“Thirteen,” Bobby confirmed instantly. “Back when you were doing triathlons in the morning and tennis tournaments in the afternoon. I still don’t know how you had the energy. I’d be wrecked just watching.”
I laughed. “I was too stubborn to admit I was wrecked. Dad had just brought you on then, right?”
“Yeah. He told me you needed someone who wouldn’t let you get away with murder but also wouldn’t crush you with rules. He said,‘She’ll test you, but if you earn her trust, she’ll run through walls for you.’”
I rolled my eyes, but my chest warmed. “And I definitely tested you.”
“Every. Single. Day,” Bobby said, grinning. “You’d fight me on everything, warmups, nutrition, even which shoes to wear. I thought you hated me.”
“I didn’t hate you,” I said softly. “I just... didn’t know how to let someone in who wasn’t family. You changed that.”
“Except Cassandra,” Bobby corrected.
“Yes, but she’d been my best friend since I was eight, until... yeah, you get it.”
Bobby’s expression softened, the usual banter dimming for a moment. “You grew on me, too, kid. You were sharp, stubborn, but you had this drive I hadn’t seen before. I knew even then that you’d be something special.”
I tilted my head, teasing. “Oh, don’t worry, I plan to keep it more interesting. Someone has to make sure you’re really doing your job, you know.”
He shook his head, though he was smiling. “You’ll drive me up the wall one day, you know that?”
“Still do, don’t I?” I shot back.
“Every damn day,” Bobby replied, but his grin was fond. “Wouldn’t trade it for anything.”
We watched the rest of the match together, side by side, the sound turned low. Olivia closed it out with a smooth down-the-line forehand, no celebration, just that calm, collected nod of hers.
I didn’t say anything. Bobby didn’t either. He just smiled and passed me the bag of chips.
Tomorrow, we’d hit the courts for a full practice block. The real work was here.
OLIVIA
I wasn’t at my best this week in Montreal. Not even close. My body felt heavy, the kind of tired that sleep didn’tquite fix, and every match seemed to underline how far I still had to go.
I clicked back a few frames, adjusting the angle on my laptop, watching myself with the kind of honesty I couldn’t always manage on court.
“Are we watching game film or admiring our own highlight reel?” Maddie’s voice floated in as she pushed into the room, a banana in one hand and her phone in the other.
“Both,” I said, not looking up. “I want to tighten my return game before quarters. My opponent’s been holding serve too easily.”
“She has, but you’ve been outplaying people even before the rallies start, even though you’re not in your A game lately.” Maddie flopped onto the couch dramatically.
I paused the video, leaning back in my chair. “Yeah, I know. I just… I think it’s all mental. I can’t seem to find that drive lately, especially after what happened with Bianca again.”
Maddie peeled her banana with a small grin. “Then don’t overthink it. One match at a time, Liv. Get through Montreal, reset, then on to Cincinnati. That’s all you need to focus on.”
I let out a quiet breath. “Yeah… easier said than done. Sometimes I wish I had even a fraction of that kind of grit, the kind of player who always seems untouchable, the one you can’t help but look up to.”
She then tossed her phone beside my laptop. “Speaking of Grit, have you seen this?”
I glanced at the screen. A headline from a tennis blog:Alexandra Cadiz Spotted Training in Ohio: Back in Action!
“Wait,” I said, reaching for the phone. “Alex is back on tour?”
“Yeah. Press confirmed it yesterday.”
I smiled widely. “Good for her.”
