Courting Carlyn

by Melissa Chambers

  “Not yet. Have you?”

  “Nope. But I did read The Kingdom of the Wicked.”

  I nod like that makes sense, but it doesn’t. Jamison gave me that book. I don’t know anything about it otherwise.

  She cuts her eyes at me like she’s guilty. “I saw a girl reading it when my dad took me to the Avery campus last fall. I’m that girl. Copycat reader.”

  I can’t help a little smile at her transparency. I point at the bed I made for her. “Your bed, copycat.”

  She purses her lips, a smile tugging at them as she brushes past me. “Thank you.” She lays down on top of the mattress, crossing one foot over the other.

  I sit on my bed. “You want me to read you a bedtime story?”

  She grabs her hoodie by the zipper and shakes it. “How do you stand it in here? It’s burning up.”

  “You could take off your hoodie, you know.”

  She rolls her eyes. “Actually, I can’t.”

  “Why not?”

  She gives me a look, and I realize she’s naked under there. I mean, of course we’re all naked under our clothes, but something about the idea is sending really wrong signals to my middle.

  “Do you want a T-shirt?” I ask.

  She looks at me like I’m her savior. “Do you mind?”

  I walk over to my dresser and pull out my Frankfurt Junior Open shirt. I toss it to her. “You can change in the bathroom. Or I can just close my eyes.”

  “Nice try,” she says.

  I collapse face-first onto my bed. “How about this?” I say into my pillow.

  Everything’s silent for a beat, until the sound of a zipper coming undone fills the room. Maybe having her stay in here wasn’t my smartest idea.

  “Okay. I’m all set. Thanks.”

  I turn my head to the side so I can breathe again. “No problem.”

  “Did I wake you earlier, knocking on your door?” she asks.

  “Nah, I’m having trouble sleeping in all this silence.”

  “Silence? It’s like New York City for wildlife out there. I can’t even hear myself think.”

  I turn onto my back so I can see her. Damn, she looks good in my T-shirt. “I’m used to watching television to get me to sleep.”

  “What shows?”

  I wish I wouldn’t have said anything now. “Whatever’s on.”

  She flips over on her stomach and rests her chin on her folded hands. “You don’t have an evening ritual?”

  “Not really.”

  “Bull.” A closed-mouth grin widens her face.

  I roll my eyes. “Fine, I like Golden Girls.”

  “You watch Golden Girls?”

  I hint at a grin. “Shut up.”

  “That is so cute.”

  I roll onto my side and turn off the lamp to avoid meeting her mocking gaze. “Rose reminds me of my grandma. Gives me a warm feeling before drifting off.”

  “Aww,” she says. “Where does she live?”

  That profound sadness that engulfs me when I think about my grandma hits me for just a moment. “She died when I was ten.”

  “I’m sorry,” she says, sounding like she really means it. “What about your other grandparents? Are they living?”

  “My grandpa died about three months after my grandma did.”

  “He died of a broken heart,” she says.

  I huff a laugh. “Literally. He had a heart attack.”

  “That’s a real thing, you know. Dying of a broken heart. I saw a show about it once. It’s called stress-induced cardiomyopathy. Stressful situations like losing a loved one can put a literal strain on your heart.”

  I wonder if she knows about this from experience with the death of her mother, but I don’t feel right asking her about that.

  A loud howl fills the air between us. “See! That must have been right outside,” she says.

  “Want to invite him in to snuggle?”

  “Shut up,” she says, but I can tell she’s holding back a smile. “How can you not be a little scared?”

  “We all pick and choose our fears.”

  “You want to share?” she asks.

  “Not particularly.”

  “Isn’t that what this summer is about? Us opening up and getting to know these kids, making ourselves vulnerable to them, encouraging them to share with us, sharing our fears and concerns with them?”

  I hesitate before answering. “I thought it was about tennis.”

  She sniffs. “I guess we’ll know more after our first week, don’t you think?”

  “Guess so.”

  We lay quiet for a minute. The silence is loud in my brain as I lay alone with this girl I’ve known of for years but never really thought about much until now.

