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I looked at Kai and silently willed him to let it go. But my man was a notorious potty mouth; one audible obscenity and it was all over. I held my breath. The crowd held its breath. Antonia pressed her hands to her lips, and I wished I could do t
he same to Kai.
A few tense seconds passed, and finally, Kai shook his head, muttered something under his breath—not loud enough for anyone to hear—and whacked the ball he’d been about to serve across the court.
Jason sagged against his seat. “Oh, thank God.” He clapped his hands together. “That’s it, Kai! You got this!”
I cheered too, and the crowd joined in. Kai was glowering, shaking his head, tugging at the collar of his shirt, but said nothing else. He dutifully crouched in position for Brad’s serve.
Brad wore a smug smile of satisfaction, calm and collected while Kai was now the one on edge. Before we knew it, it was 40-love. Kai raised his racket as if he were about to smash it on the ground.
Oh shit…
Instead, he gave it a harmless swing through empty air and took up his position at the service line. Brad aced him and now he was up two games to one.
“It’s Kai’s show now,” Jason said. “If he can ace his way through this game, we’ll be back on track.”
For the next fifteen minutes, the men battled back and forth, neither gaining an advantage nor breaking the other’s serve. Kai did get himself back on track, and finally, the set was tied, 6-6, forcing a tiebreak.
“Oh, God, what does this mean?” I asked.
“It means the usual scoring is out the window. Each winning shot earns a point. First person to seven points wins but must win by two. Whoever wins the tiebreak, wins the Open.”
“Right. Sure. No problem.” I steepled my fingers over my nose and leaned forward, watching with nerves tangling in my guts.
Kai’s serve. He looked more focused and determined than I’d ever seen him. Serious. No ’tweeners or no-looks coming. He was playing for keeps.
His back arched gracefully, the ball went up, and his racket whipped down. The ball zipped past Brad who made a lunge for it and missed.
“1-love, Solomon,” the ump said.
“Good. Okay. That’s good,” Jason said as the players switched sides of the court. “But Brad now has two serves.”
I swallowed hard, eyes on Kai.
Brad’s serve. He wiped his brow with his wrist band, then delivered a stinging serve. Kai got his racket on it, and a rally ensued, both men sending shots to the other’s forehand diagonally across the court. Back and forth until finally Kai, with a yell, slammed the ball with extra force…
…where it whapped the net.
“Don’t say anything,” Jason intoned to Kai, watching him mentally wrestle with the error. “Not a word, Kai…”
“1-all,” the ump said.
We all breathed a sigh as Kai managed to keep his mouth shut and readied for another serve. Brad lobbed it over, and Kai gave it a wild swing that sent the ball out.
“Out!” a line judge yelled, as if we couldn’t see that for ourselves.
“2-1, Finn,” the ump said.
“I officially hate tiebreaks,” I said as Kai and Brad switched sides again.
“Me too—” Jason’s words cut off. “Oh fuck. Did you see that? No, Kai, please…”
Because I couldn’t take my eyes off of Kai if you paid me, I had seen it. On the changeover, Brad muttered something to Kai and Kai stopped, a muscle ticking in his jaw, his knuckles white around his racket.
“This could be it,” Jason said, and Antonia slipped her hand in his. “Brad said something horrible and Kai is going to lose it.”
But Kai tilted his chin up, found us in the crowd, and sucked in a breath. He continued on to his side for his serve game.
