I caught her rolling those pale jade orbs of hers skyward.
“Do you roll your eyes at every client?” I asked.
“Nope,” she said with a teasing smile. “You’re special.”
“Very true.”
“It’s not a good special. More of a pain-in-the-ass kind of special.”
I laughed. “Do you also routinely tell your clients that they’re a pain in the arse?”
“If the shoe fits.”
“Not very Zen of you.”
She shrugged slender shoulders. “I have compassion. Doesn’t make me a doormat.”
“You don’t like me, do you?” I heaved a dramatic sigh and laced my fingers behind my head. “I get that a lot.”
“I don’t need to like you for this to work.”
“So you admit you don’t like me? I’m so sad.”
She laughed. “No, you’re not. Now hush so I can concentrate.”
“What are you going to do? Summon the spirits of my ancestors to cast out my elbow pain?”
She cocked her head at me and rubbed her hands together as if to warm them up. “Jason told me that you’re part Samoan.”
Every muscle in me stiffened, and my winning smile hardened on my face. “So?” I snapped out.
“Well, it’s just that you’re so skeptical. I had thought that the Samoan people—and many Pacific Islanders—had long traditions of mysticism in their cultures.”
“I guess.”
“You aren’t familiar?”
“No. Hate to break it to you, but not all Samoans wear grass skirts and live in huts on the beach, praying to manta rays for guidance.”
“I wasn’t suggesting—”
“You’ve probably seen Moana one too many times. I don’t live on an island. I live in Melbourne. Big city. Heard of it?”
I expected Daisy to be angry with me or kick me off her table for talking to her so harshly. But her soft face peered down at me, not with pity or ridicule but that same gentle curiosity.
“I think it’d be kind of perfect to live in a hut on the beach and commune with a manta ray.”
I snorted. “That’s crazy.”
“Is it? Have you ever swam with a ray? Or seen a blue whale up close?”
“Sure.”
“And you haven’t felt that sense of awe?” she asked. “The majesty of them? Like there’s something so much bigger at work going on around us?”
“Of course, they’re big. They’re whales, after all…”
She gave a little laugh, her voice turning wistful. “I think what’s crazy is believing that all of the unexplainable things in this life can be chalked up to cells and synapses. I don’t see how Mozart could write something like the Requiem or Michelangelo paint the Sistine Chapel without there being something intangible and beautiful happening that we don’t fully understand.” She glanced down at me. “I don’t know how else you explain love.”
I shifted on the table. I didn’t know how to explain love either, except it was something that made you weak. Susceptible to intense pain. I loved my mum because she was my mum, but after Dad died right in front of me, game over.
Daisy misread the dark expression on my face and nudged my shoulder with her arm.
“Sorry. I’m not trying to convert you to my brand of spirituality, I promise.”
Her smile was brilliant. I wasn’t a poetic guy but goddamn this woman was putting the wild Hawaiian beauty around me to shame.
Bloody hell, mate, get a grip. Don’t fall for this mumbo jumbo just because she’s got a pretty face. And body. And skin. And hair. And eyes of an unexplainable color that make you want to stare into them until the end of time…
“All right then,” I said, finally mustering the will to stop looking at her and shut my eyes. “Do my ancestors proud and commune with my elbow ligaments.”
Daisy laughed softly. “Are you comfortable with me touching you?”
“That’s a loaded question,” I said from behind closed lids. “But yes. Fine. Do what you have to do.”
“Okay, then,” Daisy said, her voice low and soft. She was so near to me I could hear the rustle of her dress and the soft inhale/exhale of her breathing. And despite trying to keep my guard up, I found myself relaxing into the table as if I were sinking into it.
You’re tired after a hard workout. That’s all.
I felt her soft hands on my right elbow, and the stiffness that always lurked in it began to unravel under her touch. Warmth filled the joints. Daisy said nothing. Made no sounds at all but for her breath, and my bones felt like they were melting; every bit of tension leaving my body.
Coincidence. Or the power of suggestion. This silly business isn’t working…
But instead of letting the thoughts natter on, breaking the peace with endless commentary, I shut them the hell up and just listened to the birdsong of the islands, the wind moving the wind chimes over the lanai, and Daisy’s breathing that brought the clean, earthy scents of her to me with every exhale.
I don’t know how long I lay there, but eventually her hands left my arm, and the relaxation was deepening to sleep. I didn’t want to slip away from the peace. A peace I hadn’t felt in years. Not since Dad collapsed…
I opened my eyes to take a peek, expecting to see Daisy’s hands somewhere near my elbow. Her eyes were closed, brows furrowed slightly, and her hands were over my chest, folded, one on top of the other.
Over my heart.
The energy will go wherever there is pain.
“What are you doing?” I barked, shattering the peace and quiet. “This is supposed to be elbow rehab.”
Her eyes flared open and she yanked her hands back at my sharp tone. “Yes, but—”
“I don’t know what Jason told you, but you’re not getting in my head.”
Or anywhere else.
“I was just—”
“Forget it.” I sat up and swung my legs over the side. “Thanks for the nap.”
I headed to the tennis courts without looking back. I needed to whack something. Hard. I expected (wanted?) Daisy to call after me, but she let me go.
