Page 37 of Double Fault

I’m on a high as the game continues.

Fuck, I missed this.

I don’t regret stepping away to spend what little time I had left with Annie, but tennis is a huge part of who I am. Without it, I’m not whole.

When Aldo gets the break point, I stalk to my chair. I whip out my water, annoyed. Realistically, I can’t win every point, but when I’m on the court, logic tends to flee me. Panting, I wipe the sweat off my face with a towel. Then I take a bite of banana.

When the two-minute break is up, it’s Aldo’s turn to serve.

I twist my racket in my hands, swaying from side to side in anticipation.

He serves, and the umpire hollers, “Fault!”

Mancini shakes his head and huffs. He bounces the ball off the court and tosses it.

I’m in my ready position when the ump calls, “Double Fault!”

A thrill zings through me. Point for me. I’ll take it.

Three hours and twenty-one minutes later, I have my first win of the season.

At the net, Aldo and I shake hands.

“Good game,” I tell him, my breaths still coming quickly.

He nods, and in a thickly accented tone, says, “It’s good to see you playing again.”

He shakes hands with the umpire, and I do the same. Then I turn to the crowd and make my way to the end of the court, waving as I go. When I’m standing below Sabrina and Maddie, I point up at my daughter.

Waving like a maniac, she yells, “Good job, Daddy!”

Her praise might mean more to me than the win.

After I’ve packed up my gear, I meet my team and stretch my muscles. Early on in my career, I spent a season suffering from terrible cramps. Never again do I want to experience that kind of agony, so I take my time stretching. As a professional athlete, I have to treat my body like a tool, one that must be crafted and maintained. That means taking care of it in any way it needs, including stretching.

Fisher crosses his arms, watching my form.

“Tennis Network wants to interview you.”

Where once a thrill would have zapped through me, weariness is all I feel. Once upon a time, I thrived on the attention. Today, the last thing I want is to do a postgame interview. Not that I argue. I understand the interest.

“Okay.”

Though I’d much prefer hitting the shower and heading back to the hotel, I make my way to the interview table. During commercial break, they instruct me to sit and hand me a microphone. I’ve been interviewed by the network many times before. Shawn York and Hailey Keegan both retired from tennis, so they’re knowledgeable about the sport.

“And we’re live in three, two, one?—”

Immediately, I regret agreeing to this. My head swims, my thoughts muddled and my vision blurry. Fuck, is this what a panic attack feels like?

Discreetly, I inhale deeply and let the breath out slowly.

Get through this. It’s only a few minutes.

“Hello, tennis fans.” Shawn swings his right arm out. “Welcome back to the Australian Open. Noah Baker is here with us now. He’s just won his first match of the tennis season—his first professional game in nearly two years. Noah, tell us how it felt to be back out there.”

“It felt great,” I say, relying on the media training I had years ago. “Aldo was no easy opponent. I’m looking forward to seeing what’s to come at this open.”

My stomach turns over itself.Did that answer sound okay?

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