Chapter 9 #2
Still looking at her phone, Tess calls out, “Oh, Leo! I hadn’t seen this!”
“If it’s another meme of me and that koala, I don’t want to know.”
“Oooh, like the one that said, ‘Leo Chambers quit tennis, he’s into water sports now’ and it’s a photo of the koala peeing on you? That one was the best,” Ollie says, chuckling to himself.
Leo stares at him, blinking slowly.
“Okay, that’s incredible, but no, I meant this,” Tess says, showing Leo her phone. It’s a short clip of him writing on the camera screen after his match, posted by Serving Looks and liked by thousands of fans.
“I thought it might cheer him up,” Leo says, shrugging. “I don’t know. I feel like he’s having a hard time.”
“He’s coming back on tour soon, right?” Ollie asks.
“I think he’ll be at Delray, but after that? I have no idea. I can’t get much from his texts, but he doesn’t seem like his chipper self, like maybe he knows he won’t be ready as soon as he thought he’d be.”
“How are you feeling about it?” Tess asks gently.
“I …” Leo trails off then grabs his wine glass and stares into the blood-red liquid swirling inside it. “I don’t know how much longer he’ll be able to be my coach, and that really scares me. I haven’t even …”
He doesn’t let himself say, I haven’t even won the US Open yet. He’s too scared to let that spill out onto the table right now. He’ll deal with that fear at a later date. So, he pivots to a different admission instead.
“I didn’t … hate the way I felt tonight, though. I thought it would suck, not having him at a Slam for the first time,” he says, then takes a sip of wine. “Don’t get me wrong, it was strange. I really miss having him here. But I also felt a little more … free?”
“You did play one of your best matches in a while,” Tess says. “I could be wrong, but you didn’t expect that, did you?”
Leo shakes his head.
“I can tell you feel guilty about it,” she says. “And that completely makes sense. But—”
“But, dude, you’re almost thirty,” Ollie interjects.
“Ollie!” Tess says, shooting him an impatient look, then sighs in defeat. “I wasn’t going to put it exactly like that, but I guess, yeah. You’re almost thirty, Leo. It’s okay if you want to break away a bit.”
“I couldn’t even handle being with my parents for two weeks at Christmas,” Ollie says. “I don’t know how you travel everywhere with your dad.”
“That’s because your family was in Dubai and you were probably mad at them for cockblocking you on vacation,” Tess teases.
“Don’t say ‘cock’ at the dinner table, Tessa,” Ollie says, pretending to be aghast. “Tabarnak. Have some manners. But yeah, no, you’re absolutely right, I didn’t meet anybody on the trip because of them.”
“Can I get the check?” Tess jokes, not realizing their waiter is now right behind her balancing a giant tray on her hand.
“You don’t want to eat?” she asks, confused.
“Oh, no, oh my God, sorry,” Tess says. “You’re fine.”
Looking confused yet relieved, the waiter sets down their food—a gorgeous spread of curries, tandoori dishes, jumbo prawns, and plenty of garlic naan, all to share.
The three of them simply stare at the bounty before them, inhaling deeply and smiling, and then it’s a dance of forks and spoons as they reach and scoop and plate the different dishes.
“Well, I didn’t meet anybody in California, either,” Tess says in between bites. “In fact, I ran into my ex while I was home.”
“Oh shit!” Leo says, trying not to open his mouth, which is full of naan. “What happened? Did you talk?”
“He goes, and I quote, ‘Are you still playing tennis?’ ”
Leo almost chokes on his naan.
“Like, yeah, friend, I’m still playing tennis,” Tess says. “What did he think, I was home interning at my dad’s law firm? He’s such a douche nozzle. And there’s no way he didn’t know I’m still playing. My parents practically told everyone in town when I made the top ten.”
“So, you’re getting back together?” Ollie asks, deadpan.
Tess and Leo burst out laughing.
“I’m done with men. No offense.” Tess grins, then turns to Leo. “Speaking of which …”
Ah, fuck. Leo was hoping this wouldn’t come up.
“We have to talk about the guy at the top of your shit list,” she continues. “I didn’t know you were going to practice with him!”
“Neither did I,” Leo says, glaring at Ollie.
“Hey, I didn’t know you were practicing with Gabe,” he says, hands up. “All I knew was that we weren’t hitting together that day. I didn’t think to mention it.”
“Well, I saw it on Instagram, surprise,” Tess says. “The internet loves to post about you two—they think you’re besties now. Are you besties now?”
