Page 24 of Courting Trouble
Cassie shrugged, casual. ‘I was nearby. Just thought maybe you could use a bit of support.’
Delilah couldn’t speak. She swallowed the emotion down. She nodded crazily for want of words.
‘Ready when you are,’ the stunt co-ordinator said, stepping back.
The director clapped for quiet. The cameras rolled.
Delilah fixed her eyes on the tennis ball that a production assistant was about to lob in her direction. The call came, action, and she moved without hesitation, meeting the ball. Then she braced and rolled, just as she’d drilled with Cassie—Cassie, who actually came!— the impact carrying her across the mat they’d disguised as court.
The first take worked. Not perfect, but OK.
The stunt co-ordinator gave her a quick nod. ‘Good. Reset, and this time keep your head down a beat longer.’
Delilah reset, heart pounding, Cassie’s presence steady at the corner of her vision. On the second attempt, she nailed the timing of the dive, the roll smoother, more convincing.
By the third, the director was grinning. ‘Perfect. That’s the one. Wrap it there. It’s gonna look great.’
The crew scattered, cameras wheeled away. Delilah lay there on the mat for a moment, chest heaving, sweat clinging to her skin. Relief crashed through her, wild and overwhelming. She wanted to laugh, maybe even cry.
And at the edge of the set, arms folded, Cassie was still there.
Twenty-Six
Cassie had booked the appointment of her own accord. No one had pushed her, no one had insisted. She’d rung up, spoken to the receptionist, and lucked into a cancelled slot the very next day. No duress, no pressure. So why did it feel as though the whole thing had been done to her? Why did she feel forced back into therapy?
All morning, she’d kept her phone in her hand, ready to cancel. She told herself it had been a lapse in judgment, a mad moment. She didn’t need to see Joanna. She’d only be wasting the woman’s time. But she didn’t dial.
Even at the threshold, she nearly turned away. But her feet kept moving, and she stepped inside, let the receptionist smile at her, lowered herself into the same old creaky chair, picked up a magazine from twelve years ago, and waited.
Joanna popped her head out. ‘Cassie!’ she said, like she was pleased to see her.
That was surprising, considering how much Cassie had snapped at Joanna in her time. She had been Cassie’s sportspsychologist all those years ago, sitting through the high-pressure seasons and the grinding rehab sessions. Somewhere along the way, Cassie had gotten used to Joanna. Which was why she still saw her sometimes now as a general therapist, not because she expected to be ‘fixed’, but because Joanna had been there for all of it. She had seen Cassie at her strongest and at her unravelling. Sometimes it was necessary to sit with someone who knew the whole story. And her only other choice was her mother. No thanks.
Cassie followed her into the room, and she sat in the chair, arms crossed.
‘So, let’s talk about what brought you back,’ Joanna began.
‘Nothing. I don’t know. I think I just had a mad moment,’ Cassie said, half rising out of the seat.
‘Cassie, you’re paying for this hour whether you leave now or in fifty minutes. Might as well get your money’s worth,’ Joanna smiled.
Cassie sat back down with an eye roll. ‘OK. Fine. But there’s nothing to talk about, just so you know.’
‘So, shall we just sit here having a staring competition?’ Joanna asked.
Cassie let out an annoyed groan. ‘I’m still at Riverside, by the way,’ Cassie said, not sure why she was starting like that.
‘Oh?’ Joanna replied.
‘Yep. And it still sucks.’
‘OK.’
‘I got that job because I was a player and no one I coach even knows who the hell I am.’
‘Does that bother you?’
Cassie shrugged. ‘No.’
