Page 10

5

Mac

Mac’s alarmblared as she rolled over to turn it off.

“Jesus, that thing is loud,” Babs groaned from the bed across the room. At two grand a night, all Babs could afford was a Deluxe Suite with two twin beds. Sunlight was also a luxury they couldn’t afford; on the lower floors, the suites were almost as dark as they had been at eight the night before.

Lifting herself out of bed, Mac stretched her back. It might have been a small bed, but it was plenty comfortable. Last season, Babs booked a cheaper hotel. If anything, it felt like a vote of confidence that she was willing to splurge on the cheapest Four Seasons room this time around. Mackenzie swung her legs over the side of the bed as Babs stood and headed to the bathroom.

From the bathroom, Babs called out. “You’ve got to eat in the next thirty minutes, or you’ll have to wait until after your match. Nothing too sugary!”

“Got it,” Mac called back as she rubbed the sleep from her eyes. As she scrounged for something other than pajamasto wear to the hotel breakfast, a knock came from the door. “Hello?”

“Delivery,” a staff member called from the door.

Mac padded across the carpeted floors and flung open the door, her forehead wrinkled.

Standing a few feet from the threshold, a bellhop dressed in an immaculate suit held a massive clothing box with a velvet, blue ribbon tied around it. “For Mackenzie Bennett.”

“That’s me,” Mac nodded as she held out her arms to take the box. Just above the ribbon was the familiar three bar symbol. Once the door was closed behind her, Mac set the box down on the mattress and delicately pulled at the bow. She’d never opened a box so carefully, but this was unlike any gift she’d ever opened.

With a light tug, the bow came undone, ribbon draping onto the duvet. Mac wiggled her fingers before sliding the lid off the box Under blue tissue paper the same shade as the ribbon was a brand new, navy blue outfit. It was simple and sleek, much nicer than the worn out, polyester she’d gotten from Don’s Sporting Supplies three years ago that she’d planned to wear.

And at the very bottom of the box was the real prize: a new pair of tennis shoes. They were a stunning, shiny blue with higher tops to protect Mac’s ankles. She picked them up and twirled them in her hands. The rubber sole was stiff. Mac raised her eyebrows as the smell of new shoes wafted into her nose.

Babs walked out of the bathroom with her brows raised, fluffing her short hair. “Well, that’s a nice kit.”

“I know. I thought they’d send an old line.” Mac turned the shoes in her hand, examining the fresh soles.

“Alright,” Babs nodded, “wear your old shoes for qualifiers; we’ll break these in overnight.” She was dressed in a loungey pant with a fitted polo. Even in her retirement, her decades of muscle still showed through.

Babs grabbed two gallon-sized baggies from her suitcase. She disappeared into the bathroom as Mac watched her. Mac’s confusion only grew when Babs reentered the bedroom, both baggies now half full of water.

“What in the hell are you doing, Barbara?” Mac shook her head.

Babs groaned. “You kids. You have no idea how this shit works.” She snatched the new shoes from Mac’s hands, untying them and placing the bags of water inside. She carefully pushed the bottom of each bag to the toe of the shoes.

Gawking, Mac could hardly find words. “Babs, seriously.”

Without explaining, Babs opened the mini fridge and placed the shoes inside the freezer compartment. Groaning as she got back onto her feet, Babs rolled her eyes. “Water expands when it freezes. It stretches the shoe just enough to stop it from blistering your feet.”

Mac pursed her lips. “Huh, I hadn’t thought of that.”

“Can’t have you playing in a major Grand Slam with bleeding feet.” Babs shrugged. “At least not at the start of the tournament.”

With a laugh, Mac checked the time; it was already 9 am, and her first match started in just over two hours. “Shit,” she murmured, “I need to get going.” She breezed through the bathroom, tossed on her new outfit, and rushed to the elevator. She tried to keep her footsteps light, not wanting to disturb the peace of such a nice hotel. But just as she was a few feet from the doors, they started to slide closed.

“Hold that please!” Mac called out.

Luckily, a hand darted out to stop the sensors from closing any further.

Mac smiled as she entered, seeing another competitor inside. “Thanks.”

The woman nodded. If Mac remembered correctly, she was a Brazilian player, also heading to qualify. The ride down was silent and quick.

Before she knew it, the doors were sliding open to the lobby. It was far more bustling than it had been when Mac and Babs were checking in not long ago. Dozens of tennis stars strolled through the lobby, all of them dressed up in designer outfits likely purchased the day before in the high-end stores on the avenue. The week before the tournament began was more of a social event for the top one hundred players; it was only the newbies that had to compete for a spot on the brackets.

Mac tugged at the hem of her tight tank top, trying to swallow the anxiety building in her throat as she walked toward the dining room where breakfast was being served. The ceilings were at least twenty feet high. In classic Parisian style, the molding around the room was gilded. A wave of incredible scents filled her nose; chocolate, warm pastries, meat cooked to perfection.