Page 17 of Breakpoint
J az bounced lightly on the balls of her feet in the tunnel; a coil of nervous energy tightly wound within her.
Mike was trying to harness her energy with a few drills, but Jaz was amped and ready to go.
Her left thigh was taped to prevent a nagging hamstring strain from becoming a pulled muscle.
Her back felt like it was going to explode at any minute, but she could deal with that after the match.
The towel on top of her tennis bag, emblazoned with the iconic green and purple logo, felt both familiar and foreign.
It was Wimbledon in July. And the finals. Another chance to get number eighteen.
Even though she had won five Wimbledon championships, there was still something about this place that kept Jaz in awe.
There was an aura about playing in Wimbledon.
Everything was so proper and royal, sometimes with actual royalty showing up.
She even loved the all-white attire, though not great if you’re on your period during the two-week tournament.
As much as she loved the US Open and the energy of New York City, Wimbledon was the most prestigious tennis tournament and the scene of the most iconic battles in the history of tennis.
The murmur of the crowd, though muffled by the thick walls, seeped into the locker room, a reminder of the stage that awaited her.
Because Jaz was here today, hoping to make history.
She had some hard matches during this Wimbledon run, against a lot of good up-and-coming players who were almost half her age.
So she relied on her serve, one of the most unstoppable weapons, to win lots of easy points and games.
Everyone always said she had a perfect serve motion.
Her ball toss was perfect, high elbow with power and a kick that was always consistent.
Mike was discussing some last-minute tactics, but Jaz was barely taking in his words.
Her gaze fixed on a distant point only she could see.
She picked up a racket, its weight a comforting presence in her palm.
She started a series of shadow swings, her movements fluid and precise, each stroke a testament to years of relentless training.
Forehand. Backhand. Volley. Serve. The motions flowed, ingrained in her muscle memory, pushing out the last vestiges of doubt.
“Knock knock, I’m here to meet the champion.” Brandon smiled as he walked in. At six feet three inches of ebony skin, he was a towering presence. But to Jaz, he was her big brother, a muscled teddy bear.
“Not yet,” Jaz shot back, never one to count a win until it happened.
Brandon’s confidence radiated from his eyes. “Soon. That’s why I don’t even need to wish you good luck. You got this. Just pretend it’s you and me on those courts in North Carolina.”
“And not fifteen thousand people on Centre Court? ”
“Exactly. You’re Jaz fucking Mason. Don’t forget who you are and what you’ve done.
Just focus on what you can control, your game.
You’re the best.” Brandon could always slip between semi-coach and brother/confidant in a matter of seconds, and at the heart of it all, he’d genuinely wanted the best for her, no matter if she won or lost. And no amount of career wins, endorsement deals, or social media followers could take the place of the approval of someone she deeply respected, like her brother.
“Thanks, Brandon. I love you.”
“Love you too, kiddo.” He ruffled her hair like he did when they were kids. It annoyed her when he did it and messed up her bun, but she knew that was why he did it.
“Oh, by the way, did you and Kira make sure that Dani got a pass to my player’s box for the final?” Dani made it to her first quarter but got knocked out by the number one player in the world, Katarina Hajek.
Brandon nodded. “Yep, I did. I was surprised when I saw the request.”
“Why, we’re doubles partners. And we’ll be playing in the doubles final later today.”
Jaz would die before she admitted it, but she was more excited about how far she and Dani had come in doubles than this run to the finals.
Shockingly, they dispatched three ranked teams on their way to the finals that would be played after the women’s final.
Their games really did complement each other, and once they got on the same page, they became a two-woman wrecking crew through the doubles draw.
Kira said the press was loving it and running with the storyline of Jaz playing doubles with the woman whose mother’s record she was trying to tie.
Brandon raised his eyebrows. “You sure that’s all it is?”
“I mean, I guess we’re friends.” Jaz shrugged.
“The Jaz I know doesn’t do friends, especially with other players on tour.
