“Yeah,” I whispered, hating how fragile it sounded. “And I don’t know where she stands. I’m not assuming she’d ever look at another girl that way.” A small, tight shrug. “I don’t want to make things weird. Or worse, make her feel cornered.”
Archer breathed out through his nose, half sympathy, half sibling exasperation. “Lex… you’re allowed to want things.”
“Maybe,” I said softly. “But I’d rather keep her in my life than gamble it all and lose her.”
He bumped my shoulder lightly. “Still sounds like you’re gone for her.”
Rolling my eyes, I leaned back and changed the subject. “Anyway… how’s that model you’ve been messaging? You know, the one you’ve been ‘accidentally’ liking old posts from?”
His smirk faltered for a split second. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Oh, sure you don’t,” I said, feigning innocence. “Next you’ll tell me those fire emojis were for her photography skills.”
“They were!” he shot back, but the tips of his ears were already turning red.
I snorted. “Uh-huh. And the heart eyes?”
“That was… appreciation.”
“For what, her use of natural lighting?” I teased, grabbing my water bottle.
“Said the one who's being caught simping in HD during the Wimbledon Finals,” he grinned while shoving my shoulder.
I lunged for him, but he dodged, laughing as he darted toward the baseline. For a few minutes, it wasn’t about the US Open or training blocks, it was just us, being stupid, like we always had.
•••••
The US Open had finally kicked off, and here I was, already in Round 2. I’d gotten through my first match cleanly, straight sets, solid winners, and just enough control to keep Coach Kit from pacing holes into thesideline. He’d been in a suspiciously good mood ever since, which was… unsettling, but I didn’t question it.
From the very first game, I knew I had a groove. I stepped in and took it early. I turned toward my box automatically while fist-pumping, looking for Coach Kit’s reaction, that steady little nod he always gave when I did something right. And that’s when I saw Cassandra. Sitting with Bobby and the rest of my team.
Her sunglasses were on and she was clapping like she’d been there the whole time, like the last year of silence between us had never happened.
My chest jolted, almost enough to make me stumble on my way back to the baseline. I forced my eyes away, shook out my shoulders, tried to re-focus.
I didn’t need Cassandra here, watching me like this, measured, detached, assessing. It was the same look she used to give me, except now it felt heavier, tinged with judgment. Like she was saying without words:So this is what you traded everything for? A career in tennis instead of triathlon.
The match flew by after that. Quick points, tight rallies, and before I knew it, the chair umpire called game, set, match. I waved toward my box as usual, still catching my breath.
The on-court interview came immediately after, cameras flashing, mics shoved in my face. One question caught me off guard: “You’ll be facing Olivia Smythe next. Thoughts?”
I blinked, surprised. I usually didn’t look ahead at who I was playing until the night before, kept myself in the moment. “Olivia’s… incredible. One of the best on tour right now, really precise, mentally tough. I’ve got a lot of respect for her game, and I’ll need to be at my best if I want toget through that match.” I said it calmly, professionally, but honest.
Questions blurred into the usual safe line, “taking it one match at a time,” “focused on the next opponent,” all that jazz.
After the showers and the press conference, I stepped out of the locker room, still toweling my hair, and stopped dead in my tracks.
Bobby was leaning against the wall, deep in conversation with Coach Kit. Cassandra stood beside them, arms loosely crossed, listening like she’d been part of the circle the whole time. Her sunglasses were gone now, and her gaze flicked up just as I approached.
Bobby spotted me and grinned. “Your dad called earlier, said Cassandra was coming to watch. I figured I’d pull her into the box with us.”
Cassandra gave a little shrug, her voice even. “I was just visiting. Boston’s not far from here, so I thought… why not drop by and watch a match?”
Coach Kit handed my bag off to one of the guys. “We’ll grab your stuff and head to the quarters. I’ll let you guys talk.”
The team began drifting off down the hallway, Bobby giving me a quick pat on the shoulder before disappearing with them, leaving me standing there with Cassandra and the hum of the stadium in the background.
I cleared my throat, shifting my grip on the towel draped around my neck. “There’s a players’ lounge upstairs with a section for VIP guests. We could… grab something there? Sit down?”