  “Vaughn,” she whispers.

  “Yeah.”

  “Are you asleep?”

  I chuckle. “No.”

  “Almost asleep?”

  Yeah, like I can drift off to dreamland thinking about her lying feet away from me. “Not even close.”

  “So why do you come back to the club? I mean, you travel the world on the international circuit. It’s got to be a bit of a letdown playing guys at the club. They’re good, but…” she trails off.

  “I have to play at the club,” I say, saving her from finishing that sentence. “It’s my home base and Jeffrey’s. He’s on staff there. They cover his travel and mine in exchange for us both showing up there from time to time. That’s why you see my picture and ranking on the website homepage and on every brochure that’s lying around that place and gets mailed out to all of central Indiana.”

  “Is that legal?”

  “They’re not paying me to play if that’s what you’re asking. They’re just paying Jeffrey, who’s paying for my travel. Somebody’s got to.”

  “Oh. I guess I just thought your parents were rich.”

  “My dad has money, but he doesn’t really…” I trail off, not wanting to get into it about my dad.

  She sits up, and turns the flashlight on her phone on, points it away from her so she’s just barely lit by it.

  “He doesn’t really what?” she asks.

  I wiggle around in the bed, trying to get comfortable, my stomach suddenly uneasy. I put my hands behind my head. “He lives in Memphis…Germantown. He has his own family there.”

  “So you have half brothers and half sisters?”

  “Three of them. Twins who are three…boys, and a sister who’s five.”

  “Wow. That’s a big family.”

  I shake my head, staring at the ceiling. “I’m not really any part of it.” I don’t want her to feel sorry for me, especially because I know her mother died when she was little, but it’s just a fact. I’m not.

  She lets silence sit between us a moment. “What about your mom?”

  I let out a deep breath. My mom isn’t my favorite subject. “She met a man in London last December and decided to stay.”

  Her eyes go wide. “So wait, you don’t have any parents living here in Indiana?”

  “I’m eighteen,” is all I have to say on the matter.

  She crosses her legs over one another and pulls them close to her. “Did she want you to live in London with her?”

  I give a humorless chuckle at the thought. “She offered, but I didn’t want to. The guy she’s living with…his kids are in their twenties and thirties, so it’d be just the three of us. Trust me, everyone’s happy the way things are.”

  “Do you go to Memphis to see your dad?”

  “I travel enough like it is. When I’m home, I want to be home. My home. This is my home.” I turn over on my side, wanting this subject closed. She’s quiet for a while, and then it sounds like she’s lying down.

  After a long beat of silence, she says, “Vaughn.”

  “Mm-hmm.”

  “I’m really sorry I blew the doubles match for us last summer.”

  I chew on the inside of my cheek. “That’s okay,” I say. We sit silent for a while, but I can’t help myself.
“Why did you do it?”

  “Hmm?” she asks, sounding confused.

  “Were you that mad about Jeffrey and your dad’s girlfriend?”

  She sits up. “What?”

  “Isn’t that why you threw it?”

  “Wait, you think I sucked on purpose?”

  I turn on the light. “Well…didn’t you?”

  “God, no. I just suck that bad. Or I did that day.”

  “But I’ve seen you play. You’re pretty good.”

  She tucks a stray hair behind her ear, looking away. “Well, thanks for saying that, and you’re right, I’m usually not that terrible. But I was really nervous. I’d never been filmed before, certainly not like that, and those people we were playing were really good, and they kept hitting everything right at me.”

  “Oh.” I honestly thought she was that bad on purpose. I feel a little stupid now for thinking that.

  “Why didn’t you go for more?” she asks.

  “I couldn’t. The whole point of the match was to integrate lower-level players and show us having this easy, fun time…or at least that was what the club wanted for the cameras. But then when our opponents started hitting everything to you, I could tell they were in it for the big win…probably to say they beat me, not to sound like a dick or anything.”

  “No, I get it. I just can’t believe you thought I was throwing it.”

