Game. Set. Match.

by Jennifer Iacopelli

  Relief swept through Penny, but then she shook herself back to reality. It didn’t matter if he hooked up with a random groupie. It wasn’t any of her business, not anymore.

  Alex still hadn’t taken a sip of his drink; he just stared at it like he was looking for answers. He shouldn’t be drinking. His next round match was early tomorrow morning, even before hers. Her instincts screamed at her to go to him, to figure out whatever it was that drove him there in the first place. Except, she knew that she was the reason he was sitting at that bar, and there was nothing she could do to help. Penny felt another piece of her heart crack.

  Pulling her phone from her pocket, she shot off a quick message to Dom. He and Alex weren’t just a coach and athlete. They were friends. Dom would know what to do.

  Then she raced to the elevators and pressed the call button, but her patience wore out quickly. She pushed open the door to the stairwell and sprinted up the seven flights of stairs to her floor. Her breath came short and quick as she scanned her key and fell into her room, the sound of the door slamming behind her heavy and satisfying. Curling onto her bed, she let go, the sobs wrenching from her throat as she struggled to breathe. She hugged herself, shoulders shaking with heavy emotions spilling out of her, but no tears came. She didn’t know how long she lay there, rolled into a tight knot of anguish, but eventually her breathing slowed and her muscles relaxed. Enough. It was enough now. She would need all her focus tomorrow to beat Lutrova. Her pain could wait until later; after all, it wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon.

  ***

  She woke with her mind fixed on one thing, beating Zina Lutrova. There were no nagging injuries to fuss over, no sudden hitches in her game to tweak. She was ready and it was time to go out and win. Dressing quickly, she eyed the velvet box sitting on her dresser. Alex said the necklace was for luck and she’d need all the luck she could get.

  “Morning,” Dom said, when she answered a knock at her hotel room door. “Ready to go?”

  “What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be at Alex’s match? He didn’t…Please tell me he didn’t withdraw or something stupid.”

  “No, he sent me away, said I should be with you this morning, so here I am.”

  “Oh, okay,” she said, pushing Alex’s thoughtfulness out of her mind. “Let’s go then.”

  By the end of the first week of a Grand Slam, the tournament was still in full swing, but the matches were spread into separate ticket sessions to ensure they made as much profit as possible. The player’s lounge where she and Dom had breakfast was practically empty. Alex’s match was on the television mounted against the wall, but she was determined not to watch. She would find out how he did later.

  “Last night,” Dom said, drawing her attention away from her oatmeal, “you did the right thing by texting me.”

  “It was nothing.”

  “It wasn’t nothing. A lot of people would’ve just left him there to drown his sorrows and throw away his chances at this tournament. You’re one of the best people I know, Penny. You don’t deserve what’s been happening to you the last couple of days, but don’t let it get to you, okay?”

  “I’m not. I promise. I’m ready for this.”

  “Good,” he said, taking her at her word. “Okay, one last time. Game plan.”

  “Attack her backhand, make her move as much as possible and keep at her with the velocity. No letting up or getting cute with shots, just keep at her.”

  “Good.” He took a bite of his grapefruit. “She’s expecting an aggressive game, but honestly, I don’t think she can handle it.”

  Penny took a sip of her orange juice, not quite as sure as he seemed to be. “Well, we’ll see, won’t we?”

  “I’m sure of it. As sure as I’ve ever been of anything in my entire career. You’re better than her, Penny. I know it, you know it, and maybe most importantly, she knows it.”

  “Thanks, Dom.”

  “I mean it,” he said, though she didn’t need that reassurance. He never said anything he didn’t mean. “And don’t thank me. Prove me right.”

  ***

  It was overcast and gloomy as they entered the court. Court Philippe Chatrier was the premiere court at Roland Garros. The stands could hold more than 14,000 fans and every seat was filled. The media was billing this match as the real championship, declaring over and over again that whoever won would be the clear favorite to take home the title at the end of the fortnight in Paris.

