Page 78 of Carrie Soto Is Back

He deflates. “I just want you to serve the ball,” he says.

I start walking backward, still glaring at him as I make my way to the baseline. “Call me a quitter again, asshole. I dare you.”

“Serve the ball, Carrie.”

With lightning speed, I toss it up in the air and slam it across the court. It flies from my racket straight across the net and into the ground. It bounces out of reach before Bowe gets to it.

“Break point,” I say.

“Goddammit,” Bowe says as he throws his racket.

I shake my head and start heading toward the bench to drink some water.

Bowe picks up his racket and walks to the bench too. When he gets to me, he has calmed slightly. But the racket in his hand is broken—half the frame hanging by the strings.

I nod toward it. “That’s what happens when you don’t know how tocontrol your emotions.”

“Yeah, maybe I should just quit every time I think I’m losing.”

“One time!” I say. “One time! I asked you to reschedule a match because I didn’t want people looking at me. One time! And you’re so bent out of shape about it that you’re gonna wreck your racket? C’mon. You’re an adult man. Get ahold of yourself.”

“I truly cannot stand,” he says as he packs up his other rackets, “to be lectured by you.”

“Why not? Who elseshouldlecture you? You and I are the same, Bowe. Old and out to prove something. And I’m at least handling it with some dignity.”

“You left!” he says, his voice rising. And then he shakes his headand laughs to himself. “You hurt your knee, you lost a couple matches, and you gave up. That’s what you did. You’re saying we’re the same, but we’re not. I stuck around. I had the guts to try. I have the guts to lose. You, you just run. Well, guess what, Carrie? People who are actually playing the gamelose.We all lose. We loseall the time.That is life. So we are not the same, Soto. I have courage. You’re just good at tennis.”

He zips up his kit as I try to get control of my breathing.

“You’re mad at me because I retired?” I ask. “Are you serious? What should I have done instead? Hung around and become a joke? Let everyone see me limping to the finish line?”

Bowe looks at me and closes his eyes slowly. He takes a breath. “You act like you’ve dedicated your life to tennis. But you came back to win, not to play. That’s why they’re all pissed at you for returning. You’ve got no heart.”

Bowe puts his bag over his shoulder and walks away.

“Who is the quitter now?” I call out. “You’re forfeiting this match, you know!”

But Bowe just shakes his head and leaves.

—

The next morning, Bowe doesn’t show up. So it’s just my father and me hitting.

“He just decides not to come? Not to practice?” my father asks as we rally a bit to warm up.

I send a soft shot back to him. “No lo sé.”

My father frowns. “So you got into a fight, then.”

“He doesn’t like it when he’s told the truth. What do you want me to do?”

My father shakes his head and smiles. “The both of you…”

“Hey, I’m here, aren’t I?”

My father nods. “I will check up on him later.”

“Do whatever you want.”

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