  My stomach sours a little. “I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean to be…” Insensitive? An idiot?

  “No, it’s fine. I totally get it. So have you been pissed at me for the past year or something?”

  “No. Well, maybe just a little. Did you see the YouTube video?”

  She drops her head in her hands. “God, yes. That’s why I’ve felt so guilty about it. Did you get crap for that?”

  I huff a laugh. “You could say that, but only because of the way that dickhead edited it.”

  “I’m so sorry, Vaughn.”

  It’s not until now that I realize how senseless and petty it was to be irritated about it. “Don’t be. It’s nothing. I’m glad we cleared the air.”

  “Me, too.” She smiles at me, and then her expression turns curious. “Why did you pick me for a partner that day?”

  I avert my gaze. “I didn’t, actually. The director for the promo picked you. I think they liked your look.”

  “Oh,” she says, sounding a little disappointed.

  “You thought I’d selected you to play with?”

  “No, no, of course I didn’t think that.”

  I can tell by her tone that she did. “I would have, you know. You’ve got a good forehand.”

  She lies down. “You’re kind to say that. Good night, Vaughn.”

  I turn off the lamp. “Don’t forget to turn your flashlight on your phone off before you go to bed. You’ll run down the battery.”

  She turns it off. “Thanks again for letting me sleep in here.”

  “You’re welcome. Just don’t spread rumors about sleeping with me. It’ll ruin my new pristine reputation.”

  I can feel her smile.

  Chapter Six

  Carlyn

  Vaughn is in instructor mode, standing outside the court with Nancy, flipping through papers on a clipboard and pointing at notes while Jeffrey and I wait for him on the court. It’s funny seeing him this way and then thinking of him last night, seeming so vulnerable when he talked about his parents.

  My heart hurt for him in ways I never knew possible. Having a mother who died when I was little, and no stepmother to replace her all these years, people always feel sorry for me. They understand that my life is different, and they give me their sympathy, but what about Vaughn, who has two absent parents?

  Who does he go to when he has a big problem? What kind of mother leaves her kid during his senior year of high school, big shot tennis pro or not? And what kind of father doesn’t insist on his son coming to be a part of his family when he has no other?

  Vaughn pats Nancy on the shoulder, and she gives him a reassuring smile. He heads our way. “Sorry, just some last-minute details.”

  “That’s okay,” Jeffrey says. “That’s important stuff. Now both of you, get on the other side of the court. I’ll feed you some.” He drags the ball hop to the service line.

  Vaughn grabs his racquet and heads to the other side. I follow him, my feet moving a little slower than his. I’m not sure I’m ready for this. I knew this was coming, but now that it’s here, I’m nervous. The last time I played on the same side of the court as him, it became a YouTube video viewed by thousands of people, and not for good reasons. Whoever put it together showed the absolute worst angles and facial expressions. It was cut to look like a blooper reel, with Vaughn’s intense expressions and red-faced irritation at my very laughable, according to the comments, game play. Not my best moment. And as a side note, I hate internet trolls.

  Standing beside Vaughn on the court is about as intimidating as it gets. Jeffrey goes easy, lobbing balls evenly between the two of us, and my worries lessen. But then he moves back behind the baseline, and I glance at Vaughn. He cuts his eyes at me, and the corner of his mouth tips upward in a smirk. Cocky bastard.

  Jeffrey puts speed into the balls he feeds us, our strokes becoming harder, more competitive. Vaughn uses a one-handed backhand—showoff. I can’t believe the power he packs into it. I wish I could film him hitting a backhand so I could slow the video down and watch the muscles in his forearm work as the racquet makes contact with the ball.

  I try really hard not to think about him in his boxers last night when he answered the door. I let a deep breath whoosh out my mouth at the idea as I hit one into the net. I’d seen him without a shirt at the lake earlier, but there was something very different about standing right there in front of him, so close, him with nothing on but a thin pair of boxers, and all those beds right there. A ball whizzes right past me at the thought.

  “You awake over there, ace?” Vaughn asks.

