Page 96 of Risky Match
I have no choice but to play today, now that all the parents are here to watch. There’s no way I would disappoint my mom and dad. But it doesn’t mean I have to play well.
And it doesn’t mean I have to speak to Bri. To escape riding with her, Josh and I left the house four hours prior to the match. We spent the first two hours eating breakfast and lounging in the locker room.
I want to skip my normal gym warmup, but Josh is too bored to sit around for another two hours, so I give in. At least that fills the time and distracts my thoughts until it’s time to play.
With fifteen minutes until the start of our match, I walk down the tunnel toward the court. Bri is standing at the end, looking around anxiously. When she sees me, relief washes over her face, but she doesn’t have a smile for me today. Oddly, that bothers me. Of course, it’s not as if I’m smiling at her either.
When I stop beside her, she says, “Thanks for being here.”
I nod, refusing to look at her. Being so near to her is confusing. My anger is still smoldering, but part of me wishes there were an explanation that would wipe away the pain of her betrayal.
In a soft, hopeful voice, she whispers, “I know you’re not speaking to me. Can we at least talk about strategy during the match?”
“Nope.”
“I’m really sorry. I never meant to hurt you.” Her voice is full of pain and resignation.
But shedidhurt me. She destroyed my heart and my trust. I won’t let her do it again.
Our names are called. Without thinking, I start reaching for her hand but pull back before making contact.
We walk onto the court to cheers and give quick waves to the crowd. But the joy I’ve felt the other times we’ve played is missing.
At least this will be over soon. I’ll never have to spend another moment with Bri. That should be comforting, but it’s not.
The match starts, and I let a few balls pass by that I could easily have returned. Bri’s face crumples in disappointment.
She’s slamming back every ball she can reach. I’m not sure if she’s trying to win this match single-handedly or if she’s taking her anger out on the balls. She’s even running to my side of the court, attempting to return balls I should be hitting. She’s playing nothing short of great.
We still lose the first set.
During the break, Bri says, “I know you want to hurt me, but be careful. To me, it looks like you’re hurting yourself instead. No one expected me to win. Granted, losing will be hard on me, but we’ve done better than I’d ever hoped. I’ll be okay. Ask yourself this question: If you purposefully lose this match, willyoube okay?”
She’s right. I’m a competitor. I thrive on winning. And I’m starting to wonder whether Bri was as much a victim as I was. Hell, my heart hurt listening to her sob last night. That wasn’t an act.
In the first game of the second set, I start playing to win. I even exchange a few words with Bri. It works. We start talking even more in the next games and win the second set. A tiebreaker will determine the champions.
Before it begins, I tell Bri, “Let’s win this. After all we’ve been through, we at least deserve to raise this trophy.”
She gives me a quick smile, albeit a sad one.
We play our hearts out. It’s close, but the final shot catches the line. We’ve won.
Instead of hugging her, I say, “Good job.”
“Thank you. I know it’s not what you wanted. But you finally won Wimbledon, even if it is a doubles trophy.”
She’s right. Unfortunately, I lost the prize I’d decided was more important.
After the awardsceremony on the court, we’re invited to meet Princes Stephen and Adrian inside the All England Club. Bri’s family and mine are invited as well. This will mean the world to my parents.
We take photos, chat with the royals, and accept congratulations. Now it’s time for the famous pose on the balcony where crowds of tennis lovers stand below us, cheering. A chill runs down my spine. I’ve been waiting a lifetime for this moment.
As we turn to walk back into the club, Prince Adrian asks to speak with me privately. I can’t imagine what he wants, but I can’t turn down the invitation.
I follow him to the other side of the building, and we step onto a small, hidden balcony, away from the crowds. One of his guards stands watch at the door. Prince Adrian points toward the glass wall with a beautiful view of the ivy-covered buildings and bright-colored flowers adorning the paths.
The view reminds me of the first time Bri and I shared a moment alone on a Wimbledon patio two years ago. She turned a sad evening into a perfect one for me.