“No, of course not. Brian set it up,” Leo says. “But wait, what did the posts say? I didn’t see anything. I’m trying to stay off Instagram so I can focus.”
That’s at least half-true. Leo does want to keep his focus up for the tournament, but he’s also been too nervous to look at any news about how Gabe’s first match went. What if the crowd turned against him?
“They basically just said there must be no bad blood between y’all anymore,” Tess says. “They also said you’re both dreamboats, blah blah blah.”
“I wonder if he won his match, too. I bet practicing with me helped,” Leo jokes, attempting to disguise his genuine curiosity.
“I think he did win,” Ollie says, jumping in as Tess chows down on a humongous prawn.
Leo feels his face light up. The first openly gay man to win a match. He has to admit, that’s pretty incredible.
“I caught some of the match when I was in the gym,” Ollie continues. “It looked like there was extra security and, from what I could tell, there were some hecklers, but I think they had them all removed. A few fans brought Pride flags, too.”
“Oh, good!” Tess exclaims. “That must have helped a little.”
“He and his coach parted ways last month, too, so he’s been going through it,” Leo hears himself blurting out. Can he not?
“Fuck, seriously?” Tess says.
“Apparently, his coach wasn’t on board with him coming out publicly. He just mentioned it to me at our practice, how we’re both down a coach.” Okay, enough. Enough sharing now.
“A bit of bonding, huh?” Ollie asks.
“Interesting,” Tess says, manically tapping her fingers together. “Maybe you are becoming besties. I like this, I like this. New season, new friends.”
“Sure, Tess,” Leo says, rolling his eyes. “Anyway, let’s move on.”
“Good, because, dude, I was going to ask if you met anybody while you were home all that time. Will there be a special lady rooting for you in your box?” Ollie asks in his best Paul Davis voice, even pretending to push up a pair of glasses.
“That was the scariest thing I’ve ever seen,” Leo says, deflecting.
“Actually, I did promise to meet with Paul for another podcast recording at Delray in a couple weeks. My dad’s joining, too, since he’ll be at the tournament.
I guess we’re finally giving him that inspiring interview he’s been wanting.
” Leo twirls his finger in the air and crosses his eyes.
He supposes he should answer Ollie’s question, even vaguely, so, always prepared with a neutral response, he tells him, “But yeah, between helping out my parents and then keeping up with practice and training, I didn’t exactly have time to meet anybody. You know how it is.”
He really was busy, but he did hook up with someone in the fall. It was another Grindr hookup, this time in Miami, just to blow off some steam in the midst of all the stress.
Deep down, Leo knows he could tell Tess and Ollie the truth. But he already feels so exposed this season. He wants to keep this to himself, just for a little while longer.
Without being seeded and going up against an Italian youngster who only recently cracked the top 100, Leo is playing on a much smaller court compared to Rod Laver Arena in the second round.
But he doesn’t mind. The side courts can be just as fun and much more intimate—the spectators sitting up close, heads turning side to side with every point, sitting shoulder to shoulder on bleachers instead of stadium seating.
What he does mind, the next day, deep into the third set, is something he and Brian didn’t go over during their pre-match analysis of his opponent, Matteo Rossi.
Leo has never played him before since Rossi is still fairly new to the tour, so while Leo was prepared to attack his forehand and to hit through the center of the court, he was very much not prepared for how fucking loud this guy would be.
UUUNNNNHHH, Rossi groans as he smacks a backhand crosscourt, his prolonged whine trailing off just before Leo returns it, which is technically legal.
As long as the player isn’t still making sound while their opponent is hitting the ball, they can groan and grunt as much as they like during their swing.
But, for the love of God, it cannot and should not be legal to sound this much like a dying cow on a tennis court (or in a court of law).
EEENNNGGGHHH.
OOONNNHHH.
UUUNNNHHH.
How can these booming barnyard sounds be coming from this Italian twink?
Whatever the science behind it, after a solid two hours, Leo is having a difficult time hiding his facial expressions between points.
He’d be more exasperated if it weren’t so comical.
After Leo’s next serve, Rossi swings hard—OOONNNGGGHHH—and the ball lands long.
“OUT,” the system calls. The young ball boy snatches it up, but Leo liked the feel of that one, so he wants to serve with it again.
He nods to the boy to toss it back, tucking his lips in to keep from laughing at the latest farm animal sound across the court, and the boy must notice, because he’s holding back a smile now, too.
He bounces the ball back, and Leo thanks him before crossing his eyes with a goofy smile.
The boy giggles quietly before taking his place at the wall again, hands together behind his back, like a toy soldier.