Page 56 of Long Shot

“Winner, Ms. Osbourne.” The umpire called.

Hiding her eyes underneath her cap, Taylor readjusted her grip on the racket. Her hand slid up the neck and gripped the titanium. By the time she made it to the net, Taylor forced a smile onto her face. “Congratulations.”

Sandra smiled back, shook her hand, and gave Taylor a pat on the arm. “We are always in awe of you.”

Taylor nodded, humbled by the words. After shaking the umpire's hand, Taylor waved to the crowd. Despite her loss, theystill cheered for her. Once her bag was packed, she saw herself off the court as Sandra’s post-game interview began.

As soon as she rounded the corner into the tunnel toward the locker rooms, Taylor lifted her chin. Sure enough, Kim was waiting for her – arms crossed and sunglasses on.

When Taylor was close enough, Kim lowered her voice to a near whisper. “What the fuck happened to you out there?”

Taylor shook her head. “I don’t know.” She kept walking, forcing Kim to trail behind her.

“I think I do.” Kim snarled.

Taylor whipped her head around to glare at her mother. “It’s a good thing I didn’t ask. I’ll see you for dinner.” She slammed open the locker room door and left her mother in the dust.

Throwing her bag down on the bench near her locker, Taylor rubbed her forehead. Maybe she should have been more calm. But honestly, all she wanted to do was tell Kim to go fuck herself and run across the courts to find Mac.

Instead, Taylor walked herself to the showers and tried to cool off.

23

Mac

“And that isthe end of Taylor Young’s Wimbledon run.” A pundit announced, turning to the other dressed-up anchors stationed on the lawn outside Centre Court.

Mac shook her head, trying to watch the screen as she kept her muscles warm.

From behind her, Babs sighed. “I bet ol’ Kim Parker is going to eat her alive.”

Mac bit her lip. “No kidding.”

Maybe it was my fault. I shouldn’t have fooled around last night.Mac rubbed her forehead.

“Well, that’s good news for you.” Babs shrugged. “Your odds of taking this home just went up astronomically.”

Shaking her head, Mac took a deep breath. “No pressure.”

Babs raised a finger. “Hey, hey. Repeat after me…”

In unison, the two recited, “Pressure is a privilege.”

This was the first season Mac had really felt that was true. Today alone, she would walk away with over six hundredthousand dollars. And if she won this, that number would cross over a million.

The usher appeared in the door. “Miss Bennett, they’re ready for you.”

With a nod, Babs smacked Mac’s shoulder. “You’ve got it. Finish it quick, you need as much recovery time as possible for tomorrow. And she’s young – if she drags it out, you’ll be screwed. Deep breaths and it’s yours to take home.”

Mac was still trying to convince herself that it was true. The grass courts had proven a lot harder to play on than any others. But now wasn’t the time to doubt herself.

Instead, Mac rolled back her shoulders and walked onto the court – this time to thunderous applause. She scanned the crowd, waving to them as she walked to her bench. The coin toss landed in her favor and the game was off.

A cacophony of noise carried them through the first set. Mac served with grace and precision, forcing her younger opponent to handle trick shots she’s been unprepared for. It was almost like playing a young Taylor.

Debra Jennings was a British favorite for the next generation of tennis players and Mac could see why. But like Taylor, she was spoiled and had only played gentlemen’s tennis.

Mac took the first set with ease, snagging easy points. By the end of the first set, Debra was losing faith in herself. It was a look that Mac recognized.

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