Page 29 of Drop Shot (On the Court #2)

WHIMSY

It’s the semi-final for the Madrid Open.

Elias’s game today determines whether or not he’s going to the final.

I want him to have this win more than anything.

He’s been off this entire year and I know with as well as he’s played in years prior—being hailed as one of the future greats—that only having a few wins this far into the tennis season is messing with him.

Not to mention, it’s been the semi-final tripping him up the most lately.

I sit crossed legged on the floor with my mirror, trying to do my makeup, but my hands have chosen today of all days to be extra shaky.

“Fuck,” I curse, tossing down my eyeliner.

Elias chooses that moment to come out of the bathroom, freshly showered from his early morning stretch and practice, before he meets up with his coaching team to head to the arena.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, watching my eyeliner tube roll under the bed.

He drops down and peers under with his phone flashlight before I can even attempt to look for the runaway eyeliner.

“My hands are too shaky today. I’ll just have to do a simple eye look.” But man do I love my winged eyeliner. It’s one of my favorite parts of doing my makeup. Executing a perfect wing took me so long to master.

Elias pulls out the eyeliner with an ecstatic, “Aha,” before handing it to me. “Is it something I can help with?”

My heart and a little bit of my annoyance softens at his offer. “No, but thank you. A wing is really hard to do so…”

“So, you wouldn’t want me to mess it up?” He stands to his full height, smiling down at me. “That’s okay. Do you want me to call Ebba to come?”

“No. She doesn’t know, remember?” I drop the eyeliner back into my makeup bag.

“I know, but I thought maybe you could say your hand is cramping or something like that?”

I shrug. “It’s a good thought, but I’ll be fine.”

Elias eyes me up for a moment and sighs. “I’ve got to head out. I’ll see you in my box, I guess?”

“Yep, I’ll be there.”

He nods and he looks like he wants to say more but holds himself back.

When the door clicks shut behind him, I let out a tiny sigh of relief. A lone tear leaks out of the corner of my eye. I’m being silly. It’s not the end of the world that I can’t apply my eyeliner, but man does it feel like it today. Not being able to do something so basic is what bothers me.

I clasp my hands together and take a deep breath.

Finishing my makeup, I sort through my clothes and choose one of my—well, Elias’s—recent purchases.

A 2005 Chanel balconette dress. It was a stellar find in a thrift shop here that only caters to luxury goods.

Lucky for me the dress was in my size. Elias still paid a pretty penny for it despite its thrifted status.

With the dress on, I carefully select a pair of heels. I’m in the process of slipping them onto my feet when there’s a knock on the door.

Abandoning my attempt for the moment, I check the peep hole and find Ebba on the other side. I open the door and step aside to let her in.

“Did Elias ask you to come?” I blurt out.

She gives me a perplexed look. “No. I thought we could head over together.”

“Oh,” I say softly. “Yeah. That would be great.”

“I haven’t seen you much lately,” she says, sitting down on the end of the bed.

I pick up my heels and sit in the chair in the corner of the room. I’ve been avoiding her because I’m scared I’ll accidentally let slip that this whole relationship is a farce.

“I’ve been busy.” It’s not a complete lie.

“Yeah, loving all up on my brother.” She visibly shudders. “I love you, Whimsy, but why him? He’s just a stupid boy.”

I laugh at that. “You only think that because you’re his sister.”

“True.” She shrugs. “You ready?”

I swipe up my pass and slide it over my head. “Now I am.”

She stands and flicks the bow that holds the top part of my hair back. “I like the bow. I could never pull it off.”

“I wanted my hair out of my face,” I explain.

We head down the hall to the elevators. “Maybe we could get breakfast together in the morning?” she suggests.

“That would be great.”

I can’t avoid her forever. It looks too suspicious.

The elevator brings us down to the main floor, after a few stops picking up other people staying in the hotel who are attending the Open.

In the lobby, Ebba and I wait for the car to arrive. Across the way I spot Noah with his coach and friend Fisher, as well as Sabrina. Ebba looks that way, eyes lingering on Fisher longer than necessary.

“How are things with Keaton?” I ask.

She sighs and stuffs her phone in her shoulder bag. “Fine. He was supposed to meet me here, but he said things came up and now he can’t. He says he won’t miss the French Open, but…”

“But you have your doubts?” I finish for her and she nods. “What about you and Fisher?” I ask. “Are you ever going to tell me what happened between you guys?”

