Page 32

MOM ALWAYS CALLED the club’s members our family, and I have followed in this tradition. But I don’t think I’ve ever thought about what she really meant by that until Ed pulls his car directly in front of Starlight and yanks it into park.

They both turn around to look at me in the back seat. “Go find Niko,” Loretta commands. “And we’ll be right behind you.”

They love the club just as much as I do, not in spite of all its cracks and quirks but maybe because of them. It isn’t fancy or shiny, but it is theirs, and mine, and it is home. Even if Niko and I lose today, even if I never figure out how to save the club, it will always, always be our place.

I move like a person on fire, jogging past the DJ spinning amped-up dance tracks right outside the front door. Racing through the check-in in the foyer, I grab my branded tote bag full of granola bars and Vitaminwater, pocket my coupon for a free post-game smoothie, and rush outside toward the players’ tent. Hordes of players are gathered under the giant white canopy, chatting and gnawing on the spread of free food that covers one long banquet table in the corner.

It’s packed, bumper to bumper with people. For a second, I think of my mom and how the sight of this many people gathering to play a sport she loved so much would make her toss her paddle in the air with glee. She’d loved pickleball as much as she’d loved tennis, and I understand now that it was never really about what game she was playing. She loved the fun, the community, and the joy that came from the competition, and the camaraderie.

That was the legacy she wanted me to continue, no matter where or how I do it.

I shake the memory aside and search the faces around me frantically, trying to land on a brooding man begrudgingly holding a pickleball paddle in head-to-toe pristine tennis whites. But it’s an impossible feat in this crowd, which is packed wall to wall with people in neon lime-green shirts. A pang of annoyance hits me—am I the only player here not to get gifted this T-shirt? I dig around in the bag I just received to see if I’ve missed it under the packets of electrolytes and flyers, but I come up empty.

How did everyone know to wear the same shirt?

“Excuse me,” I say as someone bumps my shoulder. I glance up, and the words BIG DINK ENERGY stare back at me.

This isn’t just any shirt. It’s the shirt I designed. I blink and refocus on the people milling about around me as it hits me: Every single person in the room is wearing one.

I grab frantically at the sleeve of the person I’d just knocked into. “Where did you get that shirt?” I ask as they take a step back and give me a strange look. I must be in an alternate dimension because nothing about this could possibly be real.

“Wait.” The woman’s face registers something and shifts from confusion to elation. “Aren’t you the woman who designed them? I’m so excited for you! That video is everywhere.”

“What video?” I ask, even more perplexed. But she’s swept off into another conversation, and I push forward through the crowd, determined to get to the bottom of whatever the hell is going on.

“Excuse me!” I bark, trying to maneuver through another group conversation.

One of the men—a bearded older guy—taps me on the shoulder. “I donated,” he says. “Good luck today.”

“Donated to wha—”

But before I can even finish my question, his group parts, shuffling just a few steps over in one direction or the other, as if they all received a text alert at the same exact time, instructing them to move. My eyes follow the narrow path that’s opened up in front of me, straight down to the strikingly handsome man standing all the way on the other side of the tent.

I was wrong. He’s not wearing tennis whites today. He’s in the exact same shirt as everyone else, the shirt he unceremoniously tossed back at me a few weeks ago, and he looks… proud.

Maybe I’ve fainted again, and this is the lucid dream I’m having while splayed out in front of Loretta’s house.

But the closer Niko gets, striding through the crowd, the more it becomes obvious that I am very awake and that this is all very real.

“I was hoping you’d show up,” he says when he reaches me. The man is downright beaming. There’s no trace of the worried, tense person who comforted me on the floor of the bathroom.

“Niko, what the hell is everyone doing in my shirt?” I gasp, reaching out for his arm to steady myself. “I mean, what the hell are you doing in my shirt?”

“Well, technically, it’s my shirt, Princess,” he says, those dark eyes alight with mischief.

“You gave it back to me,” I remind him, still utterly confused. “You didn’t want to wear it.” For some reason, this only makes his grin deepen.

