Slammed

by Lola Keeley

  “Like your good friend, Celeste.”

  “She could do it, sure. She has years ahead of her, and she’s great on every surface. I’ll certainly be cheering her on for as long as she plays.” I had come dangerously close to revealing my imminent retirement, and I was not ready for that.

  “Speaking of other players.” Here it came. I hadn’t worn the ring on court or on playing days at all, but this interview between the third round and quarterfinals was on my off day. The diamond sparkled on my left hand, catching the studio lights over and over. I resolved in that moment that I had to find something every bit as gorgeous for Toni to wear.

  “Yes?” I said.

  “You announced before the French Open that you and Antonia Cortes Ruiz are dating, and now, forgive me for prying, but you seem to have updated your accessories.”

  I looked down at my clothes and my shoes to toy with her a moment, before lifting my hand. “Yes, I have. We got engaged here in London, in fact. Wimbledon will always be very special to us.”

  “Of course.” It wasn’t live, so asides like that would be edited out. “Do you want Wimbledon to be The One? Where you finally break the Grand Slam record? Could it really happen next Saturday?”

  “That would mean a lot to me.” I couldn’t tell her how much. “But hey, there’s a lot of tennis between now and then.”

  Toni was having a fantastic Wimbledon, and with the luck of the bracket, we couldn’t meet each other before the final itself. Assuming we both got there.

  “It doesn’t feel right,” she said, as we lay on the couch in our suite after the round of sixteen matches. It had been the busiest day of the tournament; there was a reason they called it Manic Monday. My head was swimming a little from the painkillers. “Being out there and enjoying my tennis while you’re in agony.”

  “It’s not all bad,” I tried to reassure her, even as her hand skimmed the inflamed area around my hip and made me suck in a quick breath through my teeth. “Just a few more matches. Then they can fix me for good.”

  “I think…” she trailed off. Much like with her texts, I had learned some patience. Toni was particular about how she shared her thoughts, and this was going to be no exception. “A part of me is still worried that when you’re done with playing, you’ll be done with me. You’re not in it yet, but there’s a grieving process. There might be times when you don’t even want to know the sport exists.”

  I mulled that over for a moment. “Then those are the weeks that I’ll stay home. I can be on my own without resenting you, I promise. If it gets hard, we’ll just have to talk about it. You did, you know, put a ring on it.”

  “Ah, so you did take that seriously? Good to know.” She kissed my shoulder. “Need another gel pack? You don’t feel so cold there anymore.”

  “No, it can wait a while,” I said, confident the pain wouldn’t come roaring back. “Don’t move just yet.”

  The one thing working against me was that I had been bracketed into the first quarterfinal, meaning I played again the next day in the early afternoon. I was going to get screwed one way or another; having Tuesday off would mean playing the quarter and semi back-to-back instead.

  It was really starting to make sense, how many of us succumbed to injury. The exertion I’d taken for granted now felt like climbing Everest, only to win a shot at scaling Kilimanjaro the very next day.

  From the moment the umpire called “Game, set, match” in my name, I was wiped. I didn’t remember the aftermath at all, apart from Ezi’s arm holding me up as soon as I made it behind the green wall at the back of the court.

  “You did it,” she told me. “You damn near killed yourself to do it, but you’re through.”

  “My future involves a lot of ice and anti-inflammatories, doesn’t it?”

  Ezi guided me into the medical suite, having commandeered it already. I wouldn’t be able to hide out for long. The press speculation about me playing through injury had reached a fever pitch, and they wanted details, yesterday. I still wasn’t sure how much to tell them, but I’d worry about that when there was a press conference in front of me.

  Toni wasn’t playing until tomorrow, so she was hanging around in the locker room once I’d had my shots and had ice packs strapped around me again. They’d have dunked me in an ice bath, if the motion of getting in and out wouldn’t cause more stretching damage.

  “You’re pushing too hard,” Toni said, coming to sit beside me, helping me get out of my tennis dress, the zipper coming in handy on that particular style. Even the sports bra underneath had one in front. What next, Velcro for my shoes? “Can you promise me something?”

  “You mean other than to marry you? God, Toni, you’re getting pretty demanding these days.”

  She kissed me, mostly in exasperation as far as I could tell. “If it gets any worse than this, you’ll retire. And please use your in-match medical treatment better. No more toughing it out until the end.”

  “She happens to be right, this almost-wife of yours,” Ezi joined in, standing over me with her arms crossed, face as stern as ever. “They don’t give out extra medals for being a martyr. And I would think you have enough of the regular kind as it is.”

  “Just one more,” I promised. “Get me through two more matches, okay?”

  “Come along, Elin.” My mother interrupted our bonding moment, clapping her hands in that brisk way of hers. For the first time, I realised she looked like a woman old enough to have a daughter in her thirties. When had that sneaked up on us? If I closed my eyes and had to recall her, I’d picture my mother much as she always was. My memory didn’t take into account that she wasn’t in her forties anymore, that time had marched on for everyone, not just me and all these years on the courts under my belt.

  “Let’s get the press done. Mamma, you want to come face them with me? You know that always makes them happy.” It happened to be true. My mother, who had patience for almost no one, was somehow the darling of the touring press who followed us around for most of the year.

