Page 36 of Double Fault

A laugh bubbles out of me. Leave it to this little girl to say something nice but simultaneously roast her father.

“What are you going to say if he doesn’t win?”

Her nose scrunches. “I’ll give him a thumbs-up and tell him he did a good job and he’ll have to try harder next time.”

I snort, the sound that escapes me one I’m not sure I’ve ever made before. “Maddie!” I admonish, but it loses any actual reprimand when I can’t stop laughing.

“We should’ve gotten stickers at the store. If he loses, a sticker might make him feel better.”

Though my natural reaction is to laugh again, I choke it back and give her a genuine smile. “We can go back in the morning.”

She grins back, and my heart melts a little. I find that I like making her happy. Not because I want to spoil her, but because I get a thrill from banishing that sadness that lingers behind her eyes. If I can brighten her day with something as simple as a pack of stickers, why wouldn’t I?

She checks my nails with a gentle tap of her finger. “They’re dry. Movie time.”

We’ve eaten dinner and are halfway through another movie when Noah returns—on time like he promised.

After we’ve said good night and I’m lying in bed on my own, an image of her floats into my mind. The relief in her expressionwas so palpable. Even now, I can’t help but tear up at the memory.

That little girl deserves the world, and I can only hope that for however long I’m with her, I can be a light in her life.

CHAPTER 11

NOAH

The methodicalthunk-thunk-thunksends me into a sort of trance. The rest of the world melts away. My lingering grief. My worries about Maddie. Sabrina.

All that exists is this court, the ball, my racket, and my opponent.

With a grunt, I hit the ball with a strategic mix of force and finesse to send it where I want it to go. When it returns, I dive for it, my shoes sliding across the synthetic court surface.

My opponent, Aldo Mancini, is a newcomer from Italy.

Surprisingly, facing off with him is more intimidating than if I were playing someone with more experience.

I don’t know his playing style or what to expect. Some players are even-tempered, while others throw tantrums. Then there are the few who question every point.

I’d consider myself an even-tempered player. Now, at least. When I was younger, I was a bit of a hothead. It used to drive Annie crazy.

“You act like a petulant child on the court. Even Madelyn doesn’t act like that.”

I slam the ball back over the net, and Aldo returns it, though it catches the net.

“Yes!” I pump a fist and smile at Fisher and my coaching team.

During the short break between plays, I wipe at the sweat dripping down my face and pull as much air into and out of my lungs as I can, then scan my box until I find Sabrina and Maddie, who are cheering.

When the ball boy has sent two balls my way, I survey them and choose the one with the least amount of wear. The fluffier a ball is, the less predictable.

Bouncing on the balls of my feet, I close my eyes.

Focus. Breathe in. Breathe out. Anticipate his moves.

I bounce the tennis ball off the court six times, like always, before I toss it into the air and hit it. My record serve speed is over one hundred and forty miles per hour. Since my absence I’ve only been averaging around one hundred and ten. Eventually, I’ll get back to where I was. I spent most of my life working up to it in the first place, so it’ll take time.

As Mancini returns the serve, I’m zeroed in on the game and nothing else.

It’s turning into a long rally, and my breath is starting to get away from me. When the ball returns to me again, I surge forward, going for a drop shot. Aldo sprints for it, but he doesn’t make it in time, and I get the point.

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