Page 24 of Double Fault

Brow furrowed and frown lines bracketing his mouth, he studies me in a way that feels as if he’s seeing right into my soul. Though it’s clear he knows I’m upset, he doesn’t press further.

It’s a relief. My messed-up relationship with my parents isn’t any of his concern.

“I’ve got to head out. Mads?”

She turns her head, though her eyes instantly drift back to the show she’s watching.

“I love you. I’ll see you later.” He kisses the top of her head and heads toward the door. “I’ll text you when I know what court I’ll be practicing on,” he says to me. “If Maddie wants to comeover, the hotel has a shuttle service over to Melbourne Park, and your credentials to get in are over there.” He waves to the table where he’s laid out passes and two lanyards with cards clipped to the ends.

“All right.” I nod and paste a smile on my face. “Sounds good.”

Despite how easy it is to rile him up, I’m trying to be on my best behavior.

When Maddie’s show is over, I hit the power button on the remote. “All right, girlie.” I clap my hands. “Idesperatelyneed coffee if you want me to function like a normal human being.”

Giggling, she pops up off the couch. “Can I have coffee?”

“Nice try, kid.” I pull her into my side in a hug. “You have enough energy without caffeine coursing through your veins. You’re lucky like that.”

“Fine,” she acquiesces, but there’s a glimmer in her eye. This isn’t the last I’ll hear about it.

On the elevator ride to the lobby, she bounces beside me, proving my point that the last thing she needs is caffeine.

“There’s a coffee shop around the corner.”

She’s right. I passed it on my run.

“How’d you know that?” I ask, peering down at her.

“We’ve been here before. With my… with my mom. We got rocky road waffles. They weresogood. You should try them.” She looks down at her sparkly pink sneakers, but not before I catch the flash of sadness in her eyes.

I’m at a loss as to what to say. Should I acknowledge the mention of her mom? I haven’t ever had to deal with grief and certainly never a child going through it.

She saves me from saying something potentially stupid by plucking at her bag, identical to the black one strapped across my chest, except hers is pink, and saying, “Let’s get you yourcoffee. If you’re anything like my dad, you’ll be grumpy without it.”

She sticks her tongue out.

I can’t help but smile at her. I don’t know her well yet, but already, she’s impossible not to like.

Two hours later, Maddie is just beginning to come down from the sugar high she sustained from the rocky road waffles she suckered me into splitting. How could I say no, knowing they reminded her of happy times with her mom?

With her hand in mine, I follow the signage into Melbourne Park. As we make our way to the training courts, Maddie’s head is on a swivel. She takes everything in, even though this isn’t her first visit.

“Have you always been homeschooled?”

She looks up, her hazel eyes a mix of green and gold in the sunlight. “Yeah. When I was younger, Mom thought I might like to go to regular school, but Daddy didn’t want us to be away from him all the time.” Squinting into the sun, she shrugs.

I make a note to get her a pair of sunglasses if she doesn’t have any tucked away in her luggage.

“Dad said you’re a teacher.”

Laughing, I come to a stop near one of the training courts. Elias Johnson is there with what looks like his coaching team. I might not know anything about tennis, but I can tell he’s a force to be reckoned with. At six-four, maybe even six-five, and built like a wall, with tattoos covering one whole arm, he’s a sight to behold. It seems impossible for a man that big to move as fast or as fluidly as he does. He’s practically dancing back and forth,sending the ball flying across the net. I didn’t realize a tennis ball could be launched with such speed.

“My dad doesn’t like him.” In true eight-year-old fashion, Maddie doesn’t lower her voice as she comments.

A guy walking by snickers, but thankfully no one on the court looks our way.

I breathe a sigh of relief and turn, blocking her from their view. “Why doesn’t he like him?”

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