Chapter 39
FISHER
Ebba gives my knee a reassuring squeeze. The Australian Open final is turning out to be much more of a nail biter than I anticipated. Noah plays against an up-and-coming young Spanish player. One no one would have anticipated for the final. I especially didn’t expect things to be this close.
Noah strides over to his chair during a break point and sets his racket down before scooping up his water bottle. “Stay calm,” I mutter under my breath. He can’t hear me, but I will the words in his direction anyway. “Don’t get in your head.”
“He’s got this,” Ebba assures me.
On her left, in Noah’s player’s box, her brother who lost in the quarter finals says, “If he doesn’t, I’m roasting him for months.”
A small chuckle escapes me.
The break point ends, and the guys are back on the court.
“Breathe,” Ebba reminds me a little while later.
I hadn’t even realized I was holding my breath.
“Sorry,” I mutter, a bit chagrined, and inhale a lungful of air. “I’m nervous.”
Noah’s ahead, but anyone who knows anything about tennis knows that the match isn’t over until it’s over. I’ve seen players pull out incredible wins when they’re down several points. You never know what factors are going to come into play that benefits one player over the other.
I send every positive thought I can Noah’s way. I’ve never been one to dwell much on the power of positive thinking, but if there’s a chance it can make a difference here then I’m going to do what I can.
Starting the year off with a win at the Australian Open, one of the four Grand Slam events held throughout the season, would be huge for him. With him planning to retire, I want him to achieve as many wins as he can before then. I want him to go out on a positive note.
I nearly fall out of my seat during a long volley, but Noah manages to secure the point.
It’s his turn to serve and I hope he can get ahead during this time and close this match out with four sets. If it goes to five sets, things are going to get dicey because I can see the tiredness ringing his eyes.
Noah adjusts his baseball cap and then bounces the ball up and down while shuffling his feet. Tossing the ball in the air, he hits it with his racket and it’s an ace.
“Fuck yes,” I cheer quietly to myself.
He prepares to serve again. He’s locked in and focused.
“You need a drink or ten when this match is over,” Ebba says softly under her breath.
“You have no idea.” I run my fingers through my hair.
I’m wound tighter than I think I’ve ever been.
With Noah’s impending retirement looming over me, I feel like success matters even more now.
Sure, Elias expressed interest in having me coach him, but as much as I would love coaching the guy, there’s no way I can do it if Ebba and I aren’t together.
I refuse to torture myself like that. So, that means hoping another player will add me to their coaching staff and there’s no guarantees in this world.
More wins for Noah makes me more desirable as a coach for another player, though.
As the fourth set comes to a nail biting close, I almost think Noah’s not going to pull it off and we’re going to go into a fifth, but exhaustion is getting to his opponent, his movements sluggish, and it allows for Noah to close out the fourth set with the championship point.
I’m stunned.
Frozen and speechless as I process what I’ve just witnessed.
It takes me a moment, then another, to process the win.
I think it takes Noah dropping to his knees, hands covering his face, for me to realize the match is over and he’s done it.
As soon as the realization hits, I’m on my feet and pulling Ebba up with me. She’s screaming and crying, arms wrapped around my middle. Elias is on his feet, clapping and whistling.
Sabrina is crying and Maddie is pulling out her pack of stickers. “Dad, deserves a whole sticker sheet for this win.”
Laughter flies out of me at her comment.
Noah finally gets up, shaking hands with his opponent and the chair umpire before he waves around to the crowd. Flipping his cap around backwards, he jogs over to our area in the stands and makes the climb up to us.
He gets to Maddie and Sabrina first. He gives his daughter a tight squeeze of a hug before he kisses his wife and makes his way down the other coaches until he gets to me. I pull his sweaty body in for a hug, patting him on the back.
“You did it, dude. I’m so fucking proud of you.”
I feel like I’m flying high. The euphoria of this win is going to take a long while to wear off. The grin on my face is downright painful as Noah makes his way back down to the court where they’re converting it for the trophy ceremony.
Ebba gives my elbow a squeeze and I tear my gaze away from the court to focus on her.
Warm brown eyes and skin. Dark hair braided back in a ponytail with some sort of silver ring like things scattered through the braids.
Her makeup is impeccable despite the raging Australian heat.
When I asked her this morning if makeup would be a waste in this weather, she looked at me like I was the dumbest motherfucker on the planet and held up a small pink can.
“Finishing spray, Fisher. Locks everything into place.” Whatever that stuff is, it must be a miracle worker.
“Congratulations,” she says, pulling my thoughts away from this morning.
“For what?” I ask dumbly and she laughs. I watch the way her throat moves, finding even that attractive. I’m certain every little thing she does is attractive to me.
“You are his head coach. This win belongs to you too.”
“Oh,” I drawl the word slowly. “Right.”
She laughs again, eyes squinting with amusement. “You’ve always had trouble accepting praise.”
“I’m not the player. Not anymore.”
“Do you miss it? Ever wish you were the one out there?”
As we settle back in our seats, I think carefully about how to answer.
“Miss it? Every day. But wish I was the one out there? Not at all.” Her nose scrunches in confusion.
“Stepping away, turning to coaching instead of playing, made me realize how much I hated the pressure. From coaches. From myself. From the fans.” I shake my head at the memory of a particularly brutal loss, one many people had bet on me winning, and when I lost my social media comments and DMs were filled with people chewing me out.
Telling me what a fucking failure I was.
To stop playing. To kill myself. “I’m happier where I’m at now, but I do miss parts of it. ”
She nods in understanding and gives my knee a squeeze. “That makes sense.”
Noah’s won other grand slams, but with his impending retirement far closer than I expected, this feels different. It might be an impossible hope, but I’d love to see him secure the win at the other three. A calendar Grand Slam isn’t something he’s done yet in his career.
It feels like I’m having an out of body experience as he accepts his trophy and gives his speech. He’ll have interviews to do, so it’ll be a while before we’re able to meet up with him.
As we’re leaving the stadium, Sabrina pulls me aside. “I booked a dinner for everyone tonight to celebrate. You’ll come right?”
“Wouldn’t miss it.”
Squeezing Ebba’s hand, I tug her hand to hold her back. “I’m going to wait for Noah in the locker rooms. I didn’t like the way he went down on his ankle in the second set, so I want to make sure he doesn’t need a doctor to take a look. I’ll see you soon, though, okay?”
She walks away, trying to catch up with Sabrina. The giant rock on her left finger catches the light of the sun. My breath catches in my throat at the idea that in a few short months that ring might be gone.