Page 118 of Off Court Fix

The sobs begin to pour from my chest, and I still try to push Crosby away, but it’s easy to fight my lame effort when my heart has no strength to put into it.

“I need you to promise me something though.” Crosby nuzzles his face into my still-wet, matted hair. “Promise me to play your heart out. And if the time comes for my mom and I’m not there—”

I shake my head furiously, begging him to keep his words.

“If I can’t be by her side, please stay with her. I don’t want her to be alone.”

I’m no stranger to collapsing—and I do, right against Crosby’s arms. And he does what I need. Instead of holding me up, he goes right down with me, and we sink to the floor of my bedroom. On the floor, we are equals—equally heartbroken, equally at a loss when we thought the win was in sight.

But what feels like an hour later, after both of our tears have dried, Crosby doesn’t rise and give me a hand up from the carpet.

I stand first, and he follows, and I want Crosby to let me take the lead on this one. Because even though his plan protects my career and reputation, it steals my heart. And I’ll be damned if I let one more person take something from me.

Clearing my throat, I ask, “What do you call it? In gambling, when you place all your bets on one player or match to win it all? Like Mason did.”

Crosby takes my hand. “A sure thing.”

I nod, looking at our hands together. “That’s right.” Squeezing his fingers in mine, I speak with quiet certainty, “You and me, Crosby. We’re a sure thing. Anyone would be a fool to bet against the two of us.”

I’ll fight my hardest in this match to protect both my career and my heart. Hunter will still lose. But this battle begins off court.

* * *

It’s easy to find Hunter’s number in the club’s membership directory, and it only takes six minutes after leaving a message with his housekeeper for him to call me back and agree to meet in person.

I’m parked but grip the hard steering wheel of Mason’s Bronco tightly. I guess it shouldn’t surprise me that it runs after all these years. After drugs, all it seemed he cared about was this car.

Glancing at the passenger seat, I sigh at my racket bag. I’d normally toss it into the back seat, but the thought of twenty-five thousand dollars rolling around back there had me uneasy. I pull down the zipper of one side of the bag, shifting my belongings, a few visors, protein bars, sunscreen, a small bag with hair ties, my EpiPen, and lip balm to battle the sun’s vengeance on my mouth. I stare at the envelope with demise and so much sadness thinking about our last time talking, the argument where again it became about money. My stomach clenches as I look between the cash and the bar in front of me, where Mason came as a last resort, I like to think, to earn money to pay me back. But I know if he collected this cash, it would’ve gone to drugs instead.

But broke or not, he found a way to score some anyway, because it wasn’t long after that day in Grandma’s kitchen that he died.

“Oh, good. You found the place.”

It would be easy to find any place where Hunter’s obnoxious yellow Lamborghini is parked—you could see it from the moon. I shake my head as I stare at it through the open window, fighting the urge to key the wordasswipeinto the driver’s side door.

Hunter stops when he gets to the front of the Bronco and tips his head to the side, waiting for me.

I push the red button in the voice note memo app and leave the phone on my seat. I get out of Mason’s Bronco—which I leave running because I don’t want to risk it not starting up after we’re done—but keep my distance from Hunter, who sips his drink, something unarguably mixed with cranberry juice, and I’m not surprised. This guy is a total loser.

“Haven’t seen that one in a while. She’s a real beaut. Bet she doesn’t have air conditioning, though. It’s warm tonight.”

I look back at the Bronco with the top down. “I like the fresh air. Helps me keep my head clear. I’ve got a big tournament coming up in a few days, maybe you’ve forgotten.”

Hunter chuckles. “Oh, I haven’t forgotten. And I expect you heard about my offer.”

I nod my head, giving a silent answer.

Hunter smiles. “I expected as much.”

I raise an eyebrow. “You did?”

“I’d like to think you aren’t stupid enough to throw all your hard work down the drain.”

“Isn’t that what I’m doing?”

Hunter shakes his head. “No.”

I fold my arms across my chest. “You’re asking me to throw a match. I’m playing Fradovic. I beat her in Indian Wells.”

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