She looks down at her hands, inspecting her perfect manicure. “There’s nothing to tell, because nothing happened.”

“You’re such a liar,” I say in a teasing tone, bumping her arm with mine.

Silence settles between us and I think that’s it, but after a bit she says in a whisper, “It hurts too much to talk about.” Her lips turn down and I swear there’s the glimmer of tears in her eyes.

“Ebba,” I say softly, rubbing her arm.

“It’s in the past. Complete history.” There’s a tell-tale quiver in her voice.

I look across and find Fisher watching us, eyes zeroed in on Ebba with his brow wrinkled in concern.

“If you ever need to talk about it, I’m here. I won’t judge.”

She forces a shaky smile. “Maybe one day I’ll be ready to talk about it.”

“How’s your leg doing?”

Ebba suffered a leg injury from a bike accident long before I met her, but I know it gives her trouble now and then—more so lately. Before following a career in social media she’d dreamed of being a dancer. The accident snatched those dreams from her.

“As good as can be expected.” There’s a bitter undercurrent to her words. “My doctor is suggesting another surgery.”

“But you don’t want that?” I prompt when she gets quiet.

“No,” she sighs. “I don’t. But I might not have any choice.”

I hesitate, but finally voice, “Are you in pain?”

I can tell she doesn’t want to answer, but eventually says, “Yes.”

My heart breaks for Ebba. I’ve known her as long as I’ve been working for Elias and she’s truly one of the kindest people I’ve ever met. She doesn’t deserve to be in pain and suffer.

I reach for her hand and give it a quick squeeze before letting it go. “I’m here for you if you need me. You know that, right?”

She pulls me into a hug. By the time she lets go, Noah and Fisher have left. “I know. And in case I haven’t said it, I’m glad my idiot brother got his head out of his ass when it comes to you. He’s clearly obsessed with you.”

I snort, and it’s on the tip of my tongue to say no he’s not, but I catch myself just in time. “He’s a good boyfriend,” I say instead.

Ebba’s phone buzzes. “Car’s here,” she announces, and we head out to the waiting black SUV.

The drive is silent, but not awkward. The car drops us off and we navigate our way to the entrance reserved for those attending with the players and their teams. After our badges are checked we’re quickly let through and search for the player box.

Ebba and Elias’s parents are already there and both stand quickly to hug me.

“How did he seem this morning?” His mother asks me, smoothing her fingers through my hair.

The touch is so gentle, so motherly that it makes my heart ache for my own mom.

I’ll see her in a few months when we’re back in the states for the US Open.

Even though it’s in New York, I plan to make a trip down to Miami while I’m in the States.

“He seemed okay. We didn’t get much time to chat. He came back to shower after his morning practice—said he needed to be away from the court to regroup—but headed back out right after.”

“He needs a win,” she sighs. “I hope he can pull through to the final.”

I hope so too. He’s been working hard. Too hard, I’m afraid. I don’t want him to risk injury.

I settle into my seat and pull my sunglasses from my bag, sliding them onto my face to shield from the bright sun.

When Jackson joins us, I try not to bristle.

The date he sent Elias and I on did indeed end up on some sports blogs.

Why people care about the personal lives of athletes is beyond me, but I guess Jackson’s ultimate goal is working.

Fans are buzzing about us online. There has been some negativity as well—mostly from men claiming I’m clearly only with Elias for money.

Sadly, they’re not really wrong considering what I’m being paid for this farce.

Ironically, though, the photos that went viral weren’t even the ones from our date but instead of us dancing in the street with the locals.

Someone snapped a photo of me lifted off the ground in his arms. In the picture Elias is grinning at me and I’m smiling back, my left hand on his cheek.

We look … happy. We look real . Even I was fooled. He’s a good actor.

Jackson glances sideways at me and I ignore him.

It’s unusual for a manager to follow their player around, but I think after Elias’s last few catastrophic meltdowns that led to our current predicament, Jackson feels better keeping a closer eye on him.

It isn’t too much longer until the game gets underway and I’m locked in. Not caring about the heat or the crowd or even Jackson. All that matters is what’s happening on the clay court.

Come on, Elias . I think to myself. You’ve got this .

He’s a force out there. There’s a determination in him today that’s been lacking the past few months. I see it in the set of his jaw and brow—he refuses to lose. He wants to go to the finals.

That’s when he falls and doesn’t get back up.