Page 2 of Serve (Men of Hidden Creek Season 1, #5)

Chapter Two

Tyler

“OUT!”

The umpire shook his head at the coach. No, he would not overrule the decision. Tyler hid his smile as the short, middle-aged coach stomped his feet and sat down. His heart went out to him; the ball was clearly in, but the umpire was always right, no matter how wrong they actually were.

Tyler pulled his baseball hat low over his forehead, took off his aviator sunglasses, and wiped them on his sleeve.

He didn’t want to be noticed by the teens playing the match, or by their parents watching from the sidelines.

So far, he’d avoided detection. He dreaded the moment someone discovered him.

William Tyler Florman, multiple grand-slam champion, on the bleachers watching kids spray balls everywhere but on the court.

He didn’t want to distract the players for one thing.

He also didn’t want to talk about his “career,” or the tattered shape it was in.

Tennis had been his grand passion. Cracking the ball cross court for a winner used to give him a high, a feeling of invincibility. Tennis was the perfect escape from him, and he’d taken it further than most kids ever dreamt of.

At a young age, he was shipped off to an expensive tennis academy in Florida.

He would become a champion, and do what he loved every day.

That was what his parents had told him, though he knew they wanted him out of their hair.

It was a boarding school, so he spent all his time immersed in his favorite sport.

Now he wondered; did he truly love tennis?

If he was honest with himself, he’d remember why he was desperate to get away from home.

Mom and Dad were miserable drunks, who lived for cocktail parties thrown by their socialite friends.

He remembered knock-down, dragged-out fights, and his name slurred in a way that made his stomach ache with anxiety.

Getting rid of him had possibly saved their marriage, since they were still together, and still drunk.

They ignored him to this day. A celebrity son, who on the surface was perfection, but underneath, was a nuisance.

After he left, he’d come up with any excuse possible to stay away, and they never demanded his presence.

Save it for the shrink, he thought, and resumed watching the kids struggle to keep the ball in the court.

He used to hide in his Suburban, spying from the parking lot of the Hidden Creek Tennis Center.

Grant, his sports psychologist, told him he was being silly.

The kids would get used to his presence in the stands.

Plus, it might make him feel better to get positive recognition.

But, the thought of talking about why he was here in Hidden Creek, instead of getting ready for the next tournament, made him queasy.

Playing tennis used to be his reason for living.

He missed competing. Most of all, he missed winning.

The heart-racing thrill of eking out a win over a top player was addictive.

The problem was, he wasn’t winning any more.

Withdrawal from winning was the worst feeling in the world.

So bad, now he saw a shrink to cope with it.

Glancing at his phone, he saw that he needed to hit the road soon.

He wanted to be on time for his appointment with Grant.

Since he’d taken the season off, he limited his human interactions to his psychologist. Oh, and the barista at the local coffee shop, who didn’t know who he was.

Make that twenty minutes; he wanted to get a latte before driving into Houston.

The people around him cheered. Tyler glanced up, and saw the two teens shaking hands over the net. Game over, and he had no idea who’d won. His phone vibrated in his hand, and it was the last person he wanted to talk to; his agent, Sania.

Damn it, he didn’t want to talk to her right before he spoke to Grant. He had enough to bitch about in therapy, and talking to her would only add to it. Thing was, she rarely called. Since most of their business was conducted through email, it must be important.

“Hey, Sania, what’s up?” He stood, and left the bleachers.

“Well, I think I am going to ask you that. How are you? Why haven’t you returned my last five emails? I can’t make decisions without your input.” Sania was pissed, and her professional, icy tone was a dead giveaway.

“I’m doing as well as can be expected.” He kicked at the dirt with his sneaker. It was humiliating, being called out by the person he paid to take care of his business.

“I understand why you are taking time to figure out what you want to do next, and I also respect the fact that you’ve worked hard, since you were what, twelve years old?

But, my hands are tied, because of your lack of decision-making.

I have deals sitting here that I can’t sign off on because of your silence. ”

He imagined Sania behind her huge, wooden desk. It was never cluttered, everything in its proper place. She was one of the most successful agents in the business, and he was her biggest client. He understood her frustration; if he wasn’t making money, neither was she.

“Look, Sania, I know you’re frustrated. I, um, respect and admire everything you’ve done for my career—”

“Tyler—” she interrupted, “—focus on you, not me. What I need is a time frame. Tennis Network and The Cable Sports Network both want you as a commentator if you don’t return to the tour.

If you are going to resume playing, then your sponsors need to know when to expect your return.

” She said what she needed to say, then let ruthless silence communicate how pissed she was.

He felt guilty for his indecisiveness, but he couldn’t commit to anything just yet.

His heart didn’t know what it wanted anymore.

He held the phone away from his ear, pressed it into his chest, and took a deep breath.

How was he going to put her off this time?

Finally, he decided to just speak the truth.

“I don’t know what to do, Sania. That’s why I’m seeing Grant this afternoon. I’m not sure I can go back on tour, not without a different, I don’t know, attitude? What I’m trying to say is, I need a little more time before…”

“How much time, Tyler?”

He pictured her face. Sania Barve was a no-nonsense woman who cared for him, despite her brusque manner. She deserved a better player than him.

“Two weeks. I will make a decision by then, I promise. And I’ll go over those emails you sent me. I haven’t even looked at them, to be honest.” He took off his baseball hat, looked up, and saw the two teens who’d been playing walking cautiously toward him.