“Well, I changed my mind, and took it back the other night when I slept over,” he explains, like this should be obvious to me. “I figured it might come in handy today.”

Suddenly, I notice that Deb is there next to us, walking in a slow circle, holding her phone directly out in front of her.

“Okay, you need to tell me what the hell is going on,” I demand. “This feels like I’m on some prank show from my childhood.”

“She hasn’t seen the video,” Deb tells him, her eyes still focused on her screen as she films, and understanding ripples across his face.

“I need you to listen to me.” Niko’s voice is warm and steady, as he takes my shaky hand and pulls it close to his chest. “After I left the club yesterday, I called Deb and Maureen,” he explains. “They helped me make a reaction video about the article, and us.”

“It was a good ten minutes that we had to edit down to three,” Deb says, never breaking her focus on the screen in front of her.

“I was nervous,” he says with a shrug. “I’ve never made one of those before.”

“What does this have to do with the shirts, though?” I ask, trying to keep up with what he’s telling me.

“You should probably watch it,” he says, just as a voice comes over the loud speaker announcing the start of the tournament.

“But maybe not now,” he rushes.

“Just tell her about the video!” Deb says.

“Okay, okay!” He laces our fingers together, giving them a squeeze. “I explain that I’m madly in love with the woman who designed that T-shirt, and I talk about how she’s been busting her ass to save the most special place in the world, the Sunset Springs Racquet Club.”

I’m trying to absorb his words over the loud thump of my heart beating in my ears.

“I also said she was a real hero for taking on this nightmare,” he says, gesturing at himself, “as a pickleball partner and boyfriend, all to help me. And I said that the least I could do was make the shirts available and try to go viral to help raise money for the club.”

“I’m so confused,” I say, trying to make sense of everything he’s telling me.

“About which part?” he asks, and he’s so steady, so calm, so not scowling that I can’t quite believe what I’m seeing. “The part about me being in love with you or about how we’ve sold twenty-two thousand dollars’ worth of shirts in twenty-four hours and all of that’s going to go toward repairing the club?”

“All of it,” I manage to squeak out, and it takes me a second to realize I’m trembling, my body lit up in what feels like unbridled ecstasy. “Who the hell bought all those shirts? How did you make them for everyone here? Where did you even post a video?”

“I have over four hundred thousand followers on TikTok, Bex!” Deb says, exasperated, finally putting down the phone. “And it’s already got over a million views. Turns out, a hot tennis player spilling his guts to the camera does very well in the algorithm. And I called in a favor with the local T-shirt printer.”

“Who just so happens to be one of the vultures from the Six AM Club,” he tells me. “She was excited to help out.”

“But why would so many people want to do all this for me?” I ask, heart racing to keep up with my mind as it works to process what he’s saying.

“Bex, I think it should go without saying that you’re amazing.” He smiles down at me, searching my face for something. “And not to toot my own horn, but I did a pretty great job explaining just how incredible you are. And the club.”

“You’re bragging.” I smile. There’s no hiding it on my face—I love the cocky side of him, and, it turns out, I especially love it when it comes out in support of me.

He nods and gives me a satisfied smirk. “I definitely am.”

Around us, people shout greetings at each other, twist open bottles of water. I’m both acutely aware that we’re standing in a sea of people, including our friends, and also feel like we’re the only two people in the world. My body hums with emotion, but the fear that filled me earlier quiets, replaced by an overwhelming sense of serenity, and pure, unbridled love.

“You didn’t have to do that,” I tell him, and now my tone is anything but teasing. My eyes sting with the pressure of looming tears. It’s like the happiness within me cannot be contained and is springing forth in the form of waterworks.

“I didn’t do it because I have to,” he explains, and his gaze is the warmest I’ve ever seen. “I did it because I love you. Because we’re a team, and teammates show up for each other. Take care of each other.”

“Niko.” It’s all I can say as I try to digest his words. When nothing coherent comes out of my mouth, I drop his hand and reach both my arms around his neck, pulling him into me. “Thank you.”

