Page 28 of Serve (Men of Hidden Creek Season 1, #5)

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chip- London

“Spaghetti for breakfast. I’ll never get used to that.” Chip said, watching Tyler eat.

“Carb loading works. It keeps me full for hours, and gives me the energy to make it through a long match. Since this is Travis’s first grand slam final, I doubt it’ll go beyond three sets.

” He said, then took a sip of some hydrating elixir Emm swore by.

Chip tasted it once, and spat it out. Sweetened ocean water was the only thing he could think of to compare it to.

Tyler drank several bottles of it daily when he was in a tournament to prevent dehydration.

“I want you to win more than anything, Tyler. Just remember, he’s in the final for a reason.

He’s good, and he wants to win it too. Don’t take him for granted.

” Emm said, then took a bite of cantaloupe.

She’d practically moved in with them over the last week, ever since Tyler made it to the second week of Wimbledon.

She only left to go to sleep. When Chip finally got frustrated enough to ask why she was always there, she laughed, patted him on the cheek, and said nothing.

Tina showed up later that afternoon, and did her best to keep him occupied while Emm and Tyler talked about strategy and tactics.

“Chip, c’mon, let’s go buy something on Tyler’s charge card for you to wear to the final.

I need a new tube of ‘going through the change’ red for my lips.

Oh, and we need to pick up your tuxedos.

” Dixie said from the doorway. She’d used a blue rinse on her hair for an electrifying look the cameras wouldn’t miss when they panned over to Tyler’s box.

Sania shook her head when she saw it, while Tyler couldn’t stop laughing.

Chip nearly ran to the door to get out of the tense room. Emm and Tyler were like generals preparing for battle.

“We’ll see you in a few hours. Good luck sweetie.

You’re gonna hold that big ass silver plate today, I promise!

” Dixie said to Tyler. Chip turned and waved, but Emm and Tyler were busy going over the stats from his semi-final win over Roger.

His only win against the greatest player of all time.

The newspapers had Tyler’s picture all over the front page, while booking shops were positive it was Tyler’s tournament to lose.

“C’mon Chip, we could walk through the room buck-naked and they wouldn’t notice us. Let’s go spend his money at a makeup counter and get you a nice blazer.” She said, then dragged him through a crowd of reporters to a waiting BMW.

“Are you ready for this to be over yet?” Aunt Dixie asked.

“You’ve asked me that at least twenty times already. The answer is still the same; yes.”

His aunt was trying new lipsticks on the back of her hands. She had at least forty different stripes of red covering her hands and wrists. To Chip’s eyes they all looked the same, like a colorful case of the measles.

“What do you think of this one?” She pointed at the middle of her hand. He couldn’t tell the difference between them, so he nodded and made a positive sound.

“I think it matches my skin tone better than the last one. I’m a winter. Hand me the makeup remover, hon.” She said. He handed her the bottle. She used it to wipe off the mess of dots, but to Chip’s horror, she grabbed another tube of lipstick and started the process all over again.

“Dixie, we don’t have all day to pick out…”

“That’s Aunt Dixie to you, young man. Fine. Geez, a girl can’t have a little fun anymore.” She wiped her hand again with a tissue and started for the exit.

“Ma’am, did you want to buy any of the colors you tried?” A woman dressed from head to toe in black asked. Aunt Dixie shook her head. The sales clerk's eyes widened for a split second, then a serene smile spread across her face.

“What? You mean after all that you’re not going to buy anything?” Chip asked, his face turning as red as her lips. He shrugged his shoulders at the woman who laughed. Apparently she was used to dotty old women destroying their lipsticks.

“No, just killing some time.” She waved her tiny hand at the sales clerk and walked out.

Chip shook his head and hurried after her.

The driver opened the back door to the BMW for them.

Dixie got in first, careful not to mess up the tuxedos hanging on a hook by the door.

The driver was delivering the tuxes to the rental house after he dropped the two of them off at Wimbledon.

Just looking at the tuxes gave Chip a queasy feeling.

If Tyler won, he had to go to the Champions' Ball. He insisted on Chip going with him. Of course, he’d be introduced as his “friend,” or “personal assistant.” The thought of watching Tyler dancing with strange women while he stood mutely on the sidelines filled him with dread.

That’s only if he wins. If he loses he’ll be morose for days, his last chance for achieving a career grand slam, and making history, gone forever.

“Out!”

The final was in it’s fifth set. Each man had won two sets, with Tyler currently up a break in the fifth.

The deciding factor now would be fitness.

Popular wisdom gave Travis the edge. He was younger, and presumably had more stamina, but Emm taught Tyler how to negate that, and it was working.

Travis was a baseliner, who could grind out a win by getting balls back, and making Tyler play extra points.

Thanks to Emm, Tyler was playing an aggressive net game.

Keeping the points shorter by selectively volleying at the net was key.

Scott and the rest of Travis’s team were only a few seats away, but his smug face made everyone on Tyler’s team sick with worry. Despite the apparent effort Tyler was giving on the court below them, Chip worried about what Tyler would do. Scott still had pictures of the two of them.

Would he throw the match to stay in the closet, or would he win it, and achieve his dreams?

Tyler never gave an indication that he wouldn’t play to win.

Every time Chip brought up the topic Tyler would give him that puppy-dog look and change the subject.

