Page 23 of Long Shot

“Excuse you,” Taylor scoffed.

Mac shrugged. “They’ll call me out first.” A sly smile curled onto her face as she strode down the tunnel toward the court. This time, they were playing center court. By the quarterfinals, there was no reason to have multiple matches going at the same time. Instead, all eyes would be on Mackenzie and Taylor.

As the thought crossed her mind, Mac’s heart started to race. Even though she’d played every type of tennis pro in the last few days, Taylor Young was a fan favorite. And Mac couldn’t be sure how the crowd would receive a challenge to the crown princess.

At the end of the hallway, just before the court entrance, Babs leaned against the wall and stared out onto the clay.

“Fond memories?” Mac patted Babs’s shoulder, startling her.

Standing straight, Babs shook her head. “Complicated. This was the first match I played against a young Kimberly Parker. It was when I first realized I was going to have to retire.”

Mac nodded, not comforted by the thought. “But you did kick her ass in the next three Grand Slams.”

“Very true.” Babs smiled, turning to Mac. “Someone has to end their reign of terror. Don’t go easy on her. Don’t let those memories take you out of your game. We want that $2.3 million.”

Taking a deep breath, Mac nodded. Just before she could reply, the announcer called her name, summoning her to the court. Mac leaned in and gave Babs a hug before stepping out of the dark, cool tunnel and into the burning sun.

Even through the thick insoles of her sneakers, Mac could feel the heat coming off the clay. After nearly two weeks ofcompeting here, Mac’s feet had grown accustomed to the soft bounce of the ground. It was nowhere near as intense as the rubber courts in New York, but that didn’t make it any less exhausting to play.

As she walked to her bench, she waved to the crowd, rousing a soft, hesitant cheer in response. But through their delicate clapping, Mac’s eyes and ears were drawn toward her mother. On her feet, Piper was clapping vigorously with a wide smile plastered onto her face. Just as Mac approached her seat, Babs cut into her spot next to Piper.

As the crowd quieted down, the announcer continued, “And now, please welcome to the Suzanne Lenglen Court, last year’s champion: Taylor Young.”

Before Mac could even process the words, the crowd was on its feet. A roar erupted that vibrated the stands and the clay under Mac’s feet.

Taking in a deep breath, Mac grabbed her racket and stretched, focusing on the muscles in her arms and back. As she did, her eyes scanned the crowd until she saw it: the scowling face of Kimberly Young. Staying seated, Kim’s hands tapped the sides of her chair restlessly. Her sunglasses hid her face well, making it impossible to tell what she was looking at. A part of Mac felt like Kim was glaring down at her – ignoring her daughter entirely.

Mac’s jaw clenched as she stared back. The applause died down after a moment as Taylor pulled her fresh racket from her bag. Still wrapped in plastic, Taylor unsheathed it and shoved the wrapping into her bag.

While Taylor finished stretching, Mac began doing small jumps right by the sidelines. She wanted her muscles warm. In a match like this, there would be no room for a slow game.

“Ready.” The umpire activated his microphone, calling the two players to the coin toss. “Miss Young, as the previous champion, you will call the toss.”

Taylor bit the inside of her cheek. “Heads.”

With a nod, the umpire took the coin from his pocket and flipped it. Peering over his chair, the umpire pointed to Taylor. “Heads.”

Taylor nodded. “I’ll serve, please.”

Mac couldn’t be certain, but she thought she saw a sly smile play at the corners of Taylor’s mouth.Why is she excited? First serve always sucks.

Mac shook her head, getting herself back into her body as she walked to her side of the court. She approached the baseline and turned to face Taylor. Digging her sneakers into the clay for traction, Mac bent over into starting position. She bounced from side to side, rocking on the balls of her feet.

Taylor tested three balls, twirling each gracefully in her long, elegant fingers. Eventually, she tossed two back to the ball boys and held one up to her racket, signaling that she was ready. Something about the way Taylor moved felt personal, like there were years of history wrapped up in the gesture. She didn’t even look at Mac.

But when Mac twirled her racket in her hand, Taylor nodded.

Mac watched closely as Taylor sucked in a deep breath, bending at her knees at the same time as her arms extended up. Pushing off her feet, Taylor’s body floated into the air as if she was lifted by some unseeable force.

Mac forced her eyes to the ball, which was seconds away from meeting Taylor’s racket.

A loudsnapand a cry from Taylor launched the ball into play, sending it soaring toward Mac in the left service box. But before Mac could even process that Taylor had hit the ball, it wasalready over the net and landing in the very back corner of the box. It soared past Mac’s head on the bounce.

There was no world in which Mac could have swung at it. Her brow furrowed as the umpire called, “Fifteen, love.”

Under her breath, Mac muttered. “Fuck.” She looked up at the speed sensor just past Taylor’s body. 138 miles per hour. Mac’s heart raced as if she’d dodged a bullet. Her eyes darted from the sensor to the sinister smirk on Taylor’s face as the crowd hooted.

How could Mac have known that she was holding that kind of power? Even in the hours of footage she’d watched to prep, Taylor hadneverserved quite like that.

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