rules. He said, ‘She’ll test you, but if you earn her trust, she’ll run through walls for you.’”
I rolled my eyes, but my chest warmed. “And I definitely tested you.”
“Every. Single. Day,” Bobby said, grinning. “You’d fight me on everything, warmups, nutrition, even which shoes to wear. I thought you hated me.”
“I didn’t hate you,” I said softly. “I just... didn’t know how to let someone in who wasn’t family. You changed that.”
“Except Cassandra,” Bobby corrected.
“Yes, but she’d been my best friend since I was eight, until... yeah, you get it.”
Bobby’s expression softened, the usual banter dimming for a moment. “You grew on me, too, kid. You were sharp, stubborn, but you had this drive I hadn’t seen before. I knew even then that you’d be something special.”
I tilted my head, teasing. “Oh, don’t worry, I plan to keep it more interesting. Someone has to make sure you’re really doing your job, you know.”
He shook his head, though he was smiling. “You’ll drive me up the wall one day, you know that?”
“Still do, don’t I?” I shot back.
“Every damn day,” Bobby replied, but his grin was fond. “Wouldn’t trade it for anything.”
We watched the rest of the match together, side by side, the sound turned low. Olivia closed it out with a smooth down-the-line forehand, no celebration, just that calm, collected nod of hers.
I didn’t say anything. Bobby didn’t either. He just smiled and passed me the bag of chips.
Tomorrow, we’d hit the courts for a full practice block. The real work was here.
OLIVIA
I wasn’t at my best this week in Montreal. Not even close. My body felt heavy, the kind of tired that sleep didn’t quite fix, and every match seemed to underline how far I still had to go.
I clicked back a few frames, adjusting the angle on my laptop, watching myself with the kind of honesty I couldn’t always manage on court.
“Are we watching game film or admiring our own highlight reel?” Maddie’s voice floated in as she pushed into the room, a banana in one hand and her phone in the other.
“Both,” I said, not looking up. “I want to tighten my return game before quarters. My opponent’s been holding serve too easily.”
“She has, but you’ve been outplaying people even before the rallies start, even though you’re not in your A game lately.” Maddie flopped onto the couch dramatically.
I paused the video, leaning back in my chair. “Yeah, I know. I just… I think it’s all mental. I can’t seem to find that drive lately, especially after what happened with Bianca again.”
Maddie peeled her banana with a small grin. “Then don’t overthink it. One match at a time, Liv. Get through Montreal, reset, then on to Cincinnati. That’s all you need to focus on.”
I let out a quiet breath. “Yeah… easier said than done. Sometimes I wish I had even a fraction of that kind of grit, the kind of player who always seems untouchable, the one you can’t help but look up to.”
She then tossed her phone beside my laptop. “Speaking of Grit, have you seen this?”
I glanced at the screen. A headline from a tennis blog: Alexandra Cadiz Spotted Training in Ohio: Back in Action!
“Wait,” I said, reaching for the phone. “Alex is back on tour?”
“Yeah. Press confirmed it yesterday.”
I smiled widely. “Good for her.”
Leaning back in my chair, I tapped the headline. Below it, a photo of Alex mid-hitting session. Alex in black shorts and a dry-fit shirt, her expression unreadable as ever.
I scrolled down.
Another shot: Alex adjusting her cap. And another. Alex tossing a ball into the air. She looked loose. Comfortable.
There were five, six… seven photos in total. Most were taken from a distance, but close enough to catch the intense energy. I smiled, just seeing her looking so intense made me smile.
Maddie raised an eyebrow. “Okay…” She paused, then added with a teasing glance, “Now I really want to know what happened in Brisbane.”
I gave a noncommittal shrug, keeping my eyes on the screen. “I just… cleared my head a bit, I guess.”
“Cleared your head?” she echoed. “That sounds suspiciously like ‘I had a good time, and now I’m seeing in widescreen.’”
I laughed under my breath. “It wasn’t that dramatic.”
Maddie sat up a little straighter, her interest piqued. “So something did happen?”
I hesitated. “It was just… good timing, really. I got to Brisbane early, and she happened to be there too. Probably training. We crossed paths a few times. Exchanged some friendly conversation. Maybe a bit of banter.”
Maddie let out a small gasp. “Wait. Are you friends with Alex now?”
I gave a soft laugh. “You’re jumping ten steps ahead.”
She nudged my knee with her foot. “Am I?”
I sighed, shifting slightly in my seat. “It’s not like that. I just… realized she’s not who the media paints her to be. She’s not cold or unapproachable. She’s—” I hesitated.
“She’s actually kind. Funny, even. It felt... nice, getting to know that side of her.”
Maddie tilted her head, watching me carefully.
“That’s all. Nothing else happened.” I added quickly.
She raised a brow. “If you say so.” Her tone was light, but there was clear skepticism in her eyes. Still, she didn’t push it. She just smiled, stood up, and stretched. “Anyway, I’m grabbing coffee downstairs. Want anything?”
“I’m good, thanks.”
“Suit yourself,” she said, giving me one last look before heading out the door.
The room fell quiet. I stared at my laptop screen for a moment, then opened a new tab. My fingers hovered for a second before typing: Alex Cadiz press conference return to Ohio.
I hit search because maybe I just wanted to see how she was doing. That was all.