“Stupid bloody Reiki,” I muttered. “Jason is wasting his money.”
Owen wasn’t due until later in the afternoon, so—still muttering under my breath—I picked up one of the practice rackets, rolled a cart full of balls to the baseline, and started hitting serves. I steadfastly ignored the fact that my elbow felt looser and less achy than it had in months.
Or that for the first time in ten years, my heart did too.
The grief I’d been holding on to so tightly was in danger of slipping out. It would run rampant and wild, out of my control, and turn me into a sniveling weakling. No, thanks. Better to burn it up in anger. Channel it on the court. Direct it at the idiots and umps and racist arseholes who deserved it.
And if you get kicked out of tennis?
I ignored that and whacked a serve, fighting the urge to look over my shoulder to see if Daisy had given up on me for the day. Determined not to care if she had.
But she appeared at the gate of the court, and though my face hardened into a scowl, something deep inside me sighed with relief.
Chapter Seven
Daisy
I watched Kai get up and leave, and part of me wanted to retreat into the guesthouse and try again tomorrow morning. But the richness of said guesthouse, the beauty of my surroundings—not to mention the money Jason put in my bank account—said I needed to try again.
And I didn’t want to give up on Kai. I wasn’t going to let him walk all over me, but if the Reiki had shown me anything, it was that he was in pain. It was bunched up like a closed fist in his heart. If I could get him to let it go…
I went around the pool and opened the gate to the tennis court where Kai was slamming serves down an imaginary opponent’s throat.
“What do you want now?” Kai snapped when he saw me, and then his shoulders slumped. He held up his hand to me, palm out.
“What does
that mean?” I asked, moving across the court in my long sundress and sandals. “That hand gesture. Does it mean something?”
“Yes,” Kai said, tossing a ball and sending it into the service square away from me. “It’s tennis-speak for ‘I’m sorry.’”
“Is it?” I arched a brow with a smile and went to the side of the court where a few practice rackets lay discarded next to a bench. I picked one up and gave it a small swing. “So the famous Kai Solomon is apologizing to me?”
He shrugged that off. “If it makes you feel better. It’s usually reserved for when a player gets a lucky net bounce or some other unintentional winner.”
“Winner?”
“A shot the other player has absolutely no chance of touching.” He served again. “I hit a lot of those.”
I rolled my eyes. “So modest.”
“Just the facts. Recorded facts, actually.” A small smile touched his lips. “If they’re stats, it’s not bragging.”
“Your stats,” I said quietly, crossing to the center of the court. “Like Most Fined Player on the Tour?”
“Jason gave you all the info, didn’t he?” He glowered. “Of course, he did. That’s why you’re here.”
“He showed me a highlight reel,” I said, giving the racket another awkward swing. “I liked most of what I saw. The shots between the legs? ’Tweeners? I can’t imagine trying one of those in a major tournament.”
“How I play is how I play,” Kai said. “’Tweeners and talking to the crowd is how I entertain myself during a match so I don’t fall asleep out of boredom. I’m not going to stop doing that stuff.”
“So don’t.”
He blinked and his arms dropped as if he’d been bracing for an argument. “You approve?”
“The crowd loves you. Most of the time,” I added with a smile. “You love playing that way. Keep doing what you love. I’m no tennis coach, but that’s my advice anyway. Take it or leave it. Take the fun stuff, leave the rest.”
Leave the pain, Kai.
“If only it were that easy,” he said in a low voice.
“I know. Easier said than done…” I said without thinking and immediately wished I could suck the words back. The last thing I needed was Kai to find out I was just a receptionist at the Wellness Center who couldn’t get rid of her own nightmares. Who slept with the lights on like a little kid.
His head came up and his sharp, dark eyes studied me. I floundered for a diversion.
“Okay, let’s do this,” I said and took up a bent over position midcourt, the racket in both hands in front of me like I’d seen players do on TV.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m waiting for you to serve.”
“You want to play?”
“God no.” I laughed. “I’m in a dress and sandals. I just want to know what it feels like to face a professional tennis player’s serve.”
“If you insist.”
Kai lobbed an easy serve over the net. I batted it away and then put my hands on my hips.
“One of your real serves, if you please,” I said. “Not the wimpy ones you use to throw off your opponents.”
“You want one of my aces?” He scoffed. “You can’t touch it.”
“Says you.”
He laughed. “Well, then…back the hell up. You’re way too close to the net. I don’t want to bean you.”
I backed up to the baseline. “Here?”
“More.”
“More?”
“Have you seen my tapes or not? I serve an average of 217 kilometers per hour.”
“I’m American,” I called and took another few steps back. “The metric system means nothing to me.”
“Typical,” he said, but his voice was lighter now. “That’s about 135 miles per hour.”
“Bring it,” I said.
He chuckled and shook his head. “Your funeral. Ready?”
“Ready.”
I watched him bounce the ball a few times, then toss it in the air. His body bent in a graceful arch, leg muscles coiling then releasing in a fast snap that took his feet off the ground. His arm whipped down, the racket connected, and the ball hit the service square in a perfect, blurred comet that zipped past me so fast, I hardly had time to register it.
