“But they’re enjoying themselves,” I offered.
“Indeed.” He nodded. “I’m guessing that we’ll be playing against two of them once they finish? Won’t be much of a practice session. None of my guys could make it this morning. Worst case, if they can’t stay and play, we’ll just work on drills. I think we’re in good shape for the big day.”
I glanced down at Howard’s knee brace. “How are you feeling?”
“About as creaky as an old barn door, but that’s life. You?”
Brokenhearted. Foolish. Miserable. Worried.
“Fine.” I smiled despite the dull ache in my chest. I jutted my chin toward the court. “Looks like they’re finishing up.”
“Good.” Howard got up slowly. “Let’s go ruin their day.”
Turns out, the only day ruined was ours, thanks to me. I played like I’d never set foot on a court. All of my shots were too hard. A dink? Never heard of her. I served into the net. And my accidental pop-ups were ridiculous, to the point where I was basically setting up our formerly sweet old lady opponents to smash the ball in my face. Sure, they’d been holding back during their gossipy play, but on a regular day, Howard and I could’ve buried them.
I got so frustrated that I nearly threw my precious paddle during our final game. I mustered up a tight grin as we tapped paddles over the net once it was over, furious at myself for a million different reasons.
Howard and I walked toward the door side by side and silent. He finally spoke up, like he couldn’t hold back any longer.
“What’s going on with you today?” he asked softly.
His voice was almost grandfatherly with concern, and it was enough to open the floodgates I’d been keeping locked up tight.
“I’m... I’m dealing with a lot right now.” I sniffled as tears sprang to my eyes. “Life. It’s too much.”
“Yes, but it’s better than the alternative,” he mused, watching me out of the corner of his eye as we walked out to the street. He turned to me. “Are you sure you want to play in the tournament? It’s perfectly fine to back out, you know. We can try for the next one, in the fall.”
Not playing in the tournament would derail my only concrete goal. EvenArcherdidn’t have a due date; it was all up to me. I’d realized that I craved a deadline, a point where timing and effort merged and I was forced to deliver something.
“No, we’redoingthis. I’m not backing out.”
“Wonderful,” he said with a nod. “Then we’ll consider today our dress rehearsal. I’ve done my fair share of community theater—I was recently Buffalo Bill Cody inAnnie Get Your Gun—and a bad dress rehearsal is an omen for a good show.”
He reached out to give my shoulder a squeeze, and my eyes flooded again.
“You’re going to be okay, Brooke.”
I felt my chin tremble. “I’m really trying to believe that.”
Chapter Forty-One
“You look like a winner,” Meredith said to me as I twisted to scan my reflection in the mirror. “Scary strong.”
I’d opted to wear an old standard for the tournament, my black sleeveless shirt and skort, because I didn’t want to worry about surprise scratchy tags or too-small arm holes as Howard and I kicked ass.
But of course, the tournament was no big deal, which meant there was no need for a spiffy new outfit. I was just playing a slightly more regulated game than usual. We wouldn’t have to worry if a ball was in or out; the ref would tell us. I wasn’t even a little nervous, or at least that’s what I kept telling myself. Meredith and Colton were coming to watch, and Nia told me she was with me in spirit while she was off signing books on the West Coast.
The one person Ineededto be there still hadn’t responded to me.
I couldn’t dedicate any headspace to worrying about Owen even though my regrets were constant low-level background noise in my head. I didn’t have to be consciously thinking about him; Owen was always with me. I knew exactly how he’d respond after every shot I made on the court, either offering a correction or celebrating my progress. Whenever I hearda perfectly placed ball bounce off my paddle with the telltale thwack, Owen was there. He’d taught me how to differentiate between a ball bouncing off the edge of the paddle and one hitting the sweet spot, and now I couldn’t unhear it.
“Colt is meeting us there,” Meredith said as she grabbed her things. “We should probably head over. Registration and all that.”
Meredith seemed bossier than usual, like she was nervous for me, which sent an unwelcome kink to my gut. I had to keep reminding myself that the tournament was nothing more than achieving a goal. I didn’t have to win; I just had to play. To prove to myself that I could.
“Yup,” I said. I grabbed my bag. “I’m ready.”
I walked outside half expecting the street to be crowded with people in court gear carrying paddles, like it was the Thanksgiving Day parade but make it pickleball.
