Losing at Love (25 page)

“Miss Harrison,” a nurse called out after what felt like an eternity. A middle-aged, slight-looking woman with light blonde hair approached and moved behind the wheelchair Penny had been positioned in when she arrived. “Let’s go take a look at that ankle, young lady.”

The MRI machine was an older model, quite loud and anyone who suffered from claustrophobia would have lost their mind as the machine moaned and groaned it’s way to a scan. When she’d had her scans done in France, the hospital had used a new 3-D imaging scanner that had created an amazing computer image of her ankle, but the MRI was good enough to show the doctor everything he needed to know.

“You tore your posterior talofibular ligament.”

“That’s the same one I hurt in France.”

“Yes,” the Doctor agreed. “It started as a very tiny tear. You played on that ankle too soon, Penelope.”

She nodded. “I know.”

“See that it doesn’t happen again. Six to eight weeks. Minimum.”

That stupid lump was back and she nodded, but her mind was whirring. Six to eight weeks. The beginning of August. Most of the summer would be completely lost and it would leave her with three weeks to prep for the US Open.

“Penny, are you listening to what the doctor is saying?” Dom asked, knowing that she wasn’t.

“Yes, sorry. Six to eight weeks. Stay off it. Rest. No playing on it too soon.”

“Next time, you might not be so lucky, Penelope,” the doctor said, gathering up the files and handing them over to her. “I’ll be available to consult with your doctor back in the States if you need.”

“Thank you, Doctor,” Dom said, reaching over the desk to shake his hand.

“Yes, thank you,” Penny said, standing on her brand new air cast and adjusting the crutches under her arms, not quite believing that she’d just thanked someone for telling her she couldn’t play for nearly two months.

“Do you want to go home? I can get you a car.”

“No, I want to go back. Alex is still playing, right?”

~

He wasn’t just
still playing.
He was locked in a five-set marathon with his third-round opponent, an American veteran, Frank Masters, a player they all knew well. Masters was on the downside of a decade-long career on tour, but that didn’t mean he still didn’t have a lot of game left in him.

“Game, Mr. Russell,” the chair umpire said just as Penny slid into her seat in the player’s box on Centre Court. She could feel the cameras turning and zooming in as both Alex and Frank headed for their chairs and the TV stations went to commercial break. The crowd murmured around her and Alex’s eyes were drawn to them. Someone must have told him what happened. Penny just slid the necklace she always wore out of her shirt and held in it in her hand, lifting it for him to see. His mouth was tight and he didn’t smile but simply nodded and then she saw his eyes glaze over as he slipped back into competition mode, focusing on what he had to do to finish out the match.

“He’ll be fine,” Anna said from beside her. “He knows how to turn off the world out there, almost as well as you do.”

“Yeah, I know,” Penny said, sitting back in her seat.

“He told me he’d given you that,” she said, nodding towards Penny’s clenched fist.

“It’s the best present I’ve ever gotten.”

Anna nodded. “I hope you don’t mind, sweetheart, but I took the liberty of calling your parents while we were at the hospital.”

“No, it’s okay. Saves me the trouble of having to do it.”

“You should call them anyway.”

“Oh, I will, I just…they’re going to be upset and I don’t really want to hear how sorry people are yet. They shouldn’t be sorry. I was an idiot and now I’m paying the price.”

“You’re not an idiot. You are a fierce competitor and sometimes that makes you blind to certain things, but you’re not an idiot. I’ve never seen anyone want it the way you do, Penny. Not even Alex. I remember the first time he laid eyes on you.”

“What?”

“Oh, he didn’t tell you about that? It was around this time last year.”

Penny’s thoughts flew back to a night back home when he’d confessed to seeing her for the first time and wanting her even then, but he hadn’t been specific. “He mentioned something, but…”

“You were on a practice court and he was up next and completely surrounded by people wanting his autograph, mostly young women, daughters of club members, some of the wives as well.” She paused, her eyebrows wiggling and Penny laughed. “Anyway, finally, security came and broke it up a bit and he turned around as you were coming off the court with Dom. Dom stopped and said hello to us, but you were in your own little world, sweetheart. Still had your racket in your hand, mumbling to yourself, something about staying low and driving through the ball and Alex asked Dom who you were. He told him your name and I knew it, right then, that it was over. You should have seen him in that practice session. Completely distracted. Couldn’t hit, how do they say it where you’re from? The broad side of a barn? It would have been hilarious if he didn’t have a quarterfinal match that night.”

