Page 10 of Breakpoint

Tom’s words finally broke her from her reverie.

He turned and left with Scott to head to their seats in the players' box in the stands.

Now it was just her and Jaz. And the anticipation.

She ran a hand through her damp hair, already slick with pre-match sweat.

Every muscle in her body was coiled tight, a spring ready to unleash.

She loved the adrenaline rush she got right before a match.

The announcer then gave them the cue. She walked forward onto the court, and the roar of the crowd crashed over her like a tidal wave. It almost overtook her as she walked to her seat to drop her bag. Thousands of people were watching her.

The on-court warm-up passed in a blur, and next thing Dani knew, she was on the court waiting to receive Jaz’s serve.

Dani’s instincts kicked into gear the second the ball left Jaz’s racket.

She knew automatically how she was going to play it.

Dani made sure her footwork was on point, examined the angle, how high the ball bounced, its speed and spin, then cracked a one-handed backhand to the left corner of the box.

She had won the first point and felt her confidence rise.

She could do this. The first set was back-and-forth shot-making.

She finally broke through in the ninth game, breaking Jaz’s serve to go up 5-4.

On set point, Jaz continued to play to Dani’s weaker forehand with a lot of topspin shots.

On the fourth try, Dani hit a forehand down the line.

Her eyes shot daggers at Jaz when the ball was called in .

“Game, set, Miss Kappas. 6-4,” the chair umpire stated over the speaker as twenty thousand people roared.

She had won the first set. She had taken down the machine.

The crowd was so loud that she could hear it in her chest. A thrill, pure and exhilarating, shot through her.

Dani let out a yell and clenched her fist at Tom and Chris in her player’s box.

Chris was on his feet, giving her a fist pump back, and Tom, as she expected, was sitting down with his arms folded across his chest. Like she had accomplished nothing.

“Lets’ fucking go, Dani!” she said to herself in her chair during the changeover.

A giddy thrill coursed through her, a feeling of invincibility.

She sipped her water, her gaze sweeping across the stadium.

The energy of the crowd was infectious, fueling her already soaring spirit.

She looked over at Jaz, who was staring ahead in a zone.

She stood and bounced on the balls of her feet, eager to get back on the court and finish what she’d started.

The second set began with the same fire, the same precision that had defined her play in the first. She moved with a lightness, her newfound confidence clear in every stroke.

They were tied 2-2 as Dani arched her body back like a bow pulled taut and let out a ninety-five mph serve, her fastest of the tournament.

And with one crack of a forehand, Jaz sent the ball back like a rocket down the left baseline. Dani didn’t even have a chance to move, much less get a racket on the ball as it whirred past her.

HOLY SHIT !

The crowd stood on their feet at that amazing return and winning point. She looked across the net at Jaz, who was staring right back at her. Her face said, ‘Don’t fuck with me.’

A switch seemed to flip in Jaz, and the tide turned.

Jaz started hitting faster and stronger.

Almost like Jaz had been playing in first and was now revved up to fifth gear.

Dani tried to impose herself and took every opportunity to be aggressive and dominate the rallies, but nothing was working.

Jaz was running all over the court. Unforced errors crept into her game, shots that had been winners in the first set now sailing wide or clipping the net.

She was going to puke. Dani was pretty fit, but she had never felt this tired.

She didn’t win another game in the second set, losing it 6-2. They were going to a third set. Dani hoped the changeover would give her an opportunity to get back in the moment and fight off the surge.

“Get it together, Dani! You got this,” she said as she sat down in her chair, trying to psych herself up. She was playing tight, and her body and muscles were overthinking every shot instead of playing loose and free.

But the third set was more like the second.

A masterclass in experience. Jaz capitalized on the shift in momentum.

She dictated the pace, and Dani was being played like a puppet on a string.

Jaz moved her around the court, exploiting her growing fatigue.

She anticipated Dani's every move, her returns landing with pinpoint accuracy just beyond her reach.

The sun beat down mercilessly on the clay court, a relentless adversary in its own right.

Sweat dripped from Dani’s brow, stinging her eyes as she chased down a blistering crosscourt that she just couldn’t get to.

The lightness in her steps vanished, replaced by a heavy fatigue, both physical and mental.

“FUCK!” Dani screamed to herself as she missed another shot. “What is wrong with you?” She changed her racket but knew that wouldn’t make a difference. She could feel herself falling apart.

With each point, the weight of the moment seemed to get heavier on Dani’s shoulders.

The crowd roared for each point Jaz won, their cheers another cacophony to the screams inside Dani’s head.

She could feel the tension, the palpable energy of the match hanging heavy in the atmosphere.

But Jaz showed no mercy, capitalizing on every mistake, every moment of hesitation.

It all became too much, and she couldn’t handle the moment.

The final point was a blur. Dani played a great serve, and Jaz struck an even better return. The ball sailed over the net, landing just inches inside the baseline. Disappointment, sharp and bitter, washed over her.

“Game, set, match, Miss Mason. 4-6, 6-2, 6-1,” the chair umpire called over the speakers.

The crowd erupted in cheers, but for Dani, the sound was muted, distant.

Her body spent, her spirit drained. Defeat tasted bitter, especially after the intoxicating sweetness of that first set victory.

The crowd’s applause, though still warm, felt different now, tinged with a hint of pity.

The walk to the net to shake Jaz’s hand was hazy.

Every step felt like a mountain to climb.

Her head was pounding; her legs felt like lead.

The loss stung. Tears welled up in her eyes, but she refused to let them fall on the court in front of twenty thousand people.

She grabbed her rackets, stuffed them into her bag, and exited the court with a quick wave to the crowd.

She walked down the long hallway adorned with pictures of past champions, Jaz’s face towards the end of the hall staring right back at her.

Dani slung a bag full of rackets over her shoulder and pushed through the door labeled “players only.” She slammed into the locker room.

Normally a place of activity, but, being the last match of the day, the silence was deafening.

The only sound was the soft hum of the air conditioning.

Exhaustion, disappointment, frustration, anger—they all swirled together in a chaotic storm.

Dani chucked her racket to the floor with a clatter.

“What the fuck?” she screamed, wishing she could smash all her rackets in her bag.

She grabbed a towel and wiped the sweat off her face, then put the towel over her as she slunk down on the floor.

She sat alone, staring at the floor, her mind a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions.

Hiding from everyone with the towel over her, she finally let the tears fall.

In the distance, she heard the locker room door open. A few moments later, she felt a presence over her before she saw the shadow at her feet.

“Hey.”

She jumped and removed the towel. When she looked up, Jaz was staring down at her.