by Lola Keeley
“I didn’t know that was an option,” I finally answered. “For a while there, I thought you were taken. And since then I wanted to respect our friendship. Right now, though, the most important reason is because I want to show you this.”
“Then go ahead.” Toni crossed her legs in an easy yoga pose, sitting with perfectly straight posture between my thighs, facing away from me. Like this, I could be a little braver.
“All you have to do, and maybe it’s not so easy at first, but you have to find that feeling, the one thing that’s making you panic. Now, it might seem like ten things all at once, but usually there’s one central problem. In your case, it’s feeling out of your depth when you start a match, I think. You can adjust that, but let’s use that as a baseline.”
“This therapist role-play is working for you,” Toni whispered, but she squared her shoulders and seemed to focus all the same.
“It’s kind of a positive-visualisation thing.” I laid one tentative hand on Toni’s shoulder, warm to the touch even through her tracksuit top. “You focus on that negative thing, the one that’s causing all the trouble, and you push all your settled, positive feelings towards it.”
“Mmm.”
“So instead of that weird feeling where everything is chaos, and decisions are hard, and you’re always rushing, you get the calm. You can shut out all that noise and turn the world down to what it needs to be. Just one person on the other side of the net. One point at a time, one ball coming at you.”
“You’re good at this.”
I risked placing my other hand on her other shoulder, anchoring Toni to the moment.
“It should feel like this. Like something gently holding you in place. Just the moment, just the ball, just the point. You start the first game like that and it won’t slip.”
Toni laid her hands on top of mine, squeezing gently. I didn’t dare to speak, for fear of disturbing the moment. I wanted so badly for her to get it, to have the same weapon in her arsenal against nerves.
“Well,” she said after the quiet had really settled between us. “Simple, but it works. I already feel like I could beat someone. Even you.”
“Right?” I dipped my head a little to speak the words in a whisper, closer to her ear. “With little tricks like that, you can do anything you put your mind to.”
“Anything?”
“Anything.”
She moved so quickly, with such easy grace that I didn’t even see it coming. In less than a blink my hands were slipping from her shoulders, coming to a rest on her upper arms. Instead of the back of her head, I had that stunning face just inches from my own, eyes trained on my lips.
This part? Yeah, this part I could handle.
“Is this when I say that this could affect our friendship?” I whispered, and thankfully Toni’s only answer was to press her lips against mine.
I’d like to say my brain made some pretty description for it, compare how she kissed to how she played on court, but at that point my last two brain cells were basically high-fiving each other and I was doing my best to kiss back as well as I knew how.
There was that initial nervousness. Not one of those movie kisses where everything magically lines up first time, where both people have the exact same idea about who moves when, and how. Instead, we both moved to the same side at the same time, making Toni laugh softly into the kiss as she corrected, tilting her face the other way.
The kiss got deeper then. Her fingers were suddenly teasing at the nape of my neck, before tangling in my hair and tugging gently.
“Huh,” she said when we finally paused for a moment. “So that’s what that’s like.”
“That doesn’t sound like a complaint…” That ego of mine chose the worst moments to desert me.
“Definitely not.” As we kissed again, and again, Toni made her way from the floor to straddling my lap, fingertips skimming the low vee of my shirt, making the three hours of agonising over what to wear infinitely worth it. Just when I started to wonder how far this was going to get, one of our phones started ringing. Not mine, as if it mattered. The moment had officially been interrupted.
“Sorry, sorry,” Toni muttered, and some impressive cursing in Spanish followed right after. “You know what? Let me take this. It’s the federation.”
“Maybe you didn’t fill out all your forms,” I suggested as she answered, the conversation far too rapid for me to even get the subject matter.
What did become clear was that someone was making Toni very angry, very quickly. I leaned back against the cushions, watching with concern. Eventually enough was repeated for me to start making out some words. Droga instantly had me on alert, and so did acusasión. I was practically levitating off the couch by the time she ended the call.
“What the hell?”
“Oh, trust me, you do not want to know.”
“You’re being accused of something? Drugs?” I had pieced that much together but nothing else. Toni began to pace on the other side of the coffee table, running her hands through her hair.
“Not me, not yet. Xavi—there’s going to be an investigation.” She stopped, texting much faster than her usual pace. “He took on someone new to coach—some kid who’s just gone pro from Mexico City, and apparently he offered him some kind of…amphetamines? Something? I never even heard of the stuff.”
“Shit. Sounds like you got away from him just in time.” I stood up, wondering if I should try to comfort her. The last thing I wanted was to look like I was trying to nudge things back to making out. I had more tact that that, at least.
“No, it’s too recent. People are going to assume things. If I thought I got a lot of tests before then this… Fuck!”
“Wait, wait!” I called after her as she started dialling someone. “Toni, wait! You can’t say anything to anyone, not yet.”
“What?” She turned to look at me as though I had lost my mind. I pulled my phone from my pocket.
