Ouch. Leave it to a fighter not to pull his punches. “If I didn’t want you to come, I wouldn’t have brought it up.” It would be like telling someone all about your birthday party—that they weren’t invited to. Rude.
“I can make it.”
“Be sure to wear a thick skin.”
Zane smiled. “I always do.”
Chapter 7
Zane
The cab pulled to the curb on Central Park West in front of a hunter green awning. A man in a formal coat and hat hurried to the door of the car and opened it. Jo stepped out onto the curb and I slid out after giving the driver some cash. If this was how the doorman dressed¸ I was afraid to see what I might find inside.
A second man opened the door to the building and Jo breezed in. I followed her, surprised by my slight feeling of trepidation. I wanted to make a good impression. Jo waved to the desk attendant and he responded, “Nice to see you again, Miss Parker-Barrow.”
I’d been in a few fancy buildings in my time, but this was unreal. The thick carpet of the lobby traveled from the door to the elevator. The exposed floor looked like marble. There was a seating area. The fancy, uncomfortable-looking furniture was probably antique.
We approached the elevator and a third man opened the elevator door manually. Did no one do anything for themselves around here? We stepped onto the elevator and the operator closed the door. He used the lever to move the elevator by hand, taking us to the correct floor without even asking which one. When the elevator bumped to a stop, he adjusted the level and then opened the door. “Have a nice day.”
Jo smiled. “Thank you.”
The hallway was better decorated than many homes I’d seen. The plush carpet was wall-to-wall up here. Narrow wood tables decorated with large arrangements of fresh flowers were pushed up against the wall on both sides. There were only three doors.
“Our place is at the end of the hall. Well, my mom’s place.” Jo took my hand in hers. My collar felt tight and I wondered if this was a good idea.
Jo twisted the knob and pushed the door open. The muted sounds of conversation drifted our way.
“We won’t stay long. I need to get in some practice before my match. My mother organizes these things every year, trying to show off her tennis-playing daughter. I think she’d lose her mind if I said no.”
“I imagine that she’s very proud of you.” Jo was smart, talented, and beautiful. Any parent would be happy with her accomplishments. I had no family to share in mine. Sometimes I thought it was for the best, but other times I wondered what it might be like had things been different.
“I guess I’ve always seen it as her trying to show off.”
“Who all will be here?”
“Friends of my mother’s. Relatives. My sister’s at school. She won’t be here.”
Jo paused in the doorway. The foyer opened up into a living area with a huge expanse of windows that framed an incredible city view.
“I don’t see my mom. She might be in the kitchen.” Still holding my hand, Jo pivoted to the right.
Her hand squeezed mine hard as we walked through the dining area to the kitchen. Jo poked her head in. “Hi Mom.”
An older woman with perfectly coiffed hair moved toward Jo. “Darling! I’m so glad you’re here.” Not a single gray hair showed anywhere. She didn’t look like a woman who could have a grown adult daughter. She pulled back and gave me a questioning look.
“Mom, this is my friend Zane.”
Jo’s mother reached out and enfolded my hand in both of hers. “I’m so pleased to meet you,” she said politely. She turned back toward Jo. “Please, mingle with the guests. Your Aunt Frances is here and I know she would love to see you. I need to wrangle a little bit with the caterer.”
Jo led me out of the kitchen back toward the crowd mingling in the living room.
“Your mother’s nice.” I meant it. Though she’d been decked out in what looked suspiciously like a designer outfit, I’d seen her genuine affection for her daughter.
“She is nice. Usually. Sometimes. I don’t know. We don’t care about the same things.”
“I think that’s pretty common with parents and kids.”
Jo looked surprised for a moment. “I hadn’t thought of it that way.” Jo scanned the area. “I see my Aunt Frances. We might as well get that over with.” Jo led me across the room where a small, elderly woman was ensconced in a chair, sitting as if it were a throne.
Jo paused several feet away from the chair. Her aunt looked up. Her makeup was thick. Her blush had been applied with a heavy hand. Her hair was like a stiff, gray helmet with wavy sides.
