Without thinking about it, I take his hand. “It’s not nothing,” I tell him, my heart still beating fast.
“Do you really think he’s worth it?” he ask, frustrated. “Because as far as I’m concerned, we’ve already given that man enough of our time.”
“Oh.” I know there’s a lot more hurting in him right now, and I want him to feel like he can open up to me, but Spencer clearly doesn’t want that. My job is to make him feel better, help him relax. And if he wants to pretend that drunk prick never confronted us, that’s what we should do.
“Good point. We have given him too much time already.” I realize I’m holding his hand and let go. “Forget him.”
Spencer summons a weak smile. “Thanks. And, uh, thanks for sticking up for me, too.”
“No one talks shit about my husband,” I tell him. “No one.”
Spencer’s smile grows until it’s lopsided. “Burgers?”
“Burgers,” I agree.
CHAPTERSEVENTEEN
SPENCER
I sit on the bench,the smell of fresh tennis balls wafting about the court, and stare down at my phone.
Gabriel: What kind of fish do you like? This is Seattle, remember. We’re fishmongers
Me: Are you monging fish for me?
Gabriel: I’m paying a service to prepare those healthy meal things that you eat
Gabriel: Unless you want to work with what’s already in the fridge? Once the old pizza dries out enough, it’s basically preserved
Gabriel: A delicacy
I grin to myself. I’m not flying out until the weekend, but Gabriel is already preparing. It feels nice to have someone looking out for me. Unfamiliar, though.
Me: Thanks for ordering food for me
Gabriel: I know how you athletes are
Me: Alyssa said the party we’re going to is hosted by Fox?
Gabriel: It’s his birthday Saturday night. We’ll make an appearance. It will be a private club situation, photos on the way in and out, super easy
Me: I’ll bring a nice suit
He sends me a winky face back, and I catch myself sitting there, grinning at an emoji.
I shove the phone in my tennis bag where it won’t distract me. Gabriel and I started texting when he was on the plane back to Seattle and have kept it up every day since.
He makes me smile. Gabriel still drives me out of my skull a little bit, but texting with him makes me happy. It’s a relief to have someone to share my world with and to laugh about things that are otherwise stressful.
My trainer returns, and I go back to the court to run drills. I could distract myself imagining Gabriel’s life in Seattle, wondering what I’m going to learn about him.
Luckily, the footwork and precision shots we’re focusing on are challenging enough to consume me. If I play things right, the worst of this media circus will die down by the time I start playing tournaments again, and over the next weeks, I can still get in the training hours I planned.
Some fans ask me for autographs on the way out of the gym, and they naturally ask about my husband, too. It’s quick and friendly, which is always a relief. There haven’t been any more incidents like the drunk fan of my father, and many of the snide comments and disparaging remarks about my game have died down, at least to my face.
But still, every time someone approaches me, the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.
I cram in some extra hours reviewing old matches over the last few days, and my month-long intensive comes to a close.