“Sounds good, Tyler, but I need a firm decision. I can’t conduct your business without your full participation.” She sighed, then he heard her pulling on a cigarette, a habit she’d struggled with for years. Frustration, laced with concern shaped her words.

“Relax, Tyler, and figure out where you want to go next with your career. If you permanently retire from the tour, that’s great, because we have some lucrative offers from the networks.

If you decide to rejoin the tour, we can make even more money.

” Her voice softened, the frustration gone.

She’d always been on his side, and really wanted what was best for him.

“Will do, Sania. I’ll make a solid decision and get back to you within two weeks. I’ve gotta go if I’m going to make my appointment on time.” The two boys were smiling, wanting to speak. He smiled back, and held up a finger to let them know he’d be right with them.

“Thanks, Tyler, I look forward to hearing from you.” She disconnected the call. He grinned, then addressed the two teen players.

“Hey, guys, y'all played great this afternoon.”

Even though he’d tried to be anonymous, most of Hidden Creek knew he lived there. Eventually, the kids playing tennis would figure out who was watching them every day.

“Can we get your autograph?” One of the kids held a bright yellow tennis ball and a black magic marker in his hands.

“Sure.” He tried to sign the tennis ball, but the marker was out of ink. He always carried a black sharpie for moments like these. He pulled it out of his pocket, signed the ball and handed it back to them. Their excited grins sent a familiar jolt of pleasure through him.

“You’ve watched us before. Do you think you could give us some pointers?

” The taller one asked, then backed up a couple of steps and swung his racket through the air.

They looked up at his face, hoping he’d say yes.

He hated to disappoint them. If he wasn’t going to be working, he could spend an afternoon here occasionally. He’d like that.

“Can’t do it today, I’m running late for an appointment, but how about I stop by one afternoon in the next week or so.

Oh, and only if your coach allows it. He’s the boss, okay?

” Thinking of their coach reminded him of his own.

He sighed, realizing exactly what he and Grant would be talking about this afternoon.

“Awesome! Thanks, Tyler!” They high-fived him, then ran back to the tennis courts.

Tyler put his cap back on, adjusted his sunglasses, and walked to the parking lot.

Before opening the door of the Suburban, he studied his reflection in the window.

He looked old, or at least that’s what he thought.

He was only thirty, but tennis years were measured in dog years.

In the rarified world of sports, he was closer to sixty.

He was backing out of the parking space when a thought struck him.

He didn’t have to do any of this. He could just drive off into the sunset, and never come back.

He’d settle in a remote area where nobody knew who he was.

There’d be no expectations of him, and he had enough money to last the rest of his life.

He’d also never have to look at a younger player across the net again, a player with nothing to lose, who thought of him as an old man, and an easy target.

He leaned back in his seat, stroking his chin.

No more television cameras, or reporters to deal with.

He wouldn’t be the first former champion to go into hiding, and he’d surely not be the last. He’d met such players, legends of the sport who only showed up for the final at Wimbledon.

After a couple of interviews, they’d scurry off to a palace in Switzerland, never to be heard from again, unless they pined for the spotlight.

That was why most of them made that rare appearance, to satisfy their craving for attention.

He pulled out of the lot, all the while thinking of reasons to just disappear. It was a fantasy, the thought of returning to a completely anonymous life. He’d been in the spotlight since he was seventeen, when he’d won the Junior U.S. Open singles title. One reason trumped the rest.

He’d never have picked up a racket if he’d known how depressed he’d become.

“What the hell is wrong with me?” He hit the steering wheel with his hand, and winced.

He should be grateful for his career, not miserable over it.

Despite his feelings, he knew he couldn’t just abandon it.

Most people didn’t realize he was the nucleus of a group of people making a living off of his work, and couldn’t let them down.

Sania had two young kids to put through school, and his physical trainer, Gabriel, depended on him too.

Hell, even his housekeeper, Dixie, needed him to work.

At least, he no longer had to pay his former coach, Scott.

The sun brightened as he turned toward Moore Wood Park.

He rubbed his temples with one hand, feeling a dull headache begin.

Ever since Scott quit to coach a younger player, Travis Johnson, he’d been getting them.

Tyler felt betrayed, and abandoned. He’d given up everything for tennis, all at Scott’s urging.

He’d even given up his personal life, lived it in the closet, so he could be a contender, or at least that’s how Scott presented it to him.

“Why does anyone need to know? Do you know how many millions of dollars you’re giving up if anyone finds out you like dick?” Scott would say whenever he threatened to come out.

“It’s not just about you, Tyler, what about all of us who depend on you?

If the press finds out, everyone on your team will have to find a new job.

Just hang on a few more years. You’ll probably retire when you hit thirty.

You can fuck whoever you want after that, but until then, keep your mouth shut, okay?

” Tyler gripped the steering wheel tight.

Scott had made sense at the time, but in retrospect, it sucked.

Glancing at the clock on the dashboard, he realized he was ten minutes behind schedule. He pressed down on the accelerator, and just made it through a yellow light when he saw a tiny black mutt scampering across the street.

“Shit!”

Yanking the wheel to his right, the Suburban ran off the road.

Heart racing, he stabbed at the brake with his foot.

Without thinking his eyes squeezed shut, then the sickening crunch of metal against brick assaulted his ears.

The airbag went off with a bang, and he felt a sharp jab to his ribs, then the world went dark.