  I slam one down the alley in response. I decide then and there I can’t look at him or think about him while I’m on this court. After we exhaust the first bin of balls, we pick them up, and Jeffrey has us come to the net to hit volleys. Vaughn takes one, then gets in line behind me, then I hit and get in line behind him, over and over. So not only am I able to see his form on every shot, but he’s able to see mine. I decide rather than being obsessed with how my form might look to him, I take the opportunity to try to mimic his form, with each shot, learning something different about the way he positions his feet, or the angle at which he holds his racquet before he places the ball. I’m doing so well, that Jeffrey lets us do another whole bin of balls at the net.

  After a ton of training at the baseline, Jeffrey has us do this series of sprints from one side of the court to the other, touching the corner of the baseline then heading back. Compared to Vaughn, I’m like a snail. I can’t believe how fast he makes it to the other side of the court. He literally laps me, which is pretty humiliating, but it pushes me harder. I’m glad he’s not holding anything back for my benefit. I guess he can’t with Jeffrey watching him, even if he wanted to, not that he does want to. My goal is to get fast enough that he at least can’t lap me. I’d be happy with that.

  Two hours and a dozen drills later, I collapse onto the bench and squeeze my water bottle directly onto my face. I’m so exhausted from the work and the heat, I don’t even care what I look like. Jeffrey doesn’t mess around. He says I don’t go for enough, so he specializes in placing shots just out of my reach.

  I realize how complacent I’ve been on the court. Never in my seventeen years have I ever worked as hard as I have in these past two hours. Now that I have a taste of what a real tennis workout should be, the thought of going back to my dad lobbing shots at me from mid-court is a joke.

  I glance at Vaughn, who’s watching me. He swallows and looks away, scrubbing a towel over his wet head.

  Jeffrey stands in front of us, his tennis bag shouldered. “Vaughn, how pissed
will you be if I skip the meet and greet tonight?”

  Vaughn looks up at him. “That’s fine. I appreciate you coming today.”

  “I’ll be back first thing in the morning. I’ve got a room in town through Wednesday, then I need to head back home for some lessons Thursday through Saturday. I’ve got my summer rescheduled that way. That work for you two?”

  “Of course,” Vaughn says. “I’m thankful for any days you can spend here.”

  Jeffrey looks to me for confirmation, but we all know I’m not going to argue. I nod. “Yes, of course.”

  But I can’t help a little disappointment. After this workout, I can tell I’m going to crave more. I’d be just fine to spend every day this summer exactly like we did this morning. But Jeffrey is calling the shots here. I’ve just got to take what I can get when I can get it.

  “All right, then. I’m heading back,” Jeffrey says. “You need me to bring anything in from town with me tomorrow?”

  “Nope. I think we’re all good,” Vaughn says.

  Jeffrey tips his baseball cap at us. “See you then.”

  I relax back against the fence, my pulse finally steadying from the workout. I wipe my face with my towel. “Was that normal for you?”

  “The workout?” Vaughn asks.

  “Yeah.”

  “I’ve had worse.”

  I wipe my forehead. “Jesus. It becomes worse?”

  “You’ll get used to it.”

  I sit up and put the cover back on my racquet. “I’m not sure when we’re going to have time to work with him much if he’s only here Sundays through Wednesday.”

  He nudges me with his elbow. “I’ll work you.”

  I consider him, not sure what to say to that. “Like, coach me?”

  “Yeah. Why not?” He looks around. “What else am I gonna do on our time off?”

  I smile, my heartbeat starting to quicken again. “Thanks.” I stand and shoulder my bag. “I’m going to the pool. It’s too hot out here not to.”

  “I’ll come with you,” he says.

  I stop and turn to him, slowly. “Excuse me? You’re coming with me? Is that allowed?”

  He shrugs. “You slept with me last night. You’re basically like my sister now.”

  Oh God. The kiss of death. It’s for the best, I know, but still. Insert knife. Twist. No girl wants to hear a hot guy say she’s like a sister. I drop my bag at one of the chairs and take off my shoes. I start to wiggle out of my tennis skirt.