His hands find my waist, and I press my cheek to his chest, breathing him in, as I let him hold me. Of all the intimate moments we’ve shared, something about this simple gesture is the most vulnerable. To hold, and be held, to care and be cared for. It’s terrifying and wonderful all at once.

“I should be thanking you,” he says, planting a soft kiss on the top of my head.

I pull back and peer up, giving him a questioning look.

“‘Niko Karras is an excellent pickleball player and boyfriend’?” He quotes my statement to Angela with a pleased smile, almost word for word. “What a glowing review.”

“I’m pretty sure I told her you were an excellent fake boyfriend,” I remind him.

“Oh, I know,” he says. “And after I read that, I told her that hopefully I’d get a chance to try out being a real one someday. Who knows, maybe we can give her a reason to write a follow-up story.”

I stretch up on my tiptoes, lips close to his ear. “You’ve always been the real thing to me.”

Loretta and Ed appear next to us, and in the minutes since I last saw them, they’ve also changed into BIG DINK ENERGY shirts. “Oh good. You found each other,” Loretta says, and for the first time today I notice that she’s dressed like she’s about to meet me for a pickleball lesson.

“Don’t worry. I got it all,” Deb quips, still behind her camera. “This is going to make an amazing part two.”

“Niko,” I say, suddenly remembering the urgent reason I’m here, “Freddie’s trying to buy the club with Wilson. They’re business partners.”

He grimaces at this, but nothing about him looks shocked. “That fucking guy.”

Niko immediately begins scanning the crowd, like he’s about to hunt Freddie down, and I tug at his hand, bringing his attention back to me.

“You know I don’t like to tell you when you’re right, but you were right,” I admit, and he chuckles, shoulders relaxing the teeniest bit. “He does suck.”

“I’m going to remember this so I can gloat later,” he promises.

“I expect nothing less.” I level a look at him, and he gives me a playful squeeze.

“But first we need to go kick his ass,” he says.

“And have some words with Wilson,” I add. “I’m not going to accept his offer now, obviously. Not that I know what I am going to do, but it won’t be that.”

“Well, we’re on track to raise a lot of money,” he assures me. “I bet, at the end of next week, we’ll have double what Wilson’s forking over for prize money. So we don’t have to do anything. We can play if we want to. And we can lose if we want to. But that’s not really my style.”

Double. The word bounces around my brain as I try to make sense of it. Not just the dollar amount, but the overwhelming outpouring of unconditional support. “This is way too much, you guys. You don’t have to do this for me.”

“Bex, we all love you,” Loretta says, standing closer to Niko. “We don’t want you to do this all on your own.”

“We’re at the club for pickleball, but we’re also there because it’s such a special place,” Deb adds, finally putting down her phone. “And you did that. You made it that way.”

“I know it’s really hard to rely on other people,” Niko says, pulling me a step closer to him. “You know I get it. But if you can get me to like pickleball, then hopefully I can convince you that you don’t have to solve every problem on your own. Especially when you have a great partner.”

“Excuse me.” Loretta nudges him with the hard edge of her cast. “A great team .”

“You all are the best teammates I could ask for,” I tell them, before leaning into Niko’s shoulder, my hand finding the nape of his neck.

“You said you’re in love with me,” I whisper, as he nods, wrapping his arm around me as he tugs me closer for another hug.

“I’ve already told the LA Times and social media,” he says in my ear, and I can feel his face shift into a smile, pressed against my cheek. “I figured I should let you know eventually.”

“I always thought it was stupid that love means zero in tennis,” I tell him, taking a small step back so I can admire his face. “It makes zero sense.”

“No, it makes perfect sense,” he says matter-of-factly, with that slightly peeved tone I’ve come to adore. It means I am exactly where I want to be—right under his skin. His eyes narrow ever so slightly. “It’s because a zero looks like an egg, and the French word for egg sounds a lot like love.”

“I took French in high school,” I scoff. “The French word for egg is oeuf . And you think pickleball is ridiculous? You tennis people need to look in the mirror.”

