Page 132 of Double Fault

Beside me, Maddie pokes my knee. “If Daddy loses this time, I don’t think a sticker is going to cut it. I’m not sure even ice cream would cheer him up, so he better win.”

I have to press my lips together to keep from laughing. “Let’s hope for the best. Okay?”

Both hands held up, she crosses her fingers. “I’m crossing my toes too. You just can’t see.”

With a smile at her, I cross my fingers too. “Same.”

The first set lasts nearly an hour, and in the end, Damian comes out on top.

“Don’t let it get to your head,” Fisher murmurs, rubbing his hands together. “You’ve got this.”

During the two-minute rest period between sets, both players sit and take sips of water, and Noah wipes his face and arms with his towel.

God, for his sake I hope he can pull it together during the next set. If he doesn’t, I worry his mood will tank.

When they’re on the court again, a cameraperson zooms in on Noah’s face, and it’s broadcast on the large screen. Maybe it’s wishful thinking, but I swear his expression is more determined than it has been.

When I took this job, I never expected I’d be invested in his career, but I’m growing to enjoy the sport—even if I’m still wrapping my head around how the point system works—and I want to see Noah succeed.

“Forty-love.”

“What does love mean?” I ask Fisher as quietly as I can. “I haven’t figured that out yet.”

“Love means zero.”

“Why not call it zero, then?”

“There are a few theories floating around out there. One of which is that if a player has zero points, then they’re playing for the love of the game, despite the losing score.”

Hmm. I like that.

I’m still smiling when Noah scores his first point of the second set. Instantly, he stands taller, like it’s a much-needed confidence boost for him. From that moment on, he’s a new person. He dominates the set, and in the end comes out on top.

Noah wins the third set as well, but the fourth one comes out in Damian’s favor, forcing the game into a fifth and final set.

“I’m going to be sick,” I say, clutching my stomach.

Fisher grunts like a caveman, looking a little pale himself.

So far, they’ve been evenly matched. Fisher wasn’t kidding when he said anything could happen.

Shit. While I have full faith in Noah, it’s not going to be easy.

By the time the fifth set begins, both men look exhausted. They’ve been playing for hours. Damn. I might run most mornings, but there’s no way I’d have enough stamina to make it through three sets, let alone five.

As they play, the crowd gets a little rowdy. We’re all on the edge of our seats. We’re so vocal, in fact, that we’re scolded by the umpire multiple times. I feel like curling into a ball and rocking back and forth. I don’t think my heart rate has slowed one bit since the game started hours ago.

Please, I beg the universe.Please give him this one. If anyone deserves it, he does. He’s lost so much and worked so hard. Please let him have this.

I might not be a tennis aficionado, but even I had heard of Wimbledon before taking this job. It’s a big freaking deal. If he loses, he’ll be devastated.

Inhaling a deep breath, I sit up straighter and home in on the ball. The rally lasts about eight shots, a longer number than usual, and Damian gets the point.

Come on, Noah. You can do this.

Noah bends at the waist and rocks back and forth as he readies for Damian’s serve. His face is wet with sweat, but he doesn’t seem to notice.

Damian fires off his serve, but it hits the top of the net. The ball boy sprints onto the court to pick it up, then dashes back to the side. Damian pulls another ball from his pocket and bounces it. On screen, he wears a mask of concentration, but I swear his hand shakes, either from nerves or exhaustion. With a flick of his head to force his blond hair out of his eyes, he tosses the ball.

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