Page 5 of The Heiress
Surprisingly, no one mocked me for using the 2.5 pound dumbbells. Because, let’s face it, I had been expecting it. The Covington Chargers were constantly showing off, loading up big weights, bragging about their one rep max, but if anything, Cullen Mercer, the football captain seemed to be protective of me. If he saw anyone encroaching in my territory, he’d make them back off. No drama, just a subtle nod letting me know he respected my space.
Catching up with Taylor Frank every morning became my salvation as well. Taylor had a tennis scholarship to Covington Prep and was the best female player the school had ever had. She loved to talk tennis and because Max, my best friend had been avoiding the topic, I thrived on everything she said.
You see, Max thought that because I was injured and could no longer play, that I’d want nothing to do with the sport. He couldn’t have been more wrong. I loved tennis, I craved it, and yeah, I hated not being able to play, but the next best thing was watching it, talking about it.
And the day Taylor and Max came to my house and I stood on the court, the walking frame at arm’s length, with Taylor hitting balls to within a foot of me so I didn’t have to move, that was the day hope returned. My eyes could still track a ball, my arm worked—in time my broken pelvis would heal properly and I’d play again. It would require time and patience and a lot of physical therapy and strengthening exercises, but I’d do it. I’d do whatever it took to get my life back.
Because tennis was my life.
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Iset up the tripodat the back of the court ready to film Taylor and Max hitting. Taylor was coached by Max’s brother at the Country Club, but she was always looking for ways to improve her game. I volunteered to video a training session, not only for her benefit, but I required an action shot for my photography class, so I was killing two birds with one stone, so to speak.
I could see that Max was a good hitting partner for Taylor. He hit hard, flat balls which Taylor had to scramble for. In my analysis, she needed to improve her footwork, bring in some new drills for fast feet and agility.
“Okay, Coach Carter,” she mocked, “you can train me, help me get faster.”
“You should go to the track with Max,” I said, referring to Max’s early morning running sessions.
“No, I don’t want him to train me,” Taylor said, “I don’t mind trainingwithhim, but I don’t want him telling me what to do.”
“Fair enough,” I said. Taylor and Max’s romance was a new thing, cemented by their Homecoming Dance date and followed up by their victory at the Country Club Fall Tournament. Taylor and Max had played together in mixed doubles and overpowered the opposition. It seemed they were a match on and off the court.
I sat down on the bench while they continued to hit, fatigue starting to set in. Always did at the end of the day. And that’s when frustration kicked in, feeling useless and needing to call my mother to pick me up like I was a third grader.
“You okay?” Max came over to me when a ball he hit went wide, making Taylor run across to the other court to retrieve it.
“Yeah, I’m good,” I said. “I can take you home if you want.” Max was always accomodating, willing to do anything for me.
“Nah,” I said, “Mom’s on her way.” Though I hadn’t texted her yet. But I would, shortly. My way of thinking was kind of twisted. Sure, Max could drop me home, my house wasn’t far out of his way, but I needed Mom to pick me up, kind of like a bizarre punishment, a kind of payback. She’d incurred bruised ribs and wrenched her knee in the accident, but she’d healed now. My recovery was going to take so much longer. She needed to front up to that, so no matter how inconvenient it was, I’d make her pick me up.
“Had enough, have we?” Taylor came bouncing over, teasing Max with a nudge to his shoulder.
“It is getting late,” he said, though I presumed he said that for my benefit, so it didn’t look like I was weak and wimping out.
“Oh.” Taylor’s face dropped. “I thought you might take me over to the track, do a few sprints,” she said, looking straight at me.
“Maybe tomorrow, Phoe’s mom is on her—” Max started to say, but I butted in.
“I’ve got time,” I said, glaring at my friend. “We can go over.”
“Are you sure? That’d be great,” Taylor said.
That was the thing about Taylor—her work ethic was boundless. Bianca Holbrun, who was the number two player for the Covington Maroons, could have been an excellent player, but she didn’t have the same drive or focus as Taylor. Natural talent only got you so far in this sport—success had to be earned and hard work was the only pathway.
Taylor collected her tennis bag while I packed up the tripod and camera.
Max came and took over. “Phoenix, you don’t have to do this. I can do some sprints with Tay tomorrow morning.”
I shook my head. “It’s okay. It’s good for her to do it when she’s tired. Push through the fatigue.”
“It’s not her I’m worried about,” Max said, rolling his eyes in disapproval. “Taylor will work till she drops.” He huffed out a laugh. “She’d refuse to drop. You on the other hand...”
“Max, I’m not a freaking baby,” I lashed out through gritted teeth, not wanting Taylor to hear, but giving him the message that I didn’t need to be mollycoddled.
“Sorry.” Max placated, immediately showing his palms in defense and backing away. “I didn’t mean to—”
I shoved my camera into its bag. Yep, another thing to frustrate me. People treating me with kid gloves, like I was incompetent, incapable, didn’t know my own limits. And to make it even worse, Max was doing it out of a good place, from his heart, and that made my attitude suck even more.