“ Laaaaa oeuf,” he says, dragging out every sound. We’re both grinning, relishing being right back where we started—bickering about the merits of tennis and pickleball. “L’oeuf. Love. I don’t understand how you can’t hear it.”

“I don’t understand how you can’t hear how ridiculous you sound,” I reply as he pulls me back into an embrace, arms tight around my back.

“I l’oeuf you, Bex,” he says quietly, muffled against my neck, just loud enough for me to hear.

“I egg you too, Niko,” I say back with a giggle. “So much.”

I can feel the energy of the world around us—people chattering, bumping into us as we hold each other—but it all falls into the background. All that matters is him.

“So what happens next?” I ask finally, and as I pull away, my arms still rest on his shoulders, solid and reassuring as always.

“We play today,” he says, as he finds my hand, “and when we win, you can use that money for the club, too, or we can donate it wherever you like. Then I fly out to Miami for the qualifier, play like the fearless asshole that I am, and well, after that—who knows. But I think we can figure it out, together.”

Our group starts walking slowly through the mass of people heading toward the courts.

“Wait,” I say suddenly, tugging him to a stop next to me. Everyone follows suit, eyes centered on me. “I don’t know if I can go out there and play. What if we lose?”

“Then we shake their hands and say ‘good game,’” Niko reassures me. “Or we smash our paddles and curse. Up to you. But I’m not worried about losing.”

I let out a nervous laugh. “Always so self-assured, aren’t you?”

I hate that the doubt has crept back in, but I also only want to be honest with Niko. And the truth is, there’s a part of me that’s still scared: of losing the tournament, the exhibition match, the club, him. All of it.

“If you want to leave, now, we can leave.” He reaches a hand up and gently toys with the end of my braid. “But you gotta embrace the risk of losing if you want to win. And I think we can win this one, Princess. I think we can win it all.”

He raises his brows in silent challenge, and something about his unbridled confidence settles me.

“Okay,” I say with a firm nod. “But damn, whoever bid on the chance to play with Freddie is in for a rude awakening when you start banging balls at them on the court.”

“He better not!” Loretta says, holding up her broken hand.

I look from one Karras to the other as Niko shakes his head. I can see a familiar shadow of worry on his face, just like that day we met in the hospital. But this time, I’m the one to protest.

“You should not be out there playing,” I tell Loretta, before turning back to Niko. “Didn’t you give me a big speech about how dangerous pickleball was when we met?”

He shrugs like it’s no big deal. “Some people have convinced me otherwise.”

“I’m very persuasive,” Loretta chirps, clearly pleased with herself. “And I threatened eviction if he tried to stand in my way.”

“Loretta, this seems… I don’t know, reckless?” I say, still trying to wrap my head about this plan they’ve concocted. “And also, I thought we agreed no more schemes to try to win.”

“Oh, shush.” Loretta swats at me to be quiet. “I’m not going to purposefully play bad. You know my ego couldn’t stomach that. It just so happens that my dominant hand is broken, so I’ll do the best I can with the left. Besides, the donation goes to the food bank. That place meant a lot to your mom. She was always looking for a way to help out there.”

I soften at the memory of my mother, always showing up for me, for clients, for her community. It was never transactional or done to curry favor. She simply cared.

“Do I even want to know what that highest bid was?” I ask, reaching for Loretta’s hand, trying to convey my gratitude.

“We all chipped in,” says Ed. “You’re not the only one who wants to keep the club around forever.”

“I don’t know what to say,” I tell them, so overwhelmed with emotions that no words even come to mind other than “Thank you.”

“You don’t have to say anything,” Niko says, wrapping an arm around my shoulder. “You just need to go play some pickleball.”

I’m still for a moment, admiring this bighearted group of people surrounding me, rooting for me, supporting me. This is the legacy my mom left behind, and it’s what will last, even if the club does not.

Finally, I nod, eyes sparkling. My answer, of course, is yes. I’m all in.

“I don’t just want to play,” I say, sliding my hand through Niko’s. “I want to win.”