  Lutrova won the toss and chose to serve first. Excellent, Penny thought, she would have the first chance to break. She bounced up and down, getting used to the clay surface, testing with little shuffle steps how it would play during the match.

  The chair umpire climbed to his chair overlooking the court, and after a brief warm up, silence reigned in the sold-out stadium, but the hum of anticipation was nearly palpable on the court.

  Lutrova bounced the ball at her feet, before bringing her arms together, tossing it into the air. Just as it reached the pinnacle of its rise, she slammed her racket head through it, sending a low-lying rocket of a serve across the court. Reacting instinctively, Penny stepped into the shot, returning the ball so fast Lutrova barely had time to recover her feet. The ball bounced in and then slammed in the wall behind the service line.

  For a moment, the stadium remained silent, stunned by the speed and perfection of the point.

  “Love – 15,” the chair umpire said and the crowd finally applauded, cheering the statement she just made with that shot; she was here to win.

  Penny stared across the court. Zina met her eyes and Penny let the corner of her mouth lift up in the smallest of smirks. That return, that’s what Dom had wanted when he brought in Alex to train with her. He wanted her to take Zina’s best weapon, her serve, and shove it back down her throat. The hurt of the last few days hadn’t faded, but lifting her hand to the neckline of her shirt, she pressed against the coin through the material. Alex had helped her get here and she wasn’t going to let that go to waste.

  Three more serves and three more short points later and Penny had the lead.

  “Game, Harrison.”

  She turned to the box just behind her. Dom, Jack, Indy and Jasmine were all sitting in the front row.

  “You go, girl,” Indy said, loud enough for her to hear even over the buzz of the crowd.

  Penny held out her racket to the ball boy who placed three balls on it as options for her serve. She tucked one into the hidden pocket beneath her skirt and let another fall back to the ground in his direction before she approached the baseline.

  Lutrova was standing on the other side of the net, bent at the waist, racket spinning in her hands, poised on the balls of her feet. Her forehead was creased, blond eyebrows knit together, face pinched in concentration.

  Penny would go right at her, just like she and Dom discussed. It was time to see if the best player in the world could handle her game. She coiled her body, every muscle in her body tensing, then releasing. The serve was perfectly placed, right where the lines crossed in the center of the court. It whistled past Lutrova before pounding once again into the wall lining the backcourt.

  “15 – Love.”

  ***

  The match was a whirlwind as they went back and forth. The Lutrova she’d beaten in Madrid was nowhere to be found. The Russian superstar had won two tournaments since then and was at the top of her game. Her shots were crisp and accurate. They exchanged blows, making each other race around the court.

  Penny served, a screaming line drive down the center of the court. Lutrova fired a return back, and it began again, a rally from the baselines. Penny sent a slice backhand, short and spinning, into the clay and Lutrova came storming up to the net. A forehand rocketed into the far corner and Penny raced after it, letting her last step fail, sliding across the clay, legs fully extended as she swung into a winner down the line. Her momentum failed and she stopped in a full split, before popping up into the air and back onto her feet. The crowd erupted.
/>   “Game. Harrison remporte le premier set, 6-4.”

  Sitting in her chair, she placed her racket down on the ground beside her and downed half a bottle of Gatorade, before burying her face in her towel, wiping off the layer of sweat. She allowed herself a huge grin while the terrycloth shielded her from the cameras.

  Lutrova called for the trainer between sets and was having her legs rubbed down. Maybe it was an excuse for dropping the first set, getting the trainer out there, making everyone believe she was hurt, a rope-a-dope, or a ploy even, to make Penny think she was injured so she would let her guard down in the second set. Whatever game she was playing wasn’t going to work. Dom was right; she was better than Lutrova, she was better than the best player in the world. And that meant—shaking her head, she cleared out those thoughts. She could think about that after the tournament was over. Right now, it was time to finish off this match.

  “Time,” the chair umpire called and Penny leapt to her feet, striding quickly out to the baseline, getting her muscles loose for the second set. This was in stark contrast to the other girl, who stood up slowly and walked across her side of the court, examining her racket as if it might tell her how to win the match.