“Aunt Frances?” Jo held out her hand.
Her aunt grasped it. “Joella, how nice to see you.”
“Aunt Frances, I’ve asked you to call me Jo like everyone else does.”
“Joella is a perfectly good name. It’s the name of my dear departed sister. Don’t show disrespect to your grandmother by refusing to use her name.”
“It’s not my intent to be disrespectful. Aunt Frances, I’m so glad you could be here.”
“Why wouldn’t I be here? I come to all your mother’s events. She comes to mine as well. I don’t have as many as I used to, of course, but my invitations are as coveted as ever.”
“I’m sure they are. Aunt Frances, this is my friend Zane. This is my aunt, Frances Barrow.”
Her sharp eyes bore into mine. “Zane who?”
I took her hand gently and turned on the charm. “Zane Ryan, ma’am.”
She pulled her hand away and sized me up. “I seem to recall some Ryans in Newport. Are your people from Newport?”
“No, ma’am.” Newport? What the hell?
She pursed her lips. “Are you one of the Boston Ryans?”
I struggled not to laugh. “No ma’am. I’m from Texas.”
Her eyes narrowed and her lips twisted. “Well, I’ve never been there myself, but I hear the oil business is good.”
This woman was a little tyrant. I could tell. “I’m sorry to say that my family is not in the oil business, ma’am.”
“I see.” Her eyes darted to Jo and back to me again. “I don’t mean to be gauche, but Jo is my grandniece and I would be remiss in my duty to my sister’s memory if I didn’t look out for her. What sort of business are you in, Mr. Ryan?”
“Aunt Frances, I realize—”
“No, Jo, it’s quite all right. There’s nothing wrong with my business. Ms. Barrow, I’m an athlete, like your niece.”
Her face brightened. “You know, my husband was quite an athlete. Do you play tennis as well? Or do you play golf?”
Were those the only two appropriate choices? Tennis or golf? “No, ma’am, I fight.”
“You fight?” She looked confused.
“Yes. In the ring. Mixed martial arts. Something like boxing.”
“Pugilism. Well, I certainly hope you have a backup plan. Jo won’t be able to play tennis forever. She’s going to want to settle down and have a family. She’ll be looking for someone who can provide a nice home and a stable income.”
“Aunt Frances. Zane is a friend.”
Jo’s aunt lifted her chin. “I have eyes in my head and I have learned a thing or two about the world. Your friend is much more than a friend, no matter what you say.”
Jo leaned in and kissed her aunt on the cheek. “It’s always nice talking to you, Aunt Frances. I hope you have a lovely day.” Jo dragged me away.
“Joella?” I suppressed the urge to laugh.
Jo’s jaw clenched. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
A bony, angular woman stepped in our path. “Why Jo, look at you. Don’t you look … athletic?” The woman’s jet-black hair fell in a straight curtain to her chin.
“Priscilla, how surprising to see you.”
The woman’s blood red lips pulled into what passed for a polite smile. “And who is this with you?” she asked with an assessing gaze that actually managed to make me feel a bit uncomforta
ble. Jo was standing right there, after all.
“Priscilla, this is my friend Zane.” She gestured toward the woman. “This is my cousin Priscilla.”
“I heard you haven’t lost yet, Jo. Congratulations on that.”
Jo’s lips thinned. “And what have you been up to, Priscilla? My mother told me you’re getting divorced. Again.”
“Yes, as it happens, I’m back on the market, so to speak. I like the look of your friend.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“What does your friend do?” Priscilla asked as if I weren’t standing right there.
“He’s a fighter. A professional MMA fighter.”
“Oh, he works with his hands. And he hits people? How very … primal.”
Jo grabbed my arm and simply walked away with me in tow. “Sorry about that. Pricilla’s always been an idiot. I’ll call my mother later.”
“Don’t apologize at all. This is the most entertaining party I’ve been to in a long time.”
Chapter 8
Jo
My heart thumped in my chest. I had a chance. A real chance. I could almost see it. The trophy in my hand. The crowd cheering wildly. I was energized. Ready to go.