” Brandon lasered his eyes at her as if he was trying to see inside her brain to her innermost thoughts.
He knew her better than anyone and was the only person who could get away with staring her down.
Besides her team, this was the most that Brandon had ever seen Jaz interact and talk to one person in years.
She was saved from having to say anything else when a tournament official knocked on the door, telling them it was go time.
She picked up her racket bag, a neatly organized arsenal of perfectly strung rackets, grips tacky with fresh overgrip, electrolyte water, and protein pouches.
She fist-bumped Brandon and Mike and exited to the tunnel underneath the stands.
No matter how many times she had done this, Jaz still found the wait in the tunnel before the announcer called her name the most anxiety-filled.
She pulled out her headphones to tune it all out and hit the side to continue playing her most recent audiobook.
She smiled, thinking back to the week before Wimbledon when Dani learned what she listened to pre-match.
They had just finished another exhausting hitting session with Marcos.
Dani’s stamina was really improving, and she was keeping up with the intensity of Jaz’s sessions.
Jaz had kept to her word and laid off the harsh comments and showed Dani some genuine courtesy .
“Can we skip the cool down and go straight to massages with Scott? My calves are on fire.” Dani stretched down and massaged her left calf with her hand.
“Sure, that’s fine. You can go first so I can charge my headphones.”
Dani pointed to her headphones and asked, “What are you listening to anyway?”
Jaz stumbled. No one had ever asked her what she listened to. Or even cared to ask. “Audiobooks.”
Dani seemed to be taken aback by her response. Obviously not what Dani expected, but she quickly recovered. “That’s cool. I love a good audiobook or podcast. But what about before you go on the court? You look so in the zone once you put your headphones on?”
“Audiobooks,” Jaz repeated.
Dani held up her hand with a puzzled look. “So let me get this straight. You listen to audiobooks before you go out on the court with thousands of people? What genre?”
Most people thought athletes all listened to hip-hop or something hardcore to get them pumped up and ready for battle.
Not Jaz. “Mainly fiction, but any genre that is well written. A good story takes my mind off what I’m about to do, and I’m transported into that world.
It’s a way for me to clear my mind from the chaos of competitions and get in the zone.
To quiet all the noise and know that woman on the other side of the net can’t fuck with me.
And I play even better when listening to a good book because I want to get off the court faster, so I know what happens next. ”
Dani smirked and shook her head. “Wow, just wow. You learn something new every day with Jaz Mason.”
“I love to read and being on the road on tour can be lonely, so I’m always reading something to keep me entertained and calm. I have sooo many books in my library.”
“Is your library at another house? I haven’t seen a room here with any books.”
Jaz’s library was her sanctuary. She didn’t just share it with anyone.
But they had become closer over the last few weeks.
She and Dani talked more after each lifting and hitting sessions about training and tactics.
They ate lunch together most days instead of going their separate ways and even had dinner together at night.
And those conversations often went beyond strategy but about the struggles of life on tour, their favorite tournaments and issues with certain sponsors.
They were finding a common ground and Jaz was enjoying having someone else around. She turned to look at Dani, who seemed genuinely interested in learning more about her. That made her decision.
“Here, come with me.” She took Dani by the hand and pulled her inside the house and past the formal living room she never used, into her office.
She walked behind her desk and stood near the floating shelves.
She turned to Dani, who looked intrigued as well as confused because she obviously didn’t see a library, just five books on a shelf.
At that moment, Jaz wondered how this woman, whom she’d been ready to throttle not even four months ago, had become someone she wanted to share personal details with .
Well, here goes nothing. Jaz pulled on one of the books and the walled cracked opened to a new room.
It was the reason she bought this house.
A secret hidden room with all the things she cherished most, her books.
The room was only about one hundred and fifty square feet, but hundreds of books lined each wall.
She had a plush blue sofa with a soft checked rug underneath it against one wall.
This was where she would kick back and escape the world with her favorite books.