Page 72 of Courting Trouble
Or…
Just then, a knock came at the door.
‘Security,’ a voice called.
***
As predicted, the guards escorted them out, past scandalised players and coaches, eyes wide and whispering. Not a trace of Petra anywhere, Cassie noted. Suffering privately, she hoped.
Delilah squeezed her hand. ‘Let’s get out of here,’ she smiled as they reached the car.
So they did. Cassie didn’t look back.
Seventy-One
Delilah was panting like a racehorse. A very unfit, extremely irritable racehorse.
They were back in town, in an area called Mutt Hill that Cassie had grown up in. Delilah had not been given a tour of the area, though she sort of would have liked to see the place where little Cassie had been born and raised. But Cassie was all business, taking her straight to the local courts.
They were dreadful. Cracks in the concrete with plant life growing out of them, the net held together by hopes and dreams alone. But it was somewhere to play, and Delilah appreciated it. Or she would have, if Cassie weren’t running her ragged.
‘Again,’ Cassie called as she served.
Delilah flailed her racket at the air. The ball had already bounced twice and rolled slowly and almost mockingly into the fence.
‘I don’t understand how I’m getting worse,’ she snapped, dragging her sleeve across her forehead. ‘Is that a thing that can happen?’
‘It’s called fatigue,’ Cassie said, walking over and tossing her another ball. ‘Also, panic. You’re trying too hard. And thinking too much.’
‘I’m trying exactly the right amount,’ Delilah muttered. ‘And I’m thinking about the right things. Like how I’m definitely going to be fired from a job I haven’t even officially got yet because I hit like a drunk clown.’
Cassie didn’t smile. She rarely did when they were training. Her face was stern, focused and maddeningly attractive. Not just in the lean-muscles-popping-out-of-her-T-shirt sense, but in the pure competence of her.
Not for the first time, Delilah felt strongly that her coaching talents were going to waste on her and all the other talentless players she coached. She should have been training pros. But Delilah knew better than to mention that.
A whoop of laughter erupted from the next court over. A couple of teenage girls were rallying lazily, but they’d paused long enough to mock Delilah’s last swing, mimicking her flailing arm in exaggerated slow motion.
Delilah groaned. ‘Brilliant. An audience.’
Cassie’s head tilted slightly, her voice level. ‘Use it.’
‘Use what? Their heckling?’
‘Yep.’
Delilah wasn’t loving this idea. ‘You don’t think I should try to block it out?’
‘This was never a fitness issue, nor a coordination issue,’ Cassie said, eyes locked on her. ‘And it’s not a tennis issue either. You’re in shape. You know how to play. But the moment we change location, or something unfamiliar pops up, you freeze. You get the yips. So, here’s the last thing you need to learn: how to take the noise around you, all the distractions and criticism, all the stuff that usually throws you, and use it.Channelit. Listen to what that kid’s saying. And then prove her wrong.’
‘But—’
‘Delilah,’ Cassie said emphatically. ‘This is everything you want right now. Do you understand? All you want in the whole wide world is to show that kid she doesn’t know shit. Find yourfight.’
A whoop of laughter burst from the next court. ‘Yeah, come on, Serena!’ one of the girls jeered. ‘Show us how it’s done.’
‘Careful, babes,’ the second girl called. ‘You’ll knock yourself out before you hit the ball.’
Delilah groaned, dragging the racket down her face. ‘I don’t know, Cass. I don’t think I can do it.’