  ***

  Whatever Lutrova’s racket told her didn’t work. Penny waited in the corner of the court for a serve that would never arrive as Lutrova buried her shot into the bottom of the net and yet another double fault brought her within one game of victory.

  “Game. Harrison conduit le second ensemble, 5-4.”

  For a moment she let her focus slip away and she listened to the crowd cheering. Turning to her box, they were all yelling wildly.

  “Let’s go, Pen,” Jack yelled. “Finish it.”

  She stepped up to the baseline.

  “S'il vous plaît, soyez tranquille,” the chair umpire said as she prepared to serve and the crowd quieted, but only a fraction.

  With a small groan, she sliced her serve, putting an arching spin on it. Lutrova sat back on the shot, handcuffed for a split second by the angle and the change of speeds. She shuffle stepped and swung, but mishit, sending a soft lob over the net. Penny sprinted forward, feet light as she sped up to the net, getting her racket under the ball just in time. A quick flick of her wrist sent it back over the net. The ball bounced once and then again before Zina could reach it.

  As Penny tried to stop, her toe slid into a divot, her ankle twisted and then rolled under. She caught herself with her other foot, but a sharp, blistering pain shot up her leg and then back down again before settling on the inside of her ankle. She tried to put her weight on it. Bad idea.

  Thankful the last shot brought her near the sidelines, she hopped quickly over to her chair and she looked up to the umpire to call for a trainer, but he’d anticipated her, waving a member of the tour’s medical staff in from the edge of the court, the same man who’d worked on Lutrova’s legs before the start of the set.

  Before she could react, her sneaker and sock were lying on the ground and gentle, well-trained hands were examining her ankle, checking the range of motion—almost none—and the amount of discomfort—a lot—and then he asked, “Do you want to continue playing?”

  Withdrawing hadn’t even crossed her mind. How could it? It had all happened so quickly, but she was not going to give up. A forfeit wouldn’t just mean a loss. It would practically hand this tournament championship to Lutrova. She wasn’t going to let that happen. Even if she couldn’t play her next match, she wasn’t going to give her rival a free pass to the next round. She glanced around quickly and saw the Russian girl standing just off to the side, watching intently, a brief flash of victory in her gaze. Oh, hell no.

  “Wrap it and give me my racket.”

  “It’s a pretty bad sprain, could be worse than that. It might be your Achilles. I can’t tell for sure unless you get an MRI.” Penny raised an eyebrow and the trainer shook his head. “Fine, but it’s against my recommendation.”

  “Fine,” she agreed and winced as he reached for his bag and jostled her ankle in the process. Her hand came up to her throat and she pulled at the chain secured around her neck. The penny slipped out and she held it in her palm for a second. It was warm from resting against her skin, and she began to breathe slowly, closing her eyes and letting her mind go blank. Like lying on the court with Alex, her hand wrapped in his.

  The trainer wrapped her ankle tightly. He had to, it was the only way to stabilize the joint, and as she slid her sneaker back on, she bit her lip to keep from crying out.

  Tucking the necklace back inside her shirt, she checked the scoreboard quickly. She was three points away from the win and she had to get those points as fast as possible. She had to get the next three serves past Lutrova because there was no way her ankle would stand a rally. She had to keep the ball away from Zina, nothing into the body and definitely nothing off speed. It would have to be three serves. Three aces. That was the only way.

  This was going to hurt. A lot.

  Trying to minimize her limp as she moved to the baseline, she took a ball from the ball boy and breathed deeply, focusing instead on the feeling of the penny against her skin.

  With a small prayer that the joint wouldn’t give out, she pushed down into the ground and then up and out, lining the ball dead center as hard as she could.

  “30 – Love.”

  The crowd murmured, clearly unsure about her decision to play. She could practically feel their concern. “Allez, Penny!” someone shouted from the stands and the rest started to applaud.