“Wait, please. Anything you say is going to be public record from now, so no calls, no conversations about it. Not even with me. Your only comment is through press releases and prepared statements.”
I hit Parisa in my favourites list and was glad she picked up in two rings. “Hey, I need a PR genius. Do you know any?”
“I can block your number any time I want, you know. What did you do in Mexico, Elin? You’ve been gone five minutes.”
“Not me, but I need a favour for my friend. Can you talk to Toni about something if I hand her the phone? She needs some advice. And probably a lawyer, but we’ll get to that.”
“Great, you’ve found someone more trouble than you are. Put her on.”
I handed the phone to Toni, who seemed set on refusing. I pressed a quick kiss to her cheek. “Please, let me help.”
“Hi, Parisa,” she said. She listened for a moment. “I’ve heard a lot about you as well.”
A flurry of calls, a bunch of e-mails, and one room-service order later, Toni and I were finally left alone in front of a standard competition-week meal. That meant lots of steamed vegetables and salmon that seemed to be measured by the slab.
“Sorry,” she said as I uncovered the plates and poured the sparkling water. “What the hell happened to the day, huh?”
“Well, a bomb got dropped on your head right after a match, so…”
“And then there was our interesting development.”
I sipped at my water. “Is that what the kids are calling it now?”
Toni rolled her eyes, just a little, but it seemed affectionate. “Listen…”
Ah. I saw what was coming as surely as I could have predicted her serve coming at me. “I know.” I took her hand and rubbed my thumb gently over her knuckles. “This is no time for what would hopefully be a really fun distraction. It’s going to be hard enough to focus on your tennis. But Parisa will help, anything you need. And I’ll
hang out the rest of the week. Non-distractingly.”
“You don’t have to do that. What about your training? Indian Wells is around the corner.”
She, unfortunately, had a point.
“I’m still hitting the gym. Know anyone who could loan me a racquet to keep my swing up to speed?”
“Elin, I want to say upfront that I had nothing to do with anything. It’s going to be a pain in the ass for a while, but—”
“Hey, hey, come on. I know you don’t. You’ve worked so hard to come back from injury. Maybe I don’t know every little thing about you, but I know you’re not doping. You don’t ever have to explain yourself.”
“You’re the best, you know that?” Toni came around the table to lay another kiss on me. “But yes, you’re right about the distraction. We’ll call that one for the road and see how things are in California.”
“Sure.”
“It’s not going to be easy though, I’ll tell you that. I’m getting impatient already.”
“Then get back over there and eat your food,” I suggested, although I would much rather have put the table to more interesting use. “Or we’re never going to stick to the no distracting rule.”
“Fi-ine,” Toni said, groaning as she pulled herself away. “But you’d better find something really boring to talk about for the next little while.”
“How interested are you in Swedish history?”
“Not even slightly?”
“Then Antonia, sit back and relax. Because I am going to bore you senseless.”
Training with Toni that week in between her matches was a particular kind of hell. I certainly wouldn’t have traded my usual prep for it, especially when Mira was there to coach one-on-one. It made me nostalgic for the worst of my mother’s moods when coaching me through one of my slumps.
The freedom was pleasant, though. I got used to doing things for myself again—shopping when I needed something, making my own calls, and generally being in charge of my own day. I worked out for the same number of hours and spent time with Toni until one or both of us felt that line approaching, and then I would retreat to read or watch bad movies in my own hotel suite.
So when she made it to the final, I knew the self-restraint had been worth it. Even if the thought of ‘restraint’ in the same sentence as Toni made me worry, I’d need yet another cold shower. At this rate, I’d be fine to go scuba diving in the Antarctic.
There was a short line to access the VIP section; typical for any final with all the first-timers and day-trippers. I scrolled through my phone as I waited, only to feel the distinct chill down my spine that only one person caused.
“Hi, Mira,” I said without looking up. “I hope you’re not hiding a camera and microphone.”
“Shouldn’t you be heading back for Indian Wells?”
“Tomorrow morning. It’s not such a long flight. Toni’s playing well.”
She gave a little huff. “Yes, I worked that out when she made it to the final. She’s a talented player.”
“You’re helping her. You could take the compliment.”
Mira ignored me until we took our seats. Since we were both from Toni’s allocation, of course we were sitting next to each other. My disappointment at that discovery was wiped out by seeing my other seat mate. “Maria! You made it!”
Toni had organised everything, but her grandmother had been ill and the plans were up in the air. I knew this final boost would ease the last of Toni’s nerves.
“Elin, guapa! It’s so good you came back to Mexico. You’re not playing?” Maria was dressed for a state occasion, in a beautiful twinset and pearls. Her short salt-and-pepper hair was immaculately styled, and her bright smile was so like Toni’s that I had to hug her in that moment.
I shook my head. “Not my tournament this year. But Antonia has been fantastic. Have you seen her other matches?”