Now the match was almost over, and Chip could hardly pay attention to what was happening on the court for all the worries he had about Scott and those damn pictures.

The one thing that kept him going through all of the drama was the knowledge that Tyler was retiring.

They could go home.

Suddenly the crowd roared, and was on its feet. Chip got up and applauded wildly, unaware of what happened. He anxiously looked at the scoreboard, hoping he’d not missed match point. Aunt Dixie and Emm were giving out war whoops. Tina put her arm over his shoulders and whispered in his ears.

“He’s gonna make it, I just know he is!”

5-3 in the fifth, and now Tyler was serving for the match.

The court itself was in tatters, the grass at the baseline on both sides completely gone.

Tyler’s white shirt clung to his muscular frame, soaked with sweat.

He bounced the ball a few times, deciding where he was hitting it.

His opponent listlessly stared at him, waiting for Tyler to serve.

Finally, Tyler tossed the ball in the air, and with a grunt Chip was all too familiar with hit an ace up the middle.

The crowd roared its approval, obviously pulling for the veteran to win.

Tyler again took his time, bouncing the ball with deliberation.

He told Chip once that he took too long to serve, which his opponents hated.

That was precisely why he did it. Anything to put them on edge would give him an advantage.

Tyler tossed the ball, but this time he hit the ball into the net.

He took out another ball, but instead of a lengthy deliberation on where to hit it, he tossed it in the air and hit another ace up the middle.

Travis lunged for it, and missed, then hit his strings with his balled up fist.

Chip’s stomach was in knots. Everything Tyler had fought for over his entire career was on the line right now.

Tyler scrunched up his face in a way only Chip recognized as fear.

Whenever Tyler was confronted by a problem he didn’t want to deal with, or he was caught off guard, he scrunched his face up like that.

“C’mon Tyler, don’t give in, don’t do it.” He whispered.

The afternoon sun was in Tyler’s eyes, making his job harder. He tossed the ball in the air, and this time Travis’s racket connected, cracking a winner up the line.

“Damn it, Tyler, don’t let him back in the match.” He whispered again. Tina grabbed his sweaty palm in hers and squeezed. He’d never felt so wound up before in his life.

Tyler walked to the back of the court and got a towel from a ball kid.

He wiped his face and threw the towel back to him.

He bounced the ball deliberately, a look of determination set in his features.

He tossed the ball, then sent an ace out wide.

Tense applause ensued, and Tyler immediately drew a ball out of his pocket and started bouncing it. He looked up and caught Chip’s eye.

“You can do it!” He mouthed the words, hoping Tyler understood. It was championship point, on Tyler’s serve.

He tossed the ball in the air, where it seemed to slow down before returning to earth. His racket connected in it’s sweet spot, blowing the ball past Travis, who lunged for it gracelessly. Silence hung over the crowd for a split second, then the stadium went wild.

Tyler dropped to the ground, and for a moment Chip worried he’d fainted again. Then he got to his feet, tears streaming down his face. Travis walked to the net with his head down and hand out. Tyler smiled at the younger man, shook his hand, and clapped him on his back.

At that moment, Chip thought of Travis’s coach, Scott. He turned to where he was seated, and with a sense of foreboding noted the grim look on his face as Scott shook his head, not even bothering to applaud politely for Tyler. Chip saw nothing but trouble ahead.

“So tell us how it feels to be one of a handful of players to ever lift all four Grand Slam trophies, Tyler?” A reporter from the BBC asked during the trophy presentation. Tyler stood with the huge, silver plate in his hands, tears still streaming down his face.

“This is an amazing feeling. I’ve worked my entire life for this moment, and thanks to my team.

..” he lifted a hand toward his box, “...and the support of my fans this dream has finally come true.” His voice choked for a moment, then he wiped his face on the back of his sleeve.

The audience cheered him on, the sight of such a humble champion who’d worked so hard for the win making them feel as if they’d won the championship themselves.

Chip’s face was also wet, and the sight of his man holding that huge silver plate made all the heartache of the last few weeks worth it.

“What made you think you could win it? You’ve never seen success on grass courts before.”

Tyler thought for a moment, before replying, “If you believe in yourself and your abilities, you can go really far in your life. I kept on dreaming and believing. Wimbledon is such a special tournament, so many legends have played on this court in the men's and the women's game. I wanted it bad, that’s all. I wanted to be one of the men who’ve held this trophy, and now I can proudly say that I have.”

“Now that you’ve made history, we expect to see you try for another slam in a few weeks at the U.S. Open.” The older man said. Tyler’s eyebrows lifted for a moment, then a smile spread across his face.

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world, John.” He said. The stadium erupted at the news, excited to see him play again in the year’s final Grand Slam in New York.

Chip’s heart stopped for a moment, and a rushing sound crashed through his ears. Play the U.S. Open? What the hell? What about going home? He felt a hand on his, holding it. He looked to Aunt Dixie, who drew him into her arms for a hug.

“I can’t do it, I won’t do it.” He muttered over and over to himself, while she stroked his hair

“Don’t worry, sugar, we’ll get this straightened out.

Now remember, the cameras are on us.” She whispered.

He forced a smile on his face, while inwardly he dreaded the future.

After she let go of him, he turned and noticed something that should have filled him with fear, but instead was indifference.

Scott was gone.