  “Fine, but if their questions are stupid, I will tell them so.”

  I almost felt sorry for the journalists.

  I spent my off day at the doctor’s office instead of watching Toni play, and I didn’t make for the most cooperative patient. Eventually, one of the brusque nurses took pity on me and handed me a tablet with the match live-streaming. Celeste put up a good fight, and on another day, she’d have had the strength and stamina advantage, but Toni was playing like a woman possessed. I suspected I knew why: She wanted to get to the final so she could give me an easier time of it than anyone else might.

  I still had a semi-final against Keiko to get through, but apparently Toni and I had to talk. Before I could start to plot about how to handle telling her to go out there and still attempt to kick my ass like anyone else would, I was being called in to see the doctor.

  To my surprise, Dr Huppert sat there with her British counterpart, both of them frowning over the scans I’d just had taken.

  “Twice the doctors, half the bad news?” I tried for weak jokes, opting not to leverage myself down into the bucket chairs set out for patients. I wondered how an orthopaedic specialist got by with such low, impractical chairs. Instead, I stood, leaning over and gripping the back of the ugly leather thing.

  “Elin, it’s good to see you again. Dr Sattar asked me to come in today and consult since I was in town anyway.” Dr Huppert looked as runway ready as ever in her chic sky-blue dress, the glossy red hair down over her shoulders today. “Congratulations on making the semi-finals.”

  “Your achievement so far hasn’t been without its costs,” Dr Sattar jumped right in, every bit as stylish in his monogrammed white shirt and silk tie. “As you can see here, the damage to the socket has increased compared to your last check-up in Paris.”

  “I’m playing through it, though? I mean, it’s not ideal but the tempora
ry measures have dragged me this far. You’re not going to try and tell me to quit now, are you?”

  They exchanged a look. That was exactly what they had intended. I was glad I hadn’t sat down.

  “I would like to revise my earlier advice,” Dr Huppert began. “The deterioration we’ve seen, it seems I underestimated just what you put yourself through in just a handful of matches.”

  “It’s Wimbledon,” I said with a shrug. “It’s a particularly good year. I’m doing everything I can to play smart instead of hard, and I plan to do it right through Saturday afternoon. But I don’t want to wait any longer on the surgery—can we get it booked for Monday? Or if you can refer me to someone in LA, I’ll take Tuesday. Just…done. We’ll get it done.”

  “The recovery period means Los Angeles might make things more comfortable for you, to be at your home base,” Dr Sattar said. He’d treated me in previous years for calf strains and a shoulder issue that dogged me in my early twenties. I trusted him and was sure he understood the demands and my schedule. It would be so easy to tell them I knew I wasn’t coming back after the procedure, but I didn’t need a lecture about focusing on positive outcomes.

  “Right, if that’s everything?” I turned to leave.

  “Actually…” Dr Huppert called after me, her accent wrapped around the word like a burgundy vine. For the first time she looked something other than completely composed. Was she…? She was blushing! “Since I’m in town until Monday, I wondered if you had any way to see about a ticket for your matches? With all the uncertainty… It is just I’ve never seen you play, in person.”

  I laughed, shaking my head just a little. It had always been this way, and something about the familiar ridiculousness comforted me.

  “I’ll leave two in your name for collection at the box office tomorrow. Not sure I’ll be able to for the final.”

  “If you make it,” Dr Sattar cautioned.

  “I will,” I said, grasping the door handle and letting myself out of there.

  “You were fantastic today,” I said, sitting quite comfortably for once at the small dining table. The painkillers had kicked in, the inflammation was down, and I could think clearly. “You’d better keep that up if you make it to the final.”

  “Of course.” Toni answered just a little too quickly. “I mean, I’ll try.”

  “Sweetheart?” It was a new one to try, no pet name for her had settled yet. Maybe some people just didn’t suit one? The closest I’d come was hearing her name like a little chorus in the back of my mind sometimes: Toni Toni Toni. “If I somehow pull this off, if we both make the final and I’m still walking come Saturday…”

  She did try to keep a straight face, to seem as neutral as a man in an online comment section playing devil’s advocate. Three seconds later, Toni caved. “Okay, but if I get there I can protect you! It wouldn’t be throwing anything; it would just be playing you more carefully, so you don’t get hurt any more than you already are.”

  I watched her come closer but held myself back. “And you think I want that?”

  “I don’t mean—”

  “If you’re going to play me with anything less than everything you’ve got, then do me a favour and let Fatima win tomorrow.”

  “Listen, I might lose anyway. And even if I make the final, there’ll be other slams. I can try again in September, it’s no big deal.”

  “Does it feel right when you say it? Because to me, you look queasy. It will kill you if you go out there and half-ass it just to help me. And you, even more than me, know that it’s not guaranteed. A twinge tomorrow, a tear the next day, and it’s all over. Or that level is. You’ve given everything to get back here, to be within spitting distance of your first slam. But if it means retiring without my record, I’ll do it right now to make sure you can’t go soft on me.”

