“I know that,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest. They’d had this conversation a million times since January. “I’ll be ready.”
Jack slung an arm over her shoulder and squeezed. “I know, but I wouldn’t be doing my job if I didn’t remind you.”
Rolling her eyes, Penny said, “What was I thinking hiring my brother as my agent?”
“You were thinking that your big brother is brilliant and that he’d always do what’s best for you, even when that means kicking you in the ass. Now go get dressed.”
She stood tall and saluted him. “Sir, yes, sir.”
“Brat.”
Twenty minutes later, they sped down Ocean Trail toward OBX, windows open, the morning sun sparkling against the water, salt air crisp against her skin. Pulling into the parking lot, Jack navigated into her designated spot.
RESERVED FOR PENELOPE HARRISON
WORLD #33
The sign had been updated after her run at the Aussie, as well as some decent finishes in a few other tournaments. Now, after last week, she’d popped into the top twenty for the first time in her career. They’d have to update it again. Rankings were determined by a points system that reflected the results, good and bad, of each player at every tournament. Some tournaments were worth more than others and Grand Slams were worth the most. When Dom recruited her, convincing her parents to move their family from Chicago to this tiny town on the North Carolina coast, he promised she would someday be a top-twenty player. Now, here they were, a few weeks away from the French Open, where she could hopefully push into the top ten.
Penny grinned, thinking about that last match in Madrid. She’d worked for that win for a very long time. A breakthrough. A crucial step that brought her closer to winning her first Grand Slam.
As she stepped out of the car, the sounds of the game she loved filled her ears from over the high fences surrounding the forty-five-court complex, the solidthwackof balls hitting racket strings, sharp instruction from coaches, the pounding of feet on the hard courts. Jack went to the trunk to grab his bag, but Penny headed straight in.
She and Jack managed only a few steps into the main building, which housed the offices, a few indoor courts, and the training rooms, when Roy Whitfield caught sight of her.
“Penny Harrison!”
“Hey, Roy.”
The old security guard was at his usual post in the atrium, his stack of daily newspapers ready, the collar of his navy-blue polo shirt starched, and his ever-present walkie-talkie on his hip. He greeted her with a bright smile, just like he always did when she arrived home from tour.
As usual, not much had changed in her absence.
The air smelled the same, rubber from the soles of all the sneakers, the distinct aroma that popped out of every newly opened can of tennis balls, and the sharp scent of the floor cleaner. This was home, too. OBX was the place that made her dreams a reality.
“Coach asked to see you as soon as you got in,” Roy said, nodding up at her coach’s office.
“I’m not in trouble, am I?” she asked as she walked to the stairs.
“I wouldn’t call ittrouble,” Roy said, his cheeks wrinkling as he smiled.
“I’m gonna head out there, Pen. I’ll see you later. Roy,” Jack said, walking off toward the back exit. After playing tennisat Harvard, Jack had sometimes helped with the coaching when he was back at OBX between law school terms. And even once he’d graduated and started representing Penny, he kept at it. He insisted he did it to keep himself in shape, but Penny figured he must miss playing—she couldn’t imagine giving tennis up cold turkey.
She took the stairs two at a time up to Dom’s office and found him standing at his window, which overlooked the rest of the facility, and in the distance, the coast with tiny umbrellas dotting the shoreline in various shades of the rainbow.
“Hey,” she said, tossing herself into the seat across from his desk.
Dom turned and moved around his desk. “P, welcome back. You ready to go?”
“Yep. Roy said you wanted to see me. What’s up?”
“I wanted to talk through our training plan.”
Penny pursed her lips and waited for him to continue. As nice as it was to be home, there were two tournaments between now and the French Open she could be playing in, both of which Zina Lutrova was headlining. It had been Dom’s idea to skip those tournaments in favor of coming back to train.
“I’ve brought in an old friend of mine to be your hitting partner. He’s just getting back into full-time training himself, so it’ll be the perfect fit for the next few weeks.”
Penny raised an eyebrow. “Yeah?”
