Once we hung up, I opened a new message thread and hovered over Amelia Wilson’s name. Just seeing it there made my heart skip.
I’d never messaged her directly before. My thumbs hovered over the keyboard. Then, slowly, I began.
I read it over four times. Then hit send before I lost my nerve.
She replied in less than five minutes.
I stared at the message, frozen for a moment. We exchanged a few messages after that, then I packed up my things and got ready for my flight.
•••••
After a long flight, I finally stepped off the plane into the quiet buzz of the Brisbane airport. I’d slept through nearly eighty percent of the journey, tucked into a soft first-class seat with a blanket up to my chin and noise-cancelling headphones that felt like a cocoon. For a moment, the world outside tennis had paused.
As I wheeled my suitcase through arrivals, my stomach fluttered, not from nerves exactly, more like that strange weightlessness you get when you’re standing somewhere that used to mean everything.
Then I saw Mrs. Wilson and her husband standing beside her.
“Olivia Smythe,” Mrs. Wilson said, opening her arms as I approached. “You made it.”
I smiled, maybe too big, trying to push away the fact that my throat was already tightening. “Thank you for having me, Mrs. Wilson.”
“Nonsense. We’re lucky to have you back. Come on, let’s get you settled,” she said, giving my arm a light squeeze before nodding to one of the staff to grab my bag.
Mr. Cadiz gave me a warm nod and an easy grin. “Welcome back, Olivia.”
“Thank you, Mr. Cadiz,” I said politely, still a bit in awe.
He chuckled. “No need to be so formal, just Miguel is fine.”
I smiled, the nerves in my chest easing a little.
Mr. and Mrs. Wilson-Cadiz, along with their team manager, ushered me toward the car waiting just outside. It was all smooth and professional, but not stiff. They asked about the flight, if I’d eaten, and how I was feeling. I told them I slept through most of it, and they laughed, saying that was the best way to fly.
Mrs. Wilson smiled. “Let’s get you settled then. You’ve had a long flight, and I imagine the last thing you want is jet lag.”
She was right. I just wanted stillness. A soft bed. Maybe, finally, some peace.
As we pulled into the long, tree-lined drive, I sat forward slightly in my seat, blinking against the soft glow of the lights illuminating the property. The Wilson-Cadiz residence was... massive. Sleek lines, tall windows, and soft, architectural lighting that made the place look more like a boutique hotel than a family home. The kind of house you’d expect to see in glossy lifestyle magazines, not actually pull into.
It was modern, yes, but it didn’t feel cold. The exterior was softened by well-kept hedges, climbing vines along one side, and a few lanterns flickering near the entrance. Even in the dark, it looked alive and warm.
“Here we are,” Mrs. Wilson said as we stepped into the foyer. “Feel free to make yourself at home, Olivia. I imagine all those hours in the air must’ve taken a toll. We’ll have someone bring your things over to the guest house so you can get settled.”
“Thank you again, Mrs. Wilson, this is...” I began, still trying to wrap my head around how kind they were being.
She waved me off gently. “Please, no need for the formalities. Call me Amelia. I’d really appreciate it. The same goes for Miguel.”
Miguel, who was already halfway to the kitchen, called over his shoulder with a grin, “We only pull out the surnames when someone’s in trouble.”
I smiled, the tightness in my chest easing a little. “Alright. Thank you, Amelia. Really. This means a lot.”
“Of course it does, love. You’re one of us now.”
When we stepped into the living room, the first thing I noticed was the quiet, like the house itself was holding its breath. Then my eyes caught the shape on the L-shaped couch. A tangle of limbs, an oversized hoodie, mismatched socks poking out at odd angles. Alex sprawled across the cushions as if the day had wrung her out and left her there, one arm flung dramatically over her eyes, fast asleep, undone in a way I’d rarely seen her.
Amelia sighed with a mix of affection and mild embarrassment. “I’m sorry you have to see her like this. She’s got an unhealthy attachment to that couch and apparently couldn’t be bothered to make it to her room.”
I laughed, already feeling a strange comfort in the domestic chaos. “It’s alright. I’ve passed out on a sofa more times than I’d like to admit, usually after a long training day.”