“He won that night,” Penny said, her eyes glued to the man on the court.

“He did because he has what you have, that need to be the best and the fight to just put everything else away and
win
.”

“Well, I won’t be doing any of that for a while now,” she said, lifting her leg, still feeling it sting a little bit, even with that smallest of motions.

“Sure you will. Every day you stay off it, it’s healing. That’s a win. Every day you listen to Dom and the trainers, that’s a win. Every day you get closer to getting back on the court and winning the U.S. Open, that’s a win too.”

“The Open…” she trailed off.

“Don’t pretend like you weren’t thinking about that as soon as you got the news.”

“How did you…”

“Because I was with Alex when the doctors told him six to eight weeks after his knee injury in Australia, because as soon he could train again, he called up Dom and got on a flight across the Atlantic Ocean to get back to where he was before. So that’s what you have to do, Penny. Go back home. Rest. Recover. Then kick some ass in New York.”

“Time,” the chair umpire said, calling the players back to the court for the next game.

“New York.”

Anna patted her hand lightly. “Indeed.”

June 28
^th

Indy slept late. Really late. Late enough that the whole house was empty by the time she slid out of bed. She wandered down to the kitchen, knowing she’d have to get her butt in gear soon and get ready. She and Jasmine were set to play in the Girls Junior quarterfinals, in just a few hours. She’d been at her match the day before and she’d been just as shocked as everyone else to see Jasmine wipe the floor with Adelaide Brennan with a shiny new backhand and a confidence radiating off of her that Indy hadn’t seen in her former doubles partner since the OBX Classic, months ago.

Just as she grabbed a banana from the bowl at the center of the island, she heard the chime of the doorbell. A quick glance through the peephole and she rolled her eyes.

“Are you still my agent?” she asked, throwing open the door. Caroline Morneau stood on the other side of the threshold, perfectly put together as usual in a sleek white pencil skirt and white lace top, perfect for a day at Wimbledon.

“Of course I’m still your agent, Indiana,” she said, not waiting for an invitation inside and simply striding through the door.

“What’s up, Caroline?” she asked, following the other woman into the library and peeling her banana.

She took a large envelope from her tan brief case and unsealed it, pulling out a packet of paper and handing it to Indy. “This was just sent to me from Adidas.”

“Adidas?” Indy said, flipping through the pages. It was mostly legalese and so she looked back up at Caroline.

“A complete outfitting deal for the rest of the season. And next year, you will get a chance to design your own tournament line.”

“What about what you said before? About Jasmine and them wanting us to sign together?”

Caroline waved a hand in the air, dismissing it. “The point is moot now. After your little outburst the other day, you’re no longer the tall, blonde bombshell ready to explode onto the scene. Now you’re a risk and for now, we will simply take what is offered to us and be grateful.”

“I’m not a…”

“You are, Indiana. The sponsors don’t know what to expect from you, they don’t know who will be taking the court, the girl who blew through the competition at the French Open Juniors or the girl who couldn’t keep it together long enough to utter a ‘no comment.’ It is bad business to make potential sponsors question your mental strength.”

Indy opened her mouth to argue again, but then she let it go. “So this is the best deal we’ll be able to get now?”

“It is easily the best offer we have received and I believe you should sign it. Your father has already looked it over and given his okay. You’ll see his signature at the bottom of the page.”

“Yeah, only a few more months of that,” Indy said, still flipping through the pages, not seeing the words at all, but wanting something to do with her hands. This was it. She was going to be sponsored by Adidas. “Okay, do you have a pen?”

“As it happens,” Caroline said, holding one out to her.

She scrawled her name just below her father’s and sighed. It was done.

“You’ve made an excellent decision, Indiana. They’ll be in touch after the tournament in regards to any commitments and I’d expect a rather large shipment of gear by the time you arrive home.” Caroline took the papers back from her, slipping them back into the envelope and then into her briefcase. “I will see you later at the match. Good luck, chérie.”

