Page 113 of Off Court Fix

The photo Maxine took the day we visited Greenport, a clear sober moment between my mother and me on the carousel, captures my attention from its place on the fridge.

I needed to take care of my mother when she got sick, and the only place Medicaid would pay for her to go was filthy and understaffed. The solution? More money.

Maxine downs the rest of her water and rinses her glass in the sink before placing it in the drying rack. The problem here was just having Maxine. Now it’s a matter of having herandprotecting her all at once.

She leaves the kitchen and goes into the bedroom, still wearing my black jacket over her white gown. A moment later, she reappears in the open doorway without my jacket, feet absent of the Converse she wore.

“What if he wants something else?” she asks, tugging her bottom lip between her teeth.

Finally, the rush and adrenaline of the night have cleared, and the worry—the reality of the situation—has set in.

Maxine’s biggest problem now threatening her career is no longer me.

The solution here isn’t money, and Maxine knows it. Because when you give a mouse a cookie, he’ll want the baker at hand to make them at his beck and call.

I know in my bones what’s coming—Hunter will want to work her.

I close the space between us and lean one hand against the door frame, tilting Maxine’s face to mine with my other. I untangle her lip from her teeth with my thumb.

“I won’t let him hurt you in any way,” I promise. “I’d give myself up before he even gets close.”

Shaking her head against my hand, Maxine objects. “Don’t be stupid. You could go to prison, Crosby.” She sighs heavily. “It’s late. It’s been a long night, and we should get up early tomorrow so you can see your mom.”

I suddenly feel the weight of the exhaustion in my body as the tension begins to leave it, coaxed out by Maxine as she holds my wrist. She lowers my hand from her face and pulls me into the bedroom, disappearing into the bathroom, where I hear the sink run after she shuts the door.

After ditching my clothes on a club chair in the corner of the room, I pull back the covers and slide into bed, welcoming the cool sheets against my warm body. Minutes later, the bathroom door opens and Maxine steps through in her underwear, heading straight for my dresser to open the right drawer to find one of my t-shirts. I watch her naked body disappear as she pulls it over her head.

She tucks her dark, straight hair behind her ear and stares at me. There’s something nearly angelic about her in this moment, innocent and naive. It’s a stark difference from the woman in the gown at the podium who bared her soul and welcomed everyone to join.

I frown as she turns off the light, realizing given all the commotion with Hunter, I didn’t even get to tell her how proud I am.

Snagging Maxine by the waist when she slides into bed, I tug her toward the middle, toward me. I wonder for a moment if she’ll fight it, push against my hold. But Maxine takes a deep breath and winds her smooth legs with mine, and we’re a tangle of limbs as tight and durable as English ivy.

“What you did tonight,” I whisper in her ear, “was remarkable.”

Maxine presses her head into my chest. “I made a mistake.”

I shake my head, sneaking my hand beneath the t-shirt to find the warm skin of her back and let my fingers dance in the valley of her spine. “I’m going to fix it.”

* * *

I keep staring at my phone sitting on top of my desk, waiting for it to ring.

It could be Rolling Meadows telling me it’s time and that I should come.

It could be someone from the Tennis Integrity Unit alerting me of an investigation.

I know it isn’t Maxine because I can hear her from outside my window hitting on the hard court. Taking it easy is a lot easier said than done for her, clearly. But in between solid balls leaving racket strings, I hear Jack’s voice break through, calling for a break, telling her to let it go. But I know, after seeing what she tried to pull off on stage, if you tell Maxine to let go of something, she’ll climb onto it with the grip of a spider monkey.

The last option is Hunter—but when he appears in my doorway, that one is off the table.

I wanted to take a little more time before I reached out, trying to figure out the best way to go about this, to get Maxine out of his sight and off his mind, but every idea falls flat. In the few days that have passed since the gala, I’ve only been keeping Maxine inmysight and as much in reach as possible just in case he might approach her first.

“Shut the door,” I tell him, sitting back in my chair.

Hunter does so, but instead of sitting down across from me, he walks over to the window facing the court Maxine practices on. I stand immediately and move over, leaning my shoulder against the glass to block as much of his view as possible. But Hunter still stares with a purposeful, strong gaze.

“What do you want?”

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