Page 127 of Double Fault

Iris nods in thanks, though she doesn’t speak again. Probably intent on giving me time to sort out my thoughts.

“I think I’m falling for my daughter’s nanny.” The words are out before I have time to decide whether admitting this could be harmful.

Iris smiles that genuine smile again. “What do you like about her?”

“She’s so sassy.” I can’t help but laugh. “She gives me hell and holds me accountable. She’s beautiful. Inside and out. And my daughter loves her too.”

“She loves her too, huh?” She repeats my words, and only then does the implication of what I’ve said hit me.

And my daughter loves her too.

Too.

Leg bouncing and heart rate picking up, I rub at my jaw. “Yeah, I… uh… I guess I’m already there, huh?”

“It’s possible. But I sense something is holding you back.”

Damn. I realize she’s a professional, but we’ve been talking for five minutes, and she’s already got me mostly figured out. Maybe I should be embarrassed. Instead, I figure if I’ve got to do this, then I should just embrace it and dive in headfirst.

“My wife passed away less than eighteen months ago. I don’t want to move on too quickly.”

“And what’s the definition of ‘too quickly’?” she asks, her expression open. “What may be too fast for one person could be too slow to another. It’s up to each of us to decide what our timelines should look like rather than making choices based on what we worry other people might think.”

“When you put it like that…” Cheeks puffed out, I exhale and lean back, causing my chair to let out an annoyingly loud squeak.

“Don’t allow fear to stop you from living a fulfilling life. At every turn, we’re met with experiences that terrify us, yet most end up being worth the risk, wouldn’t you say?”

She makes valid points. On more than one occasion, even my career scared the shit out of me. Damn. I’m starting to think my team was onto something when they pushed me to try therapy.

We chat for an hour, and though we stick to surface-level topics like Iris promised, the discussion goes a shockingly long way toward making me feel better about meeting with her again.

When I end the video call, I’m wiped. It’s like I’ve just completed the most intense workout of my life, yet I never left this chair. Before we said goodbye, she encouraged me to schedule another session, so we agreed to meet virtually the morning of the Wimbledon final. Honestly, something tells me I’m going to need it.

My phone rings, startling me, and unsurprisingly, Fisher’s name flashes on the screen.

“How did it go with the therapist?” he asks when I answer.

“It was okay.”

“Just okay?”

“Mhm,” I hum, spinning a pen emblazoned with the hotel’s logo between my fingers. “I scheduled another appointment.”

“Oh.” He sounds genuinely surprised. Why is beyond me. There’s no way he would’ve let me stop after one session. “I’m happy to hear that. I also called to let you know that Elias is having surgery this afternoon. He’ll definitely be out the rest of the season.”

My stomach knots painfully. Dammit. “That’s rough for him.”

“He’ll recover,” he says, his tone holding a slight edge of bitterness.

I can only imagine all of this has brought up memories of his own career-ending injury. If he hadn’t been so badly hurt, chances are he’d be playing at Wimbledon now, outshining both Elias and me. His talent is natural and raw and unlike any I’ve seen since.

“Are you up for playing? I thought we could work on some drills one on one.”

“Sure.” I stand and stretch. “Just let me change.”

“I’ll meet you at your room in ten.”

After I’ve donned a fresh set of gym clothes, I snag my hat from the top of the dresser and put it on. A smile spreads across my face unbidden when I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. I can’t help but think of Sabrina and her admission about how she likes it when I wear it backward.

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