I set my phone down on the nightstand, the glow fading from the room. That’s when Maddie’s voice cut through the quiet, startling me. I hadn’t even realized she’d been here the whole time, camped out across the room for most of the afternoon and well into the night.
“Uh-huh.Sportsmanship, right?”
I threw a pillow at her.
She caught it easily, grinning. “You’ve got that look, Liv.”
“What look?”
“The one that says you’re not as indifferent as you want me to believe.”
I didn’t dignify it with an answer. I should be thinking about my match prep, my recovery, my game plan. Instead, I was lying here wondering if she’d gone to sleep smiling... and why it mattered so much if she had.
Maddie let out a soft chuckle, finally deciding she’d overstayed her commentary. “Alright, I’ll leave you now with whatever you're thinking about.”
As the door clicked shut, the quiet settled back in. I closed my eyes, trying to push everything aside, but part of me already knew that the memory of Alex, her smile, her teasing, and the way our conversation had felt effortless would follow me well into tomorrow and probably beyond.
And it did.
The next morning, I found myself half-dressed for training but rooted to the spot in front of the hotel TV. Alex’s match had just started, and I told myself I’d only watch a few games while finishing my smoothie.
That turned into watching the whole thing.
She won in straight sets, but it wasn’t the type of win where you lean back smugly and think, job done. Her movement was sharp in bursts but not as clean as I’d seen it before; there were a few rallies where she looked... frustrated, like she was still trying to find the groove she wanted.
Still, she fought for every point.
When the match ended, I lingered on the screen a moment longer than necessary, watching her do the usual handshake and wave to the crowd. She smiled, not the easy one I’d seen in our last interactions, but the polished, camera-ready kind.
I switched off the TV before I could think too much about it and grabbed my racquet bag. Training wasn’t going to wait, and the last thing I needed was Maddie catching me watching Alex play like it was some guilty pleasure.
Down in the training courts, Dani was already there, tossing balls into a hopper. She clocked me immediately. “Morning, Liv. You’re late.”
“I’m not late,” I said, pulling my jacket tighter. “I was... watching a match.”
She arched a brow. “Let me guess. Cadiz?”
I tried for a shrug, aiming for casual. “It was on. She played fine.”
“Fine?” Dani scoffed. “She won, didn’t she?”
“Yeah, but she’s still not quite there,” I said before thinking. “Her timing’s off on the return, and her first serve percentage dipped in the second set.”
Dani gave me a look that said she’d caught more in that comment than I’d intended. “Funny. You don’t talk that closely about other players.”
“I’m just... observant,” I muttered, pulling my visor lower.
She smirked. “Observant, right. Let’s put that focus to good use then. Baseline drills.”
•••••
I managed to win matches like it was nothing or at least that’s how it looked on paper. The stats said I was cruising, the commentators said I looked sharp, the fans cheered. But in reality, the more matches I won, the more that dull ache in my wrist began to make itself known.
By the time I reached my round-of-16 match, it had transformed into a sharp, stubborn throb with every forehand. I strapped it tight, iced it until the skin went numb, and repeated the lie I’d been feeding myself: it’ll loosen once I warm up.
Midway through the second set, I mis-timed a return and felt a sharp throb enough to make my breath hitch,but not a full-on snap. I forced my expression to stay neutral, though my fingers flexed around the racquet handle like they were testing if it still worked.Not now. Not like this. I can push through.
Within moments, the physio was on the court, ice pack pressed against the sore spot, gently manipulating it while I bounced on the balls of my feet. “Try a few more points,” she said cautiously.