Indy walked her out and as she opened the door, they saw Jack getting out of one of the tournament cars.

“Ah, perfect.” Caroline said, her heels click-clacking down the stone steps to the car and speaking to the driver.

“Hey, what are you doing back here?” Indy asked as Jack leaned down to kiss her cheek. “Forget it, I don’t care.” He was one of the only people she wanted to celebrate with. She wound her arms around his broad shoulders and used them as leverage to leap into his arms. He caught her under her thighs and as was their habit, backed her into the wall of the foyer. Her back hit the solid surface and she groaned as he lifted his mouth to hers and nipped at her lower lip. She tightened her legs around him and he echoed the noise she’d just made. She felt the reverberations through his chest and into her own body.

“Wait, wait,” he said, breaking the kiss and sucking a breath of air into his lungs. He moved off the wall and guided her back down to the floor. “As much as I’d like to take advantage of the empty house, I wanted to talk to you about something before you saw the press release. I didn’t get a chance to tell you before now because the papers weren’t signed and I don’t make it a practice to talk about business until everything is official, but she signed this morning, so…”

Her mind was still spinning from the way he’d just pulled away. “Wait, who signed what?”

“Jasmine. I signed her on as a client.”

Indy let the words turn over in her head. Jack had signed Jasmine. He was her agent. “That’s…that’s great. Congratulations,” she managed to say, still a little in shock. Now Caroline’s dismissal of her question earlier made sense. The reason Adidas had offered her a deal worth signing was because Jasmine had forgone her amateur status. She was a pro and now they’d be able to sign them both. She really hadn’t given much thought to the idea that the only reason she’d be offered a sponsorship was because her doubles partner—or really her former doubles partner—was able to sign as well. It meant that they didn’t just want her for her talent, for what she could offer them, but the package deal that came with being one half of Randazzo and Gaffney. She tried to take a deep breath, but her chest was heavy and tight. She forced herself to focus on Jack, who wasn’t done talking.

“I’m so glad you’re not upset. I know things have been a little rocky between you two since you had to drop doubles, but she approached me about it and after that performance she put on yesterday I couldn’t tell her no.” Jack leaned in to peck her lightly on the lips.

“Of course not. You had to sign her. Jasmine’s going to be a great player and you’re going to be amazing for her.”

“Yeah, I think it’s going to be a good partnership. Her parents were less than thrilled. They’d been pushing for her to try out NCAA, but she wants what she wants. I’ve already heard from Nike, Adidas and Lacoste.”

“Adidas?” Indy asked. “Not surprising.”

“Why?”

“Because I just signed a contract with them like thirty seconds ago.”

“You’re kidding? Indiana, that’s amazing,” he said, stepping up to her and pulling her into his arms. He spun around and she had to wind her arms around his shoulders to stay with him. Lowering her to her feet, he leaned in and kissed her. “Congratulations.”

“Do you want to hear about the deal?”

“Outfitting?” he asked, quirking an eyebrow.

“You
knew!
” she accused, poking him in the chest.

Jack laughed, grabbing her hand and rubbing the spot she’d injured. “Word gets around, but I have another surprise for you?”

“Yeah? What’s that?”

He reached down into his briefcase and handed her a thick envelope. “It was sent to OBX, but I had Roy keeping an eye out for it.”

She slid her hand under the seal and pulled a piece of thick parchment paper out. Her diploma. All that hard work she’d put in and she’d done it. And now, even if it wasn’t quite what they’d hoped for, she had a solid sponsorship deal with Adidas. She was a professional tennis player. It was everything she and her mom had ever dreamed of together and it was
real
. Now all that was left was to show everyone that she wasn’t a risk; that she could go out on the big stage and
win
—her stomach twisted—if she could keep the damn nerves under control.

“Go on, get dressed. You’ve got a match today.”

“Right, yeah, a match,” she said, mindlessly leaning up to kiss him and then wandering back upstairs. She felt her stomach turn again and tried to keep it at bay, gripping the paper between her fingers, feeling it bend under the pressure. Not again.