  Pressing her lips together, she shuffled her feet, keeping the weight on one foot. The ball boy ran to her and placed one on her racket. Lutrova inched up in front of the baseline, clearly anticipating a softer serve.

  “That’s a mistake,” Penny whispered to herself before tossing the ball up into the air, using every ounce of power she had to send the ball hard, straight and flat down the center of the court.

  “40 – Love,” the chair umpire said, but his voice was nearly drowned out by the crowd’s roar of approval, shouts and whistles and the pounding of thousands of hands together.

  Match point. She had match point and her ankle hurt so much it was actually pulsing inside her sneaker. The pain made it impossible to hold her focus and the sounds from the crowd started to invade her ears—a blur of voices and noise that was actually helping distract her from the throbbing in her foot. One more, just one more.

  Lutrova wasn’t having a great match, but she wasn’t an idiot. She set up for the next serve a step behind the baseline, near the center of the court, cutting off the easiest route for an ace. What Lutrova didn’t know was that over the last month or so, Penny had learned something important. The easiest path wasn’t always the right one.

  She launched her serve, a high kicker, skidding off the edge of the service line, spinning up and away.

  “Game. Set. Match. Harrison. 6-4, 6-4.”

  The stadium practically exploded around her, but Penny couldn’t move. She was frozen at the baseline, weight leaning entirely on her good ankle, using her racket to try to balance. She didn’t want to take a step, but she had to. The match was over; she needed to shake her opponent’s hand. She stared down at the court for a moment to catch her breath, willing the pain to go away, when another set of sneakers invaded her vision.

  “Good match,” Lutrova said, extending her hand. She’d come all the way over from her side of the court. If Penny didn’t know better and the pain wasn’t totally clouding her judgment, she’d have thought it was a sign of respect.

  Nodding, Penny took her hand and shook it firmly. “Good match.”

  A moment later, the trainer walked out to her, clucking his tongue in disapproval as he helped her off the court, skipping the on-the-court interview because of the injury. He muttered something about stubborn, crazy girls who don’t know what’s good for them, but Penny ignored him in favor of listening to the crowd cheer before they made it into the tunnel.

  “Penny,” a
voice echoed against the concrete of the hallway, followed by the pounding of feet against the ground. “I’ve got it from here, mate.”

  The trainer glanced at her, confirming it was all right to leave her with him. She nodded and stood on one leg as he switched places with Alex. He wrapped his arm around her waist and she hooked hers over his shoulders, but before he could lead her down the hallway, she pressed herself into him, letting her other arm circle around his shoulders and rested her head against his chest. He held her tightly, pressing a kiss into her hair and then she pulled back, nodding to a changing room just a few feet away. Once inside, he led her to a table and helped her on to it. She lifted her leg up onto the padded table top to keep her ankle elevated.

  The trainer tsked at her, but she rolled her eyes. “Could you give us a minute?”

  He left the room, but Alex stayed just a few steps away. He was still in his match clothes, the black and black look he’d started wearing during the Athlete Weekly photo shoot. Tennis’s very own rebel. He ran a hand through his hair.

  “Did you win?” Penny asked.

  “Yeah, I did,” he said, but then shook his head. “What were you thinking? That was insane, love.” She snorted, uninterested in his disapproval. “Insane and bloody incredible. I was in a press conference when I heard what happened. I ran over here as fast as I could, knocked over a few reporters come to think of it.” He took her hands in his and squeezed gently. “Are you okay?”

  She was in too much pain to lie. “My ankle hurts,” she admitted.

  Alex’s hands cupped her cheeks, his thumbs stroking against her skin softly over the line of her jaw, down to her throat. His index finger hooked into the gold chain at her neck and he tugged. “You wore it.” His voice held disbelief and awe in it.

  “For luck,” Penny said, swallowing roughly, trying to find the voice to say the words she wanted to say. “But really, I needed you. I didn’t realize how much until I was out there all alone and it felt like my ankle was going to fall off and I just needed you.”