Page 14 of Love, Amy

Vince’s shoulders drop in relief, though his gaze still searches my face. “You did great out there. Reminded me of my sister.”

It’s a wonderful compliment, so I reward him with a smile. Barbara is exactly the type of player I would kill to be. “Thanks, Vince.” I try to imbue the words with enthusiasm, but they fall a bit flat.

He doesn’t say anything for a moment, stroking his beard thoughtfully. “The match tomorrow should be a good one.” I nod mechanically, hardly listening. “Aurelio’s first 1000 tournament final.”

My head snaps back to him. “Aurelio?” I’ve been purposefully avoiding the men’s draw, avoiding the feelings that come with seeing his name.

Vince nods. “He plays Charles Allard tomorrow.”

I wince. Charles is the number one men’s player in the world. He’s thirty-one and has held the top world ranking on and off for the last five years. Beating him is a challenge many never rise to.

Vince puts his hands in his sweatshirt pocket. “You know…” He watches me curiously. “It wouldn’t be a bad idea to stay an extra day, utilize the tournament’s facilities to recover since we’re the last players here. We could delay our flight.”

I shake my head. “Beck would never go for it.”

Vince shrugs. “He would if I convinced him it would help you play better to have one more day of rest before being trapped on a plane.”

I admire his scheming, barking a laugh. “The flight to Charleston is like an hour long.”

Vince smiles, too. “Semantics.”

My smile fades a little, thinking of Aurelio and how we left things on the beach. Is he right about tennis, or am I? I won this tournament doing exactly what I planned. No distractions, no extra space, no extra time. But he’s in the final with all of those things. Is there more than one way to get what I want out of life? “I want to see him,” I finally admit to Vince.

Vince nods, satisfied. “Then I’ll help you.”

He fulfills his promise, immediately weaseling an extra day in Miami once Beck brings the car around.

*

“I’m sure we could get seats.” Vince sits on one of the weight benches behind me. “You have a lot of sway.”

It’s the next day, and blessedly, Beck has left Vince and me alone to do some recovery at the facility’s gym. Our flight out of Miami has been moved to tomorrow morning. We’re supposed to be stretching, massaging, using the foam rollers. Instead, I sit on a yoga mat facing the TV on the wall. They always show other matches in here, usually so we know when ours will begin. But now that it’s the finals, the only match on the TV is Aurelio’s. I can’t bear to explain to Vince that I want to see Aurelio again, but I have no idea if he’d want to see me. That Aurelio, the nicest man on tour, parted with me so bitterly. “No.” I shake my head. “It’s easier in here.”

Vince seems to pick up on my strange mood, and we silently watch the warm-up between Aurelio and Charles. I hold my breath when the match officially begins, Charles rhythmically bouncing the ball in front of him before he serves.

I exhale when the ball first smacks his racket.

The match is close right from the start. Aurelio moves as well as he usually does, long limbs easily stretching all over the court to return balls. I can tell it annoys Charles that his serves are coming back to him more than they typically do. The first set goes to a tiebreak. Aurelio hits a few too many easy balls, and Charles finally lets his frustration loose, hitting screamers just out of reach. Aurelio loses the first set tiebreak, 7-3.

The next set is just as close. Vince starts getting into it, cheering for Aurelio every time he makes a good point and cursing under his breath every time Charles makes an even better one. Aurelio has a chance to win the set after breaking Charles at 5-4. Instead, Aurelio double faults and loses his chance, resetting to 5-5. I would stomp to my bench, throw my racket, listen in disgust as my father gives me instructions. Aurelio’s face hardly changes. There’s a grimace at the lost opportunity, but then he takes a deep breath and moves on.

He loses the match in another tiebreak, 7-5. My heart sinks.

Most of the TV coverage after that is of Charles. The commentators fawn over him like they used to fawn over my father, just as they fawned over me yesterday. Charles says some kind words to Aurelio, who smiles good naturedly on his bench. Aurelio receives a little version of the Miami trophy as consolation for losing. It all goes smoothly. I’m about to turn the TV off when they show a clip of Aurelio after the trophy ceremony.

He’s climbing into the stands, heading towards his box. His face is gleaming with sweat. He’s swiveled his white hat backwards so that everyone can see his grinning face. He jumps into his coach’s box with enthusiasm. We can’t hear what he says, but he throws his arms around his head coach Antonio first, who’s closest. They exchange some words and clap each other on the back. His two other team members, his hitting partner and physio, wrap him into a group hug, all laughing. Finally, Aurelio steps around them to embrace his family. I’ve never seen them before. They must have come because he made it to the final. He hugs a dark-haired older man first who must be his father. They have the same warm gaze. His father swipes a few tears away once they break apart. Aurelio’s brother looks just like him but with shorter hair and fewer freckles. He’s beaming at his little brother, pounding his back so hard Aurelio coughs. Finally, Aurelio reaches his little niece Bianca. He sweeps her up into his arms, kissing her cheek. She’s wearing the sunglasses he bought her. The TV fades out on their image, as though it was Aurelio who won the tournament and not Charles.

The images are so burnt into my brain that I don’t even hear Vince approach. He places a gentle hand on my shoulder. “You should go,” he advises me. “Wait for him in the media room.”

I look up at Vince, feeling younger than I have in years. “You saw him and his family, Vince. He doesn’t need me.”

Vince offers me a hand up. I accept, getting to my feet. He regards me kindly. “That’s a good thing, Amy. A healthy relationship isn’t built on need.”

I need tennis. I need Beck. I need to win.

I don’t need Aurelio, and he doesn’t need me.

But I like him. I like his warmth, his kindness, his optimism. I like watching him play. I like the way he talks about his family and the stars. I like his freckles and golden hair. I like the way he says my name, emphasizing the second syllable. I like the idea of having more in my life, of being more than just a tennis player.