Page 126 of Off Court Fix

We step back from the candles, but Dad moves to return to the pew instead of following me out the side aisle to the door. “I’m going to sit with my thoughts for a little bit. Then I’ll tackle this.” He holds up the phone before sliding it into his pocket.

“Okay,” I say. “I... I’ll see you tomorrow, yeah?”

“Wouldn’t miss it.” I give a small wave and turn away, but Dad stops me. “Max, tomorrow? Make sure you don’t hit that forehand off your front foot. You got lucky with that in Cincinnati.”

I didn’t even know he was watching so I smile. “Alright.”

* * *

“I’ve been calling you,” Crosby says when I enter the suite.

“Oh. You know what? I forgot my phone at the house.”

I should feel bad about this lie, but I don’t, and I know the SIM card I removed from my mobile that now lives in my wallet will prevent my phone from ringing in my father’s pocket. This is a small lie for the greater good. If I had told Crosby that it would be best to go to my father for help, he would’ve refused.

“Smart. Where did you go?”

“Just for a walk.” I try to make the lie quick. “How was your nap? Judging from your hair, it was pretty good.”

I smile at the unruly way Crosby’s thick brown hair sticks up. It makes him look so much younger.

Crosby is making a failed attempt at smoothing down his tresses when I notice a vase on the coffee table. “Where did those come from?” I ask about the lilies.

“Hunter,” Crosby groans.

“Figures. I hate lilies.” I reach for the envelope and pull out the card.

Best of luck reclaiming your court.

H. Wembly.

“Ugh.” I toss the note into the bin, and if the vase fit, I’d throw it in there too, but decide to bring it down to the concierge later instead. I lift the strap of my purse over my shoulder. “Hungry?” I ask, offering him a waxy bag with a warm pretzel inside.

Crosby shakes his head, and I put the bag down beside the lilies with a sigh. I thought the tension wouldn’t follow us from the Hamptons to the city, to the hotel where I plan to camp out during the Open to avoid the traffic flooding the highway from Long Island to Queens. But it has. But the tension isn’t between me and Crosby, just like the problem has never been me and Crosby. It’s everything around us that isn’t okay.

Or at least that’s what Crosby thinks. He thinks tomorrow is end game.

But it won’t be, at least, not for us.

He beckons me with his hand as he sits on the arm of the couch, and I move to him, standing between his open legs. I hate I’m letting him dream up worst-case scenarios in his mind—of possibly being arrested, arraigned, and jailed. But then I remember that’s the worst-case scenario for me, not him. For him, the worst-case scenario is me going through with Hunter’s plan and being caught, being banned from the court for the rest of my life. But little does he know that my happily for now—on the court—is going to happen. And my happily ever after—with Crosby—is going to happen too.

“Did you hear anything about your mom?”

Crosby nods. “The call woke me up. She’s alright. One of the aids happens to be a pretty great pianist. They’re running your keyboard into the ground. She’s been smiling apparently.”

I breathe a sigh of relief. There has been little change in Judy’s overall health, despite being relatively bedbound, and I feel guilty I took Crosby a hundred miles away from her at such a critical time.

“Did you think about what you’ll say to Samantha?” Crosby asks, and the way he looks up at me pulls on my heartstrings.

“What I’ll say that will end you? No.”

“Maxine—”

“I haven’t exactly been trigger-happy to do that.” I sigh when he frowns. “But don’t worry. The next time I talk with her, it will be from the heart.”

Crosby nods before he begins tracing small circles along the tops of my hands in a way that makes me uneasy before he raises one and leaves a trail of kisses across my knuckles. “Come on. We’re going to be late.”

He stands, and I shake my head. “Late for what?” I ask, watching him disappear into the closet before he returns with a hat—not mine, but one of his—and tosses it at me.

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