Maria served. I zeroed in on the ball and placed my return deep in her court with a heavy spin. Her body position signaled she was going down the line, and I shifted in that direction. At the last moment, she pulled her racket, twisted her body, and sent the ball cross-court. I was out of position, wrong-footed. I lurched toward the ball. I felt a pull in my ankle and then a foreboding sense that my foot couldn’t hold my weight. I fell to the court, hitting my shoulder hard. There was a collective gasp as I rolled to my back. The pain in my shoulder competed with a growing throb in my ankle.
I rolled to my knees and picked up my racket, using it to push myself up on my good leg. I half hopped toward my chair and fell into it.
The umpire leaned toward me. “Can you continue play?”
“I don’t know.” Numbness settled into my arm. I moved it around, rotating my shoulder. Bruised for sure. Sore. But I didn’t think the injury was serious. My foot was another story. It tingled ominously and I could see it swelling.
“I need the trainer, please.” Maybe wrapping it would fix me up. Barely a moment passed before the trainer was kneeling before me, probing my ankle gently.
“Will it hold your weight?” the trainer asked.
“I don’t know. I guess I’ll find out.” I had three minutes to figure this out. That was all that the rules allowed for a medical time-out.
“You don’t want to aggravate the injury.”
I knew where this conversation was heading. “I can’t withdraw. That’s out of the question. That’s off the table.”
The trainer nodded. “I understand. Do you want tape?”
“Is Ms. Parker-Barrow able to continue?” the chair umpire asked.
“Yeah. Let me tape up her ankle.”
The trainer wrapped me up with tape. Around and around, my foot, my ankle, and up my calf. The tightness was uncomfortable, but I suspected discomfort was going to be the least of my problems.
The trainer took my hand as I stood. Pain sliced through me. Visions of me hobbling across the backcourt as Maria hit balls right by me passed through my head.
“Play will resume. Thirty seconds.”
I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. Many athletes played hurt. Tennis players were no exception. This might be the only Open final I’d ever play. I couldn’t let this slip from my grasp. I wouldn’t.
The crowd clapped as I took my spot near the baseline. Maria had one more serve. It didn’t seem likely I’d be able to return it, but I was one point up in the tiebreaker. If she won this point and I won both points on my serve, the match would be mine. I rolled my shoulder, wondering how much power I’d be able to put behind my strokes. Not being able to move quickly was going to be a much bigger problem.
Maria bounced the tennis ball—once, twice. I could see the intensity on her face. She wasn’t going to let up. She tasted victory. I saw it in the line of her body.
Maria tossed the ball. Her racket sliced the air. The ball echoed as it slammed into the hard court. It was out of my reach and I didn’t bother to move toward it. It was an ace.
Everything was tied up. I wanted to win so bad I was shaking.
I dug deep, summoning every bit of mental toughness I could find. I imagined Zane in the ring. There was no way to avoid being hurt as a fighter. Blows always landed at some point. You had to block it out. I had to block it out. My eyes searched for him in the crowd. He was there, standing. He nodded and I knew he was telling me to finish this thing.
I hobbled to the line. I squeezed the ball hard in my hand. It was an old familiar friend. The scratchy felt. The rubbery give.
I twisted my racket in my hand, searching for a comfortable grip. The stages of a perfect serve ran through my mind. I bent my knees. The ball flew from my fingertips. I felt a sharp pull in my shoulder as I swung.
When I connected with the ball, the serve was solid. When I landed on my feet, excruciating pain stole my breath. Spots floated before my eyes. Wow. Just wow. I pushed it away. I had to push it away.
The ball twisted through the air and grazed the centerline on the other side of the net before bouncing away into the backcourt.
“Advantage Parker-Barrow. Championship point.”
One point. One point stood between me and the championship. Could I pull off another perfect serve? I limped to my position.
Bend. Toss. Swing. I realized as soon as my racket connected that the serve lacked power. The ball was coming back at me and I knew it. I knew it before it cleared the net.
