Page 47 of Double Fault

Despite the way his anxiety is rising, I suddenly find it easier to center myself. When he serves this time, I return it easily, and he’s too slow to volley it back.

I throw my fist in the air in victory.

One more set to go.

Exhaustion threatens to take over. Since the tour began, my endurance has increased, but I’m not back to 100 percent yet. The break is all too short, and I’m still dripping with sweat when our third match begins.

Despite the weariness in my bones, I give it everything I’ve got. It comes down to the wire, and for a short while, Konstantinos takes the lead and I’m not sure I’ll be able to close the distance.

By some miracle, something clicks in my brain, some part of me that refuses to lose, and I’m hit with a surge of energy.

When I make the game-winning point, I drop to my knees.

I did it. I did it. I fucking did it.

I still have to get through the final, but I’m fucking ecstatic that I even made it here.

On my feet again, I shake Aetos’s hand, then the umpire’s. I wave to the crowd and gather my gear.

While I wait for the interview I’ve agreed to, I search the stands for my girl.

When I find her, she’s waving wildly. Beside her, Sabrina claps and mouths, “Good job.”

Maddie shouts too. Over the crowd, I can’t make out her words, but I think it has something to do with a sticker.

Head tipped back and sweat trickling down my back, I take a sip of water. A shower is going to feel heavenly, but for now, I settle for dumping half my bottle of water over my head. It’s fucking hot. Humid too. With my hat back on, backward this time, I wait.

“I’m Layla Strong.” The interviewer, a young woman, holds her hand out when she approaches. “It’s nice to meet you, Noah.”

“Nice to meet you.”

She adjusts her stance so the camera catches us both and plasters on a big smile. “I’m live on court with Noah Baker, who’s just cinched a win that’ll send him to the final here in Delray Beach. Tell us, Noah, how are you feeling about it?”

I rub a hand over my chin. I should have shaved days ago. At this point, my facial hair looks more like a beard than scruff.

“I feel great. Konstantinos is a phenomenal player. I think we put on quite the show today.” The crowd cheers at that. “I’m fortunate to have made it this far and I’m looking forward to playing in the final.”

“Any guesses as to who you’ll be up against?” she asks, well-groomed brows arched. “Elias Johnson, maybe? Or Diego Pérez?”

With a chuckle, I shake my head. “I’m not touching that one. Both are incredible players, and I’ll be ready to meet either of them on the court.”

“We’re looking forward to seeing you play on Sunday. Thanks for taking the time to chat with us.”

I nod and take a step back. “Thank you.”

When the camera pans solely to Layla, I jog over to my gear, then wave to the fans once more and head down the tunnel.

After a shower, I’m feeling almost normal again, but I’m ready to see Maddie.

“Great game,” Fisher says, catching me when I leave the locker room. “How are you feeling?”

“Like I’m getting too old for this.”

When I was starting out, the guys in their late twenties were already talking about retirement. Anymore, some stick with it into their early forties.

“You looked good out there.”

“Thanks.”

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