I was in no mood to chat or date or be nice. In the course of twelve hours, the freedoms I’d known for the last few years were gone. My heart leaped at the opportunity to surrender itself to a little girl I’d never met, and the woman I’d always longed for.
I beat the hell out of the treadmill, running faster than my knee was comfortable with but fast enough to make my brain shut the fuck down. I couldn’t even tell you what was on the television, but it was better than the two-bit coed making eyes at me, or the memory of the night before.
Visions of Jules flashed in my mind like that old-fashioned toy, a viewfinder. Sweat rolled from my forehead and down my face, stinging my eyes, and I blinked the visions away.
After abusing my knee on the treadmill, I showered, changed into my whites, grabbed a smoothie, and drove to the public tennis courts.
I didn’t have it in me to ditch my commitments because my world had been shattered the night before. Once a month, the pros from my club ran a free tennis clinic in the park for kids and teens. I’d been involved for the last four years, and found it to be the most rewarding thing I’d ever done. Better than earning a few million in the market, or giving backspin tips to the privileged kids at the club.
The teens I worked with at the park didn’t have all the advantages I’d been provided, and some of them showed real promise. They were hungry and wanted to win. Yes, I missed playing and coaching, and teaching only sated part of the hunger in me, but it was better than nothing.
“Hey, Drew,” the head pro called to me. “Good to see you.”
“Thanks, Derrick. You know I love this.”
“I know. Way more than my young pros do, the pricks. Which is why I have to ask you a favor.”
“Shoot.” I shook my racquet out of the bag and tossed the grip between my hands.
“I know you love the teens, but we have a second session of the kinder clinic starting today. Susie usually teaches them, but she went to a wedding this weekend. And, well, you’re the only one with enough patience to do it. Most of them are returning kids.”
“No problem. Which court?”
“The one over in the shade.”
I didn’t tell Derrick, but I welcomed the reprieve. Little kids were easy—a constant stream of light forehands and backhands, and they were happy. We could even do some volleys.
Two little boys waited for me, caps secured on their heads and shoes double-laced on their feet.
“Hey, boys, I’m Coach Drew. Who are you?”
“Stephen.”
“Patrick. Where’s Susie? She taught us last session.”
“She had a commitment today, but she’ll be back. Like I said, I’m Drew, and it’s nice to meet you. Why don’t we stretch a little on the baseline while we wait for a few others?”
I checked their secondhand racquets and grips, then ran them through a few stretches. Soon we were joined by Polly, Samantha, and Chris.
We were lining up on the baseline when I heard a child say, “Mom, I’m fine. I know how to hit. It’s easy.”
“Dar, let me just meet your instructor,” said a familiar voice. “We’re new here.”
I turned and looked down at my freaking spitting image, who had long strawberry-blond hair. The little girl stared up at me with wide blue eyes, as familiar to me as my own, and I swallowed the lump in my throat.
“Hi, um, I’m Coach Drew. We were going to start with hitting forehands.” I forced myself to speak through the angry recognition and sharp pain searing through my spine.
“I’m Darla. I’m new here, but I know what that is, a forehand. My mom was a tennis player, and so am I.”
So was your dad.
The tiny spitfire marched right over to the baseline and took her place in line, spinning her grip and tossing the racquet from hand to hand.
I eyed the redheaded woman now standing off to the side, and tried not to shoot daggers her way. This was the woman I’d been so desperately in love with, I’d set aside all my own wants and needs for her happiness.
And what did she do?
She hid my kid.