  “You realise this is probably unhealthy for people who are supposed to be getting married?” Toni yelled back at me. “Are we going to put it in the vows? I promise to risk your health just to soothe your ego?”

  “I don’t have an ego!” Yeah, nobody was buying that one. “I have one shot, and if it doesn’t work, fine. But it won’t count for shit if you hand it me, or try to convince anyone else to, in case that’s your backup plan.”

  “You’re impossible, you know that?” Toni was up in my face now, and it felt a lot like we were sparring on court. This was the argumentative, competitive side of her I needed to come through.

  “I do know that,” I said, reaching across to stroke her cheek with my thumb. “Please do this one thing for me. It’s as important to me as any wedding vow, and I think you know that. I think you’d want the same from me in return.”

  “What if I really hurt you somehow? Worse, I mean?” Toni looked terrified. “How would I forgive myself?”

  “You won’t. When the pills all work, and the injections, I’m flying out there like nothing’s wrong. And if you find yourself changing your mind, going easy on me…just remember how it felt when you hurt your back. If that happened again and you didn’t have a slam that you could have won, how will that feel? Don’t make me do that to you, either.”

  She kissed me, furious and deep and her way of making the promise I’d asked of her.

  “You know I’ll give you everything you want. Including the game of your life. Want to hit the hydro pool while you’re still pain free?”

  “Any excuse to get me in a bikini,” I sighed, but I pulled up my top to show I was already dressed for exactly that. “Then an early night. We’ve got matches to win.”

  Toni was gone when I woke up, her side of the bed neat, almost as though she hadn’t been there at all. For a moment I let myself forget the semi-finals, that we were in my favourite house in South-west London instead of Los Angeles, that any minute now I’d move and the rumbles of pain would start to reverberate up and down my side. I closed my eyes, feeling the slight glow from where the sun had peeked through the heavy curtains, and stretched out my arms to cover both sides of the pillows.

  Would it feel like this? Toni off at some smaller tournament, racking up her ranking points and another cheque between slams? Warm and content and knowing she was just there. Maybe the nursery across the hall, maybe a day full of events for my charity ahead. Maybe no bigger plans than going for a hike up to the Griffith Observatory, without the phone ringing or an appointment to restring some racquets or sign for a new delivery of sportswear.

  I was going to be fine, however the next three days turned out. That realisation, the certainty that came with it, felt something like flying.

  Rolling over carefully, I grabbed the pills and water left out for me, swallowing them as I eased my way out of bed and towards the bathroom. Ezi would be in any moment with my injection, so no point rushing around just yet.

  Toni would spend the best part of the morning and early afternoon warming up and keeping warm, while I’d know my fate soon enough, the benefit of playing first.

  I sipped some more water, wondering at the churning sensation in my stomach. Reaction to pills before breakfast? No, as I sat down to take a few deep breaths I recognised it.

  Nerves. I was actually nervous.

  Well, wasn’t that adorable?

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  I got back from beating Celeste, thankfully in just the two sets, to find Alice waiting in my hotel suite.

  “I really need to tell security to up their game,” I said, trying not to hold my side as I walked in.

  Alice moved to hug me, then reconsidered when she saw the grimace on my face. “What the fuck have you done to yourself this time? At least tell me it’s from having too much sex.”

  “I talked to you from hospital. I know Mamma explained this to you more than once. I don’t expect you to care what the average serve speed is, or whether the seeding system has flaws, but can you at least try to hold on to details about whether your onl
y sister is in massive amounts of pain daily?”

  “That’s fair,” Alice conceded after a moment. “I’ll do better. But I’m here, at your request. How much tennis is there left to sit through?”

  “Just the final. On Saturday.”

  “Who are you playing?”

  “My girlfriend, if things go well. Sorry, fiancée. Can’t quite get used to that.”

  Alice flopped out on the sofa, picking up the remote and turning the TV on. “Sorry, I just love listening to the news in British. They sound way less like the world is on fire. It soothes me. Plus, no Fox News.”

  “It’s fine,” I said, taking a seat myself and propping up my leg to give my hip a rest. “Thanks for coming. You get this is a big deal for me, right? I don’t need to draw a diagram?”

  “Hmm? Oh yeah, big deal. Break record, make Mamma happy, and you might retire. I’m on it, Elin.”

  “Not might. Will retire. As in this is my last final, my last match. And outside of family and my doctors, nobody knows that yet. It might be a big deal come Saturday, win or lose.”

  “Your wife-to-be is gonna beat your ass in your last ever game? Puh-lease.”

  “If it’s her, yes. She’s going to try. I made her promise. I don’t want some pity win that won’t count stacked against the others.”

  Alice snorted. “I always said there was something wrong with you. Now you’ve finally found someone as batshit competitive as you are. It’s kind of sweet. Will she carry you off court if she breaks you?”

  “She probably would,” I replied. “Now you’re going to have to flip to the BBC. Her match is about to start.”

  “Okay, that was me giving it my all,” Toni announced as she walked in three hours later. “Alice! Hi!”

  “Yes, I don’t think Fatima knew what hit her,” I agreed. “Apart from that point in the third set where you literally hit her. With the ball.”