“I know.”
What?
“Listen …” He runs a hand over his face and sighs. “I know I haven’t been the friendliest since you got here.”
I raise an eyebrow. Nate scrubs a hand over his hair with a cringing smile. “I’m just over-protective of my friends sometimes, and Ben means a lot to me.”
I open my mouth to speak. I’m not sure what was going to come out, so I’m glad Nate interrupts.
“But I’ve seen how good you two are together and how happy you make him. So, I guess … sorry for being a dick. I’m glad you joined the team, and not just because you’re good at tennis.” He turns this full-beam, president-of-the-fraternity smile on me. I’m stunned. What the hell do I say to that?
“That’s all I wanted to say.” Nate adds when he sees I’m not going to contribute anything to the conversation. “I’m glad he’s happy. I’m fully on board with you two. That’s all.”
He lays back and turns the light out.
It takes me a while to get his words into my head. I shouldn’t care what Nate thinks of me or if he approves of my relationship with Ben, but it felt good to hear him say it. It felt good to hear I make Ben happy. Ben does deserve to be happy, but I won’t be around to be the reason.
The partners of professional tennis players have to follow them around on the tour, give up their own goals to be with them. I’m not going to inflict that on Ben. He has far too much potential to give up his dreams. His company is going to change the face of tennis. And I know he and Nate will make it happen no matter what. I’m not going to stand in the way of that.
But the more I tell myself I’m fine with walking away, the less I believe it.
The following morning,after breakfast, we go out onto the courts to warm up before our first match against the University of Texas.
Most of the Division I conferences have sent their best tennis team to this tournament. Texas from the SEC, Stanford from the ACC. University of Arizona is representing the Big 12, San Diego the West Coast Conference ... I blink, taking in how good it feels to represent something, especially something as prestigious and well-respected as the IvyLeague. But my main goal—I remind myself as I step out onto the court—is to impress any pro coaches that may be in attendance.
While Coach Sanchez tries to keep us grounded and focused on the match, rumors spread about who might be here, watching.
Archer keeps checking his phone, whispering with the guys about the latest information.
I hear the name Richard Kingsley and my heart flies into my throat.TheRichard Kingsley is here? Possibly the greatest tennis coach of the Open Era? Here to watch our little college tournament? Richard Kingsley has coached multiple men’s and women’s players to Grand Slam victories and world number one spots. If I could work with him, my success would be practically guaranteed. He could introduce me to the best nutritionists, physiotherapists, and trainers in the sport. Not to mention managers and agents.
But I can’t think about that right now. My mind needs to be on the upcoming match. I try to focus on my surroundings instead as we warm up. The pristine blue courts that look exactly like the courts at Princeton, except for the surrounding palm trees and the mountains in the distance. That’s testament to the elite facilities the school is providing us with. I zone in on that. On how lucky I am to be here as it is.
A tall, stately man with grey hair and dressed in sponsored tennis gear finds his seat in the stands. When he looks up, he seems pleased with himself, happy to be here, eager to watch some tennis.
“Is that Richard Kingsley?” Ben whispers in my ear.
I nod, unable to speak.
I catch Kingsley clap as we’re announced on the court while the umpire says, “From Princeton University,representing the Ivy League, Elias Liebrenz and Benjamin Harris.”
I adjust the sweatbands on my wrists before jogging out to meet our opponents.
I’m still having a hard time talking, so Ben chooses what we’ll be in the coin toss. We lose, and I’m actually grateful I won’t be expected to serve yet. It gives me time to adjust. To block out the fact thattheRichard Kingsley is watching my match. That there is the possibility he may see potential in me, want to work with me. When I’d considered catching the eye of a pro coach, I’d never allow myself to dream it would be him.
I’m a little tight at first, but luckily Ben picks up the slack until I can relax into our usual rhythm.
The fun we’ve been having playing tennis together quickly evaporates with the seriousness of the situation. This is no longer a drill. There’s too much at stake to relax and have fun. Playing well is all that counts right now.
I can see the stress in Ben’s face between points, like he’s trying his best, for me. To help me impress Kingsley. He’s helping me abandon him and the team, because it’s what I want.
The match goes by in a blur. We wipe the floor with the University of Texas and win a point for the team, taking us one step closer to advancing into the next round.
The doubles point is good, but it’s my singles match Kingsley will be most interested in. I try to focus while Nate plays his match, but I can practically feel the legendary tennis coach’s presence behind me in the stands. Was he impressed? Did I do enough? I still have more time to make an impression. I just hope he doesn’t leave before it’s time to play my match.
Ben is up next. He has a tough match against anopponent I realize I’ve been too distracted to research. I studied my own opponent last night before I went to sleep, but I didn’t have time to look at everyone.
Ben holds his own against Texas’ player, winning the match 6-4, 7-5.
