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Elena meets me at the net. Our handshake is brief. She says, “Good match,” before she gathers her things and disappears toward the clubhouse as fast as humanly possible without looking back.

I barely have time to shoulder my bag before Zoe collides with me in a giant, tearful hug. “That’s my girl! Keller the Killer!” she shouts into my shoulder, her sunhat tilting wildly. “I knew you had it! I knew it!”

Over Zoe’s shoulder, I see Theo slow clapping. “Well done, Katie,” he says. “You played brilliantly.”

“Thanks, guys, but that was only the first round. There’s still a long way to go,” I say, though the last thing on my mind is stepping back onto the court today after that marathon.

My eyes drift toward the parking lot, searching the crowds for one spiky-haired theatre performer. But all I see are strangers. My shoulders slump and a knot forms in my chest.

“He didn’t show,” I say under my breath. “I really thought he would.”

Zoe sighs. “Katie⁠—”

An official carrying a clipboard approaches before she finishes. “What was the score, please?”

“Four-six, six-four, seven-five,” I rasp out.

The official scribbles it down without looking up. “Gritty win, Keller. You’ve got the winner of Low and Carvajal. The match is scheduled for no earlier than one p.m. Check the board in three hours for the court assignment.”

“Thanks,” I manage.

Three hours.

“Right,” Zoe says, shifting from friend mode into PT mode. “No more standing. Theo, grab her racquet bag. Katie, we need to get you off your feet.”

“I need to cool down first.”

“No you don’t. You”—she pokes me in the chest—“need to conserve your energy.”

We find a patch of shade under a cluster of palm trees. Theo disappears to find me a light lunch while Zoe gets to work. She has me lie out on a blanket and prop my right leg up onto my bag.

The second she unwinds the athletic tape, I hiss. The skin underneath is raw, red, and swollen.

“Don’t look at it,” Zoe commands. She straps a heavy ice pack firmly over the joint while she massages my other sore muscles.

I let out a long, shaky breath, staring up at the palm fronds. “Where do you think he is?”

“Don’t know. And don’t care.” Zoe’s brow furrows, her thumbs pausing for a split second in the meat of my calf. “All I can say is that I’m glad he’s leaving town tomorrow, because he’ll have me to deal with if I see him.”

“Do you think it was at least for a good reason?” I ask.

Zoe stops and looks me dead in the eye, her expression softens into something more pitying than I want to see. I hate how desperate I sound. “Maybe there’s a reason. Maybe there isn’t. Right now, focus on what you can control.”

“I guess you’re right,” I murmur, closing my eyes and trying to lock that door in my mind.

I press my headphones over my ears and pull up Max’s playlist. The first few piano notes of “Mia & Sebastian’s Theme” from La La Land drift through the speakers.

I consider skipping it. Today, the song hits a little too close to home. But I close my eyes and listen to it anyway. I didn’t come all this way to let his absence steal this from me.

Theo returns twenty minutes later. I slide my headphones down around my neck just as he holds out a brown paper bag and two chilled electrolyte drinks. “Turkey on sourdough and some fruit,” he says, his voice flat and practical.

“Thanks, but I’ll take the other bag.” I can smell the glorious scent of sweet potato fries and what has to be an Alpine Burger.

He holds it out of reach. “Not for you.”

“Come on, Theo, you can’t get Burger Chalet and leave me out.”

“Yes I can,” Theo says simply. “Zoe and I aren’t playing. You are.” He pauses. “But if you want Burger Chalet that badly, I’ll take you after the next match. Win or lose.”