Page 85 of Off Court Fix

I swipe the racket along the baseline, clearing lone balls from my path. “Letting you deal with it.”

“Crosby—”

“Go on. It’s your court. You’re hitting serves because that’sallyou control in this game. And you know what? Maybe it feels like that’s the only thing you control in your entire life. But that’s because you let it be that way.”

Maxine takes hurried, frustrated steps toward the net. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I do,” I say, not moving from my ready-to-receive position. “Don’t be a coward, Max. Not here. Not on your court.”

Her chest heaves with angered, heavy breaths, and even with the distance, I hear Maxine whisper, “fucking asshole,” under her breath as she moves to her baseline.

“Go on. You can do it. Put that ball where you want it to—”

I jump because, with the spin Max has thrown on her serve, she nearly nails me in the nuts.

Gritting my teeth, I yell, “Again.”

And Maxine wastes no time. She reaches for another ball from the basket, tosses it high, and swings.

It’s an ace.

I can’t say the same for her next serve or the one that comes after. I can’t tell you where on the court they land at all. Because I can’t take my eyes off her—body arching, contouring, jumping, the force of her arm as she brings her racket down toward the ground. I realize I’m lost in all of her, almost, when I notice the only sound I hear over the pulse in my ears is her heavy, powerful breathing from the opposite end of the court.

It’s the loudest, most potent quiet I’ve ever heard.

And though I’m drawn to her like a magnet, Maxine doesn’t seem to see me approaching, her focus only on the pattern of lifting, jumping, hitting, repeat.

“Maxine.” I try a gentle tone at first because I’m starting to realize what I just walked in on—a ticking bomb. But when she doesn’t acknowledge my approach, I say her name with a little more force.

“Can you just go?” she speaks quickly, her question sandwiched between a serve and a reset. When she goes for one of the few remaining balls from the basket, I grab her arm. “Crosby,” she growls. “Not now, okay?”

Her eyes—rounded and flickering—beg me. They beg me to release her arm, to return to my car and drive away, leaving her alone to continue to combust until parts of her are littered among the balls she’s beaten into the clay court.

“What happened?”

Maxine’s gaze falls to the ground, and she tries to tug herself free again, but my hold tightens just enough to encourage her answer.

“I’m not playing in Cincinnati.”

My brow furrows. “Says who?” Her silence is the only answer I need. “Oh, fuck what your father thinks. You want to play in that tournament?Play.” And now her silence angers me. “What is it with you? Why are you so afraid of him?”

“I’m not afraid of him.”

“Oh? Then what is it?” I wait a beat before pulling her closer by the arm. “You know, it’s getting old, Maxine. This whole when he asks you to jump, you sayYes, Daddywithout even asking how high. You want to please someone who doesn’t give a damn aboutyou. I... you know I care about you, and I don’t want to hurt you, but you’ve got to wipe those stars from your eyes when you look at your father and take a long look, because the only thing he sees when he stares back at you are dollar signs.”

Her eyes burn with flames. “My family doesn’t concern you, Crosby.”

“Yeah, well, screw your toxic father.”

She’s clearly taken aback by my words as the flame in Maxine’s eyes simmers. I don’t want to take any of my harshness back. I want to push Maxine to her breaking point so she takes herself back, just as she did that night in my backyard. She’s slipping, and I’ll taunt her right back into place.

“Stop being a doormat.”

That seems to have done it because Maxine cocks her head back and throws her eyebrows up, ready to fight. “A doormat?”

“Yes,” I argue. “A doormat. Your dad wants you to prance around in a bikini during a photoshoot for a sports magazine? You do it. You let him walk all over you. You don’t fight, you don’t argue, you put up with it.”

Maxine shakes her head, and I’m reminded of how strong she is because she manages to rip her arm free of my grasp. “Fuck you, Crosby.”

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