Page 27 of The Challenger

“Oh, here we go,” Chavez mutters as Carmen slips out the front door and struts on over. She raps her knuckles on his window and motions for him to roll it down. He cracks it an inch.

“What do you want?”

“Feliz fucking Navidad, you dumbshit,” she says. “Like maybe I can help you salvage this disaster?”

“See ya. Nice knowing you.”

The window edge rolls up to bite her skin, but she refuses to budge. “Mama prays every day you and Sofia will get back together. She is having a heart attack in there.”

“It’s not my fault she’s in denial,” he protests.

“Of course, she’s got her hopes up. You never bring women home, and then you drop her on Christmas?” She glances at me, and I feel like she's seeing something that’s not there. “Why don’t you take the whipping from this nice lady and then man up, get your ass back inside, and explain yourself.”

“He doesn’t need to explain,” I butt in. “I’m leaving.”

“No, you’re not,” he says, quiet urgency in his voice. Back at Carmen, he turns borderline hostile. “Haveyouexplained that I’m the only one supplying grandkids?”

Her face stills like someone cranked the anger tap off. Until now, I didn’t think twice about her woven rainbow bands stacked five deep on her wrists. Or her pretty face devoid of makeup and the unmistakable current of wayward sensuality in her eyes. Guess I know now who straddles the Ducati.

“Have you said anything?” she asks, sounding hollow, the vim stripped away.

“Right,” Chavez mutters. “Why would I bear your cross?”

“Because there is someone on this earth other than you, Chavelito.”

“Are we getting into that?” he asks immediately on the attack. “All right, then who’s paying for your education? Some fucking mystery man?”

She laughs bitterly, and I know it’s not the first time they’ve gone down this path. “Now I have to bow down to you? The man with all the money? If that’s the case, you’re no better than Earl.”

It’s like she flipped the same Sofia switch that was activated the other night. Chavez pounds the window so hard with his fist I feel the rattle in my teeth.

“Don’t youeversay that!”

After a sticky silence that could trap a jet mid-take-off, the set to her jaw loosens. “I’ve dealt with yourmierdamy whole life. It’s always about you and your drama to prove yourself. It’s like you don’t know how to live without it. Even Papa threw in the towel, and he’s the patron saint of patience.” Her gaze lands on me and something in her expression tells me she would never do anything as dubious as stick around for a man who’s treated me like Chavez has. But then she says, “Do me a favor and stay. Make him face reality for a change. And Mama makes the best tamales.”

She stomps off and leaves us in a silence that could smother a million shrieking girls at a Dua Lipa concert. I still can't believe how badly I got suckered.

“This is pretty awesome,” I say. “Best Christmas ever.”

Chavez side-eyes me. “Now you’re going to ride my ass, too?”

He can sit here all day if he wants to, acting all wounded. He’s got some explaining to do. “What exactly is going on here?” I ask. “Because there is something, and I get the distinct impression it involves me.”

He hesitates and the pause conveys the answer. But he still dances around it. “I wanted my parents to meet you.”

“I need more than that, Chavez.”

He rakes a hand through his hair, cornered and frustrated and not happy about it. “What I wanted to ask, at the right moment, which I guess is now, is if you’d be interested in coaching me.”

I stare at him, unblinking.I don’t know what I was expecting, but it wasn’t this.

“My dad isn’t coming back,” he continues, “and Python doesn’t want to travel anymore. I know most of the other coaches, and I’m not interested in working with them. I got more into your book yesterday and you’re smart up here,” he says, tapping a finger to his forehead. “That’s what I need.”

Holy Toledo. He is serious.“I have never coached anyone at tennis. Let alone someone at your level.”

“It’s not like you’re reinventing the wheel,” he counters. “You coach people all the time—on stage, through your writing.”

“It’s not tennis,” I remind him again. “And you’re trying to rebuild your career. That’s a huge deal. It requires commitment. Time and travel.”

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