Unexpectedly, Maria chose to block the ball, stripping it of its pace. It floated back over the net, seemingly miles from where I stood, flatfooted at the back of the court. My dream slipped from my grasp. I launched myself forward and hit the ground on my side. I slid a few inches and stretched my body to the max. My hand was at the bottom of the racket. The ball hit the top of the frame and popped into the air. I watched, helplessly, as it arced into the air toward the top of the net. It hit the tape and fell to the ground—on Maria’s side.
I’d won.
I was a US Open champion. A glorious rush spread through my body. The screaming crowd sounded a mile away. I rolled to my knees. Maria was there, extending her hand. I took it and she helped pull me to my feet.
She clasped me, tapping me on the back. “Great match. You deserve it.”
I thrust my arm in the air, racket in hand. The crowd exploded. Everything was a blur as my head spun and my blood raced.
~ * ~ * ~
Zane
My hands fisted and I lifted my arms in the air, yelling. Most people around me were simply clapping, but I couldn’t restrain myself. Jo had won. She’d won.
I knew that wonderful feeling.
I wanted to jump right down on the court and sweep her into my arms. She’d shown such courage—such grit. I’d known she had it, but I wasn’t sure she knew. She did now. Everyone knew now exactly what she was made of. She hadn’t let go of her dream. She hadn’t let go for an instant—even when the odds were against her. Now she’d reap the rewards.
It wasn’t just a seven-figure check, though that was nice. It wasn’t just her name engraved on a championship trophy. It was knowing that in her chest beat the heart of a champion. She had it—the determination, the talent, the fortitude to take it all the way.
Someone tapped a microphone and the crowd began to settle down. It would be a wait before I could congratulate her personally. They’d present the check and the trophy. There would be a press conference. Hell, she needed to see a doctor. That should come first, but I didn’t think Jo wanted to miss her moment.
Would this bring her rank to number one? I didn’t know. Right in this moment, I wanted her to enjoy her victory. There would be time later for worry.
If I were lucky, I’d be able to arrange for us to ha
ve a private celebration later. An injured ankle wouldn’t keep me from dousing her in champagne and feasting on her sweet skin. I lo—
I cut off my thought as realization swept through me. I loved Jo. I loved everything about her. I loved her gorgeous face and her cranky attitude. I loved arousing her until desire burned away every hint of shyness. I loved watching her play tennis. I loved being with her.
But she’d been clear she wasn’t planning for the future—not any future that included me. Well, that wasn’t going to happen. I wasn’t going to let it.
Chapter 9
Jo
The doctor’s fingers gently probed my swollen ankle. “You’re going to have to stay off this. I don’t know what matches you have coming up, but I’d suggest you skip them. I want to see you in two weeks, but I suspect you won’t be able to play for at least eight. It’s hard to say.”
My heart lurched. I was a grand slam champion, but was it going to be my last competitive play? My mind drifted as the doctor continued to speak about elevating my foot and physical therapy.
“Have you got that?”
“What? Yes. Okay.” I’d call him later. I couldn’t take it all in right now. I grabbed my crutches and struggled out into the waiting area.
Zane looked up. “What did he say?”
“Nothing really. Stay off it for now. Take it easy.”
“I know the perfect place to do that.”
“Where is that?” I smiled, expecting him to counter with “in bed.”
“Come to the beach with me. Spend a week lazing on the sand with a cold drink.”
It sounded tempting. Very tempting. But what would that mean? Going on a vacation together wasn’t in my plans. I was getting dangerously close to needing Zane, and that was the last thing I wanted. Against my better judgment, I nodded.
“Make sure you bring plenty of bikinis. Or not. The beach is totally private.” Zane waggled his eyebrows.
I laughed. “I think I’m going to need a lot of sunscreen.”
“Oh yeah. Lots of sunscreen. And someone to help you put it on.”
~ * ~ * ~
Jo
The plane sped down the runway and lifted off. My eyes were glued to the window as the iconic New York City skyline came into view.
Strike to the Heart Page 4