Page 144 of Break Point
We all grab rackets and take our place on our side of the court.
Miles tosses me two balls, beaming.
“Let me guess. You want me to serve?”
“Please do, Your Grace,” he says with an exaggerated bow as he takes his spot.
I laugh. These guys are ridiculous. And fun.
This unexpected casual match is doing wonders for my state of mind, helping me forget about what happened earlier at home.
“Wuss!” Jayden shouts across the net. “Henry is keeping score, by the way!”
“By all means!” Henry calls back, smirking.
I do a quick NEHBL and serve to shut them up, or we’ll be standing here all day watching them argue.
The ball whizzes past Jayden’s head, missing him by a few inches.
“Oh, shit!” he yelps.
“Are you done?” I shout, adjusting the strings of my borrowed racket. “Or can we start now?”
Henry rumbles a low, proud laugh.
“Can I switch sides with you, man?” Jayden calls out to Henry. “I’m not trying to get murdered out here.”
They switch.
I NEHBL and serve again. Henry responds with a clean forehand, sending the ball to Miles’ side with surgical force, speed, and precision.
Miles fails to keep up with it.
We volley for a while, slipping into a fun, easy rhythm. But I can tell Henry’s getting more competitive.
Soon, it’s just him and me trading serves and sharp returns while Jayden and Miles do their best to stay out of the way.
It’s Henry’s turn to serve–or Miles’, but he yielded the honors to him because Henry looks way too eager to pass it up.
“Take it easy!” I call out, worried he’s pushing himself too hard.
I know he loves the game. It’s been a while since he’s held a racket for anything other than feeding me slow balls during drills. But he needs to dial it back.
“Match point!” Henry shouts with a cocky laugh.
He serves. It’s an ace. They win.
Orhedoes.
Henry drops the racket and lets out a sharp breath, falling to one knee. He grabs his shoulder with his left hand and stares off into the horizon.
“Henry?” I panic, dashing toward him. “Jayden, get Dr. Lee!”
Jayden bolts toward the clubhouse, and Miles drops to his knees in front of Henry, scanning him anxiously. I don’t know if Henry’s told them about his injury. My guess is he didn’t.
I shouldn’t have let him play. I shouldn’t have let him push himself this hard.
“Henry,” I whisper, brushing the damp hair off his sweaty forehead. He’s squirming on the floor, and his face is twisted in unmistakable pain. “I shouldn’t have let you play.”
