Chapter 56
Chapter Fifty-Six
NAOMI
The crowd on court was deafening as Sam and I walked out.
I knew my parents were out there watching. Sam’s family were buried in the masses too, while Wyatt, Alisha, Lois, and Ryder sat in our players box. I heard my dad’s whistle come from somewhere to my left and smiled as I dropped my bag and pulled my racquet out.
Sam watched me with a smile as I banged it against the heel of my hand while he walked backwards to the net.
I wasn’t fully paying attention to what the umpire was saying. Sam called the toss and won. He chose for us to receive first. The warm-up happened, and I was feeling less nervous now that I had the clay under my feet and a racquet in my hand.
Then the first ball was served, and it felt like the first few matches Sam and I played together.
Only this time, I was the problem. I was running for every ball and trying to minimise the chances of Sam having to hit any.
I wasn’t listening to his calls for the ball, and it was probably a miracle we hadn’t collided with the way I was behaving. And that we were still on serve.
At the first changeover, we sat down, and Sam removed his hat, swept his hair back, and put it back on.
“You know this isn’t a singles match, don’t you, Mimi?” he said quietly before handing me a water bottle.
“Turns out, I might be a bit mad at you for being here,” I said before taking a drink.
“Would you believe that Wyatt warned me I’d do this, and I kind of didn’t believe him?
I didn’t tell him he was full of shit because I couldn’t deny it with complete certainty, and I didn’t want to give him a chance to say ‘I told you so’. I’m happy about that now.”
He smiled as he kept pouring water into his mouth. “You gonna keep pretending I’m a ghost you can’t hear?”
“No, I’m going to remember this is a partnership and, as Wyatt reminded me, I’ve played with arguably worse injuries than what you’ve got going on.”
“And you’re retiring a fifteen-time Grand Slam champ.”
I snorted. “That isn’t relevant to anything right now.”
Time.
Sam stood up. “It is. Because we’ve got something to add to that honours list,” he said as he walked back to the baseline.
I followed, and by the time I joined him, he had four balls waiting for me on his racquet. I took two, shoving one up my shorts and bouncing the other a few times.
“This guy hates slow balls, right?” I asked Sam behind my hand.
“Yeah, he’s not a fan of having to generate his own power.”
I nodded. “Then I’m not gonna give him any power on the serve, which means you should probably stick close to the net.”
“And when you serve to her?”
I shrugged as I got into my serve stance and he prepared to move close to the net.
“They’re not coming back,” I answered with a wink.
Sam would be serving for the match when we got up from this hopefully last changeover.
The first three games aside, the two of us had been like an impenetrable force, frustrating Team Italy to no end.
They couldn’t make inroads on either of our serves, and we were both serving incredibly.
I’d managed to put my worries about Sam’s shoulder to the back of my mind because it wasn’t impacting his game.
He was still playing as sharp as ever, and although he was clearly favouring his forehand, that was fine because I was there to help keep things off his backhand too.
Despite the high intensity and pressure of the occasion, my final ever professional match was turning out to be…
fun. It had all the elements of the sport I’d fallen in love with as a kid.
And I was playing with a freedom I hadn’t played with for a while.
Probably because I knew there wasn’t another match I had to play in a couple of days in a different time zone.
There was just my bed, our dog, and the final weeks of summer stretched ahead of me.
“One game away from the medal,” I said quietly as I chewed a piece of flapjack that I was supposed to eat when we were finished with this match, but thought ‘fuck it’ when I saw it in my Tupperware box waiting.
Sam nodded. “Yeah, I know. No pressure or anything.”
“There isn’t. It’s just another game. We’ve played seventeen so far.”
“Let’s not play more than eighteen. I can’t take it.”
I looked at him, positive that there was worry on my face.
“I don’t mean physically. Just the hopes of our gold medal rest on my shoulders, and if I mess it up and they hold, then it rests on yours.”
“That’s not the worst thing. We’ve got the buffer, and I’m good under pressure.”
“Believe me, Mimi, I’ve noticed. But let’s not let it get to that.”
Time.
I put the lid back on my Tupperware. Sam squeezed my thigh as he picked up his racquet. “Let’s get that gold medal, baby.”
Of course, the only time either of us would be taken to deuce was when we were trying to win the match. We’d saved two break points and finally had match point.
“When did they start being able to read that wide serve so well?” I whispered behind my hand as Sam selected two balls. Putting one in his pocket, he took a deep breath and shook it all out, prepping for what he hoped was his final serve.
“A damn good question. I’m gonna go hard and fast down the middle, see what happens.”
I nodded and walked to the net.
I heard Sam bounce the ball twice. His foot dragged against the clay, and he took a deep breath as he launched into the air. The thump of the ball on the racquet, the thud of his feet hitting the ground again. Sam’s serve landed down the middle hard and fast, as he said. But it came back.
Straight past me towards the opposite side of the court Sam served from. So quick, I couldn’t even think to react.
I heard Sam running along the baseline. The sound of a ball hitting the racquet.
I dropped into a squat and watched the ball fly over my head.
The ball dipped down, and I could see that no one was going to be able to reach it.
As it kept falling to the ground, I realised they were leaving it because they thought it was going to go out wide.
The ball hit the clay. It looked like it had landed on the wrong side of the line. Even from where I was squatting on the court, I couldn’t tell if it was in or out. Given the way this game had gone, I was waiting for the out call.
Game, set, match. Reed and Sullivan.
My knees hit the clay, and I dropped my racquet.
Sam appeared in front of me, his hands landing on my shoulders, and I burst into tears, burying my face in the crook of his neck. I could hear Wyatt and Alisha screaming to my left. A whistle rang out through the cheering.
“You fucking did it, Mimi,” he said quietly into my ear before he pressed a kiss to my temple.