“Well?” I called, still in my crouch. “I’m waiting. Serve already.”
He chuckled. “You blinked, didn’t you?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I called back, trying to smother my own smile. Kai Solomon was devastatingly handsome, even with a perpetual scowl. But seeing him loosen up and laugh?
That’s the real him.
“You want another?”
“Not especially,” I said, walking toward the net. “Holy hell, that was fast. How is anyone supposed to return that?”
“They’re not,” he said, moving closer to the net too, bouncing a ball on his racket over and over with casual ease. “That’s the point.”
I slung my racket over one shoulder and shielded my eyes from the sun. Needing to shield my eyes from him, he was so damn stunning. Sweat beaded on the dark skin of his neck and his shirt clung to every part of his broad chest.
“Tell me more,” I said. “About tennis.”
“You want a lesson?”
I indicated my dress again. “More like a verbal history. What’s the greatest shot you ever hit?”
He pursed his lips, thinking. “A banana shot I nailed at the Stuttgart Open last year.”
“A what?”
Kai grinned at me slyly. “Ah, you’re interested in my banana?”
“Be serious,” I said. “What the heck is a banana shot?”
Kai bounced a ball on his racket as he spoke. “It’s when your opponent hits a shot that pulls you out so wide, your return doesn’t even go over the net but around it. Yep, I hit a ripper of a banana in Stuttgart. But Rafa has the best banana shot in the sport.”
“Who?”
“Rafael Nadal. He’s the number two in the world and one of the greatest players who’s ever lived.”
“You speak of him with such great respect.”
He shrugged. “Of course. He’s a legend.”
“You don’t consider yourself in the same league? Aren’t you forty-something in the world too?”
He shrugged. “Rafa cares about tennis. A lot. I don’t.”
“You don’t?”
“It’s just hitting a ball across a net.” He demonstrated his point by knocking the ball on his racket over to my side of the court. “Now basketball, that’s a sport. I should have played that.”
I gave him a small grin. “Basketball is just putting a ball in a net.”
Kai laughed, and his genuine, smirk-and-arrogance-free smile made my heart flutter. “You got me there, Miss Daisy.”
“You want to know what I think?” I said softly, moving closer to the net.
“Tell me.”
“I think you’re afraid of how good you are. I think you’re afraid of what could happen if you played to your full potential.”
That beautiful smile vanished. “You sound like my dad.”
“Do you want to talk about him?”
“No.”
A short silence descended in the heated air between us.
“Well…you’re amazing, Kai,” I said and cleared my throat. “At this sport. I can see why Jason cares so much about you.”
Kai’s expression tightened. “He doesn’t need to. I’m doing all right.”
“He said you could get banned from tennis for life.”
“He exaggerates.”
I raised my eyebrows questioningly.
“Okay, yes, the ATP is pissed at me. But that’s on them. They want tennis to be a gentlemen’s sport.” He shrugged. “I’m not a gentleman.”
“Wouldn’t you miss it?”
“No,” he said quickly. “It’s just a silly game.”
“You sure about that? You’re so good—”
“I’m sure,” he said, his words s
napping at me like a whip. “I’m also sure Jason told you about my dad, right? So you’d feel sorry for me and take the job?”
I tilted my head up to meet his dark eyes. “He told me. I’m very sorry, Kai. But that’s not why I’m here. Not to pity you. I want to help.”
Kai looked out over the court, his gaze distant. Remembering.
“He’s never not going to collapse on the court in front of me. He’s never going to get up and pick up his racket and keep playing with me. He’s never going to sit in the stands and watch me—his son and a Samoan-Australian—win a Major. He’s not here to be proud of all that he taught me…”
Kai glanced at me sharply, his expression hardening again, closing down in embarrassment for what he revealed.
“You can’t help me, Daisy,” he said, whacking the ball on his racket so that it sailed away, to the corner of the court. “So don’t bother.”
I smiled, tried to lighten up the mood that had suddenly grown dark and cloudy. “I want to bother you. Jason is paying me specifically to bother you.”
Kai’s lips twitched but he said nothing.
“Come on,” I said, motioning to the gate. “I have an idea.”
“Now what are you going to do to me?” Kai said. “Hold a séance? Get your Ouija board and ask the spirits to cure me?”
“How’d you guess?” I said. “Go inside and put on something flexible to wear.”
“Nope.” Kai crossed his arms. “I got it. You want me to do yoga, right? I don’t do yoga.”
“I knew you were going to say that,” I said and pretended to check a watch I wasn’t wearing. “We’ve only known each other a few hours and you’re already predictable.”
“Ha ha. I don’t do yoga.”
“This isn’t just any kind of yoga, I promise. You’ll love it.” I narrowed my eyes at him. “Actually, knowing you, you’ll probably hate it. But we’re going to try anyway.”
He barked a laugh. “Is that so?”
“You have something better to do? Send poor Owen racing around the court, trying to return that ridiculously fast serve of yours?”
“You have a point.”
“Come on. Go change. Flexible clothes but not loose.”
“Flexible but not loose,” Kai said, following me to the gate.
Team Player 2: A Sports Anthology Page 62