“Oh, yes.”
Mira cleared her throat next to me. I just about resisted the urge to roll my eyes. “Maria, this is Mira. She’s Toni’s new coach. She’s making her even better.”
The two started talking over the top of my lap, and of course Mira had more than passable Spanish. By the time the umpire called for silence for the first set to begin, I was starting to feel almost left out.
Until Toni caught my eye from the baseline and winked at me, anyway.
She’d won the toss and opted to serve. I watched her take slow, deliberate breaths. Centring herself, just like we talked about. She bounced the ball a few times and tossed it up like it weighed nothing at all.
There was no mistaking the sweet crack of perfect contact, and the serve sailed past her opponent as an ace.
Game on, Antonia Cortes Ruiz.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Toni won her first professional trophy since her comeback in straight sets, which was better than even she could have hoped for.
The whole crowd were on their feet as she jumped and punched the air in celebration, jogging to the net and shaking hands like every gracious winner. No interviews on court this time, but I knew she’d be running a gamut, with national and international press out in force in the staging area.
I passed a pleasant while with Maria, introducing her to everyone I recognised, and enjoying her pride as the federation officials and sponsors fawned over their winner’s family. I didn’t wait in the receiving line as Toni entered with her trophy—in the shape of a giant silver tennis ball—but we exchanged smiles so she knew I was hanging around for her.
“Dios mio, how have you done this a million times?” she asked when we finally met in the corner of the arena’s huge restaurant area, at least an hour after the match ended. “The aftermath is harder on you than the match.”
“Now you finally see what I’ve been saying all this time?”
“Yeah, but it’s a pretty great high all the same. I just didn’t think it would be so exhausting with the handshakes and the cameras.”
“Well, hometown advantage. Wait until you get one of the big four—and you will, I know it.”
She hugged me, hanging on just a moment too long. “Thank you. For being here.”
“It was worth it to get to sit next to your abuela. She’s so happy.”
“And worn out, she’s gone to lie down now she’s chatted with everyone from Mira to the mayor.”
“She’s staying with you, in your suite?”
“Mmm,” Toni confirmed. “I need to hand this trophy back, then there’s a cheque to collect apparently. What I really want is…”
“Yes?”
“A shower. It’s barbaric that we come straight from court without getting properly cleaned up.”
“Well, the locker room is that way, of course.” I pointed, like she hadn’t been in there every day of the past week. “Or, and this is just a suggestion, my room also has a very nice shower. Much more private too.”
“Is it rude to sneak out this early?” Toni asked.
“You know the best part about being the champ? You can pretty much do whatever you want.”
“Really?”
Anywhere else, I might have risked kissing her, at least on the cheek. The room was still far too busy for that.
“If you want to do one more tour, get all your praise, then go ahead. I…will be upstairs.”
“That sounds very distracting,” Toni replied.
“It does,” I agreed. “Luckily for you, the tournament is over and there’s nothing left to pull focus from. So really, it’s up to you.”
And for once I didn’t trip over my words, I didn’t fail to say what I wanted; I just said enough and left on the perfect note. All that remained was to see if Toni would take me up on my offer.
Half an hour later, I began to doubt if I’d told her my room number at any point during the week. Then I remembered that I must have, because she’d called
for me for morning gym sessions at least twice.
After an hour, I began to consider that she had misunderstood and had gone to shower somewhere else, and that the well-wishers must have held her up again along the way.
Thirty minutes after that, I had run down half of my phone battery from constantly making it light up to check for messages. Someone less proud might have just sent a message asking if everything was okay, but I had put myself completely on the line for this one. I dreaded to think how desperate it would have sounded if Toni had simply changed her mind.
When my phone did ring, it was my mother confirming the arrangements for Monday. Indian Wells was close enough to Los Angeles that I could technically commute, but for maximum relaxation we’d be staying locally. I couldn’t care less about the details, other than the news that Alice was going to come for the end of the second week, assuming I made the finals.
I got off the call as quickly as I could, but when I ended and saw there were still no messages, I tossed the damn thing at the nearest wall. Since phones were basically overpriced pieces of plastic, it cracked badly and mocked me silently from where it landed just by the en suite bathroom.
Not really the Saturday night I’d had in mind, so I ordered room service for one and put the television on the first mindless music channel I could find, cranking up the volume as I started to pack my things. Even that didn’t take long, not with one bag and one case, so I ended up taking everything out and packing all over again.
In between times, I paced, helping myself to something from the minibar on each circuit of the place. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d felt so damn claustrophobic.
I had dinner, put the tray out for collection, showered and dressed for bed. Still no sign. I put out every light but the tiny reading one over the bed. Although I tried to flip through a magazine, all too soon I felt my eyes slipping closed.
Some time later, I jolted awake. Had I just heard my name? I waited to see if someone was at the door, if they would knock again. When nothing came, I stumbled out of bed to check, but there was only an empty hallway.
