Page 92 of Pickled
So far, I’d been able to avoid the DHOAB, as I’d nicknamed them. Now, Izzy, Kensie, and a new one that I didn’t recognize sat in the first row. All three of them looked like they’d stolen dresses from the Princess of Wales’ closet. They surveyed the crowd, pausing every once in a while to titter amongst themselves.
“Ignore the mean girls,” Gideon said. “Focus on what we’re going to do next.”
“Easy for you to say. You’re not in the Desperate Housewives of Azalea Bay crosshairs. They’re probably calculating how much I spent on my outfit right now.”
He stepped close enough that I caught the scent of his cologne. “You look perfect.”
Heat pooled in my stomach, and I stopped myself from resting my head against his chest.Not the time, Piper.Instead, I stood on my toes and whispered in his ear, “I’ve got a treat for you after we win.”
His cheeks flushed. “Then let’s get this over with.” He patted his paddle on his hand.
The championship match was against Sloane, the nicest of the mean girls, and Preston, the club champion. Sloane strutted onto the court like she was walking a runway, her perfect ponytail swaying with each step. Preston followed, his movements measured. The man was focused.
Gideon’s hand brushed mine as we took our positions. It was just a whisper of contact, but it seemed like his way of saying, “We’ve got this.”
The match started ugly. Sloane hit harder than anyone I’d faced, and Preston moved like he had something to prove. Beating him the other day must have shaken up his ego. They jumped out to a 7-2 lead, and the crowd’s energy shifted. Doubt crept into my game, bringing back the shaky hands. My shots were going wild. I was setting them up for slammers, and they weren’t holding back when they took them. I’d had to duck and deke a few times to the balls rocketing at us.
“Time-out,” Gideon called.
He pulled me to the sideline, his hands settling on my shoulders. “Talk to me. Where’s your head?”
“The money. The job. Everything.” The words tumbled out in a rush. “What if we’re not good enough? What if—”
He kissed me. Right there, in front of the entire Azalea Bay membership. It was quick and hard and interrupted my negative thought spiral in the best way possible.
“Better?” he asked when he pulled away.
“Much.” And I meant it.
We battled back point by point, the crowd rising to their feet as the momentum shifted. When I ripped a backhand winner downthe midline to tie it at nine-all, Margie’s cheer could probably be heard in Tampa. Sloane and Preston shot each other disgusted looks. It wasn’t called the divorce line for nothing, and these two weren’t even married.
“Ten-nine-one,” I called out. It was my serve. We were one point from winning. One point from twenty-five thousand dollars. One point from everything changing.
The rally that followed was textbook. Every shot we made was perfect, our movements synchronized. We moved around the court like an invisible force held us the perfect distance apart, like two north magnets.
Then I heard it.
“Ball!”
The shout came from the adjacent court. The consolation match was happening at the same time. A yellow ball rolled across our court, right into my path, as I rushed forward for a drop shot.
Time didn’t slow down. There was no time to react or change course. My foot hit the ball. My ankle twisted. Control vanished, and the world tilted sideways as I crashed to the court, my left wrist taking the full impact. The crack was loud.
Pain exploded up my arm. Black spots danced across my vision. When I looked down, my wrist was bent at an angle that made me want to barf.
“Piper!” Gideon’s voice seemed to come from underwater. Then he was beside me, his hands gentle but urgent as he assessed the damage. “Don’t move, Pipes. Just breathe.”
The tournament stopped. Players abandoned their matches and rushed over. Through the haze of pain, I caught a glimpse ofChelsea standing on the adjacent court. I couldn’t be sure, but I thought I saw satisfaction flicker in her eyes.
“Oh, honey.” Judy’s voice broke through the chaos as she pushed through the crowd, Keith right behind her. They were wearing match floral prints, his in a button-down, hers in a full-length dress, their faces pale with worry. “Don’t you worry about a thing. We’re here.”
“Clear the way for the medic,” someone called.
“I can get up.” I grimaced.
Familiar firm hands planted on my shoulder stopped me from struggling to my feet. “I’ll get Olive,” Gideon promised, his voice in my ear.
Everyone stepped aside as the paramedics dropped beside me. All I could think about was the scoreboard frozen at 10-9-1. One point. We’d been one point away from everything.
