Page 24 of Long Shot

Shaking it off, Mac got into position again.Now I know what she’s capable of.Mac may not have had a problem returning her serves when Taylor was a scrawny teenager. But now, she was a grown woman with the power of a champion. Mac would have no choice but to match her.

Shaking her head, Mac looked up at Taylor. This time, her eyes were plastered to the bright yellow of the ball. Taylor repeated her motion, slamming down the ball across the net.

Mac sprung into action, moving to meet the ball just as it bounced. Starting low, Mac used her backhand to propel the ball back toward Taylor. Ready to greet it, Taylor whacked it to the opposite side of the court. Mac was quick on her feet, hustling to get the ball back to Taylor.

Squeezing her core, Mac swung her forearm from her hips. The racket smacked the ball with a loud thud. It spiraled over the net and landed just before the baseline at the back of the court, catching Taylor at an awkward spot before bouncing out of play.

“Fifteen, all,” the umpire called. A light cheer carried through the crowd, their confidence in either side shaken.

With each hit, Mac’s body exerted more power than she knew was possible. She wouldn’t relent on a single point. Unlike most things in Taylor’s life, she’d have to earn every set on that court.

Sweat drenched Mac’s cap. By the second set, it was dripping from the brim onto the clay at her feet. Across the court, she could see Taylor's skin glisten in the sun.At least we’re both putting in the work.

By the time the second set ended, Taylor had pulled ahead ever so slightly. Still, Mac was on her heels. If she could win the third set, she’d have a fighting chance.

But fighting for every point was harder by the second. Every time her racket met the ball, soreness from over two weeks of matches wracked Mac’s body.

The sun was beginning to lower in the May sky when the umpire called, “Match point.”

Mac lowered her head, mopping the sweat from her face with the towel the ballboy handed her. She looked up at Babs who nodded down at her, a grave expression on her face.Now or never.

Looking at the scoreboard, Mac let out a sigh. The third set was tied up 6-6, making this a tiebreak set. The score was 9-8. Mac needed three points in a row to win the set and the whole match, but all Taylor needed was one more point. Handing the towel back to the ballboy, Mac got into position.

Mac bounced the ball against the clay. Using her wrist to flick it toward the ground, Mac felt her forearms strain. Her body was just about ready to give up. Taking a look at the stands, Piper smiled down at Mackenzie.

Nodding to herself, Mac filled her lungs with air as she rocked on her feet. Then, with a leap into the air, she smacked the ball across the court and into the service box. 120 miles per hour.Too slow.Taylor returned it easily, hardly moving to reach it.

When the ball came back to Mac, she aimed it to the opposite side of the court. The technique had worked in every other match, so maybe it would work now. Taylor hid it well, but Mac knew she was exhausted. If she could force her to exert more energy, it might be enough for Mac to get the upper hand.

But Taylor crossed the court easily, tapping the ball back into Mac’s court with a light grunt. A return that gentle would hit its second bounce close to the net, bouncing out of play faster than Mac could bridge the distance.

“Shit.” Mac gasped as she sprinted to meet the ball, fighting against the deep ache in her joints. But she was too late, and the ball bounced a second time.

Mac’s body dropped to the clay.

The crowd erupted for Taylor as the umpire called the match in her favor. Mac looked up blearily, watching Taylor wave at her adoring fans. Up in the stands, Kimberly stood from her seat and left the stadium.

Mac caught her breath, lifted herself back onto her feet, and met Taylor at the net. Extending her hand first, Taylor failed to hide her satisfaction.

“Good game, Macky.” Taylor smiled politely.

Mac nodded, and grabbed her hand. Her heart caught in her throat at the touch. Years of post-match handshakes flooded back to Mackenzie. Even now, through sweat and caked-on clay, Mac could still feel the electricity pulse through her skin.

Forcing herself out of the trance, Mac spoke, “Congrats, champ.”

Before she could get swept up in Taylor’s ocean eyes, Mac turned toward the umpire and extended her hand up. “Thanks, ump.”

The umpire nodded and shook her hand. “Well played, Miss Bennett. I’m sure we’ll cross paths again.”

With that, she walked to her bag and packed up, the cheers of Taylor’s adoring fans still swelling in her ears. As she slung the bag over her shoulders, Mac scanned the crowd where Babs and Piper politely clapped. Even in her loss, pride filled their faces.

Mac knew one thing for certain. She was going to have to train even harder to take home a Grand Slam of her own. This was just the beginning.

10

Taylor

One weekand a grueling match later, Taylor was utterly exhausted, her body covered in a terrible mixture of sunscreen and sweat. As she made her way back to her hotel room, all she wanted was to sit on the floor of her shower and let the hot water wash over her achy muscles. But as she swung open the door, she was greeted by the loud pop of a champagne bottle instead.

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