Page 100 of One Last Shot

“Listen,” Tom says as he picks up his racket that’s resting against the wall. “Look into Tony’s business practices, or CeCe’s social connections. Find something, anything, that makes them seem sketchy.”

We nod to the players leaving the court and head through the glass door.

“How am I supposed to do that?” I ask him, thankful for the privacy of the enclosed court. It’s not soundproof though, so we keep our voices low.

“I know a woman. She’s a private investigator. I’ll put you in touch with her. If anyone can find dirt on them, it’s her.”

“Okay,” I say uncertainly. “I’ll give that a shot. In the meantime, do I need to talk to my agent? With my contract ending, he’s actively negotiating with New York and also looking at other opportunities. I’m eyeing LA.”

Tom’s eyebrows dip. “Why LA?”

He knows why, but he’s going to make me say it. “Because Petra’s in LA. That might be the answer to these problems, actually. If we can make this marriage work, even if it’s in LA, it takes away their main argument against my guardianship. And then we can pursue adoption too.”

Tom clears his throat as he bounces the small ball against the floor, then catches it in his hand a few times in rapid succession. “Petra’s on board with this plan?”

“I haven’t told her yet. I need to make sure LA is a possibility before I bring it up.”

“Or,” Tom hedges, as he walks to the service box on his preferred side of the court, “maybe you should talk to her before making a potentially life-altering decision?”

“I’m not going to make any decisions without talking to her. But I don’t see the point in bringing up the possibility until I know it’s actually a possibility.”

“I won’t pretend to know Petra well,” he says, bouncing the ball again several times to warm it up, “but I get the sense that she likes to have some level of control over things. She doesn’t strike me as the type who would like to be surprised.”

A laugh bursts out of me as I gaze down at my racket. “No, she doesn’t like surprises.”

“So don’t surprise her then,” he warns. “Don’t come to her with this big plan for your future that you’ve concocted without her. Let her be a part of the decision-making from the outset.”

“Avery has made you both older and wiser, hasn’t she?”

“Something like that.” His voice is gruff, like it always is when he talks about her. It’s been fun watching my ruthlessly emotionless squash opponent fall in love.

Tom hits the ball against the front wall gently, and we volley it back and forth for a few minutes to warm up. “I’ll talk to her when she’s back for our end of season party,” I tell him.

“This weekend?”

I grunt out a “yes” and I dig down deep to return the ball he just hit.

“How are you having your end of season party before your season is over?”

“Scheduled it before we knew we’d make the finals.” We’ve just won Game 7 of the semifinals, so now we’re headed to the Stanley Cup finals in just over a week.

“I’m sure Avery’d like to see Petra while she’s here,” Tom says.

“Tell Avery to get in touch with her, then,” I tell him, wondering if Petra hasn’t told Avery she’ll be back. I suspect that she’s been too busy to do a good job keeping in touch. “I’m sure Petra would love to see her.”

“All right,” Tom says, catching the ball in his hand and setting himself up for a real serve. “Let’s play.”

* * *

I towel-dry my hair and then wrap the damp towel around my waist. I normally shower at the club after we play, but since it was lunch hour, there were too many professionals like Tom waiting for the showers, and I decided it was easier to just come home.

I make my way through my room and into the hall, heading toward the kitchen. I’m so hungry after that workout that my stomach is making all kinds of sounds.

As I cross through the entryway toward the dining room, the elevator dings. That’s weird. Only two people have a key card that allows them access here, and one of them is in LA. I turn, expecting to find Raina and preparing to apologize for walking around in my towel. But instead, the doors open and Petra is standing there with her suitcase.

I know my jaw drops open at the sight of her. Hers does the same.

“You’re here.” I can’t quite contain my smile.

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