Page 63 of Backhanded Compliments

“Tennis is a fickle mistress,” Luca says.

“She really is.”

Luca tips her head back, staring at the ceiling. Her hood falls backand her hair bunches in it, tickling her neck. Juliette’s fingers brush her hair out of the hood, letting it fall down her back. Luca means to say thank you, but what comes out instead is a question.

“Did you choose tennis, or did you do it because your older sisters were doing it?”

Juliette remains quiet, and Luca is grateful she can’t see Juliette’s face. She worries she’s pushed too far, asked too much of this tenuous trust built between them.

“I think I chose it, yes,” Juliette says finally. “I love the competition, the challenge, and the fact that I have full responsibility for the outcome of the match. It’s tough to swallow after losses, but the pride after winning is worth it, I think.” Juliette trails her knuckles up the knobs of Luca’s spine, and it takes her breath away. “What about you?” Luca feels her lean in closer, warmth radiating over her.

“No, I didn’t.” Luca wants to swallow her own tongue, but the words keep spilling out anyway. “My mother put me in lessons when I was six years old, and I kept doing it because it made my father proud. And I do love tennis, but it’s also the glue that keeps my life together.” Luca draws in a deep breath despite how tight her chest is and admits, “It’s all I have.”

Luca doesn’t know who she is without it. She could go find out, but she’s worked too hard for this career to abandon it now. Now that she’s finally reached the top, she can’t let go.

“I think that’s why I’ve envied you so much. Beyond just your ability. You have a drive that I don’t,” Juliette sighs.

Luca fiddles with the strings on her hoodie. “Is survival really a drive?” She hates that the words come out of her mouth at all, but especially because they’re so soft and fragile.

“Survival?” Juliette whispers.

Luca shakes her head. “Never mind.”

“Luca,” Juliette murmurs, and Luca shifts, ready to get off the couch as discomfort washes over her like a wave.

But then Juliette’s arms wrap around her stomach, and her chin rests on Luca’s shoulder as she squeezes her into a hug. For a moment, Luca forgets to breathe; she’s so surprised by the sudden gesture.

“You’ll play again, Luca,” Juliette says, her breath warm against the shell of her ear. Luca shudders. The words are a salve pressing precisely where it hurts.

“How do you know?” she dares to ask, uncertainty twisting like a straitjacket around her lungs and heart.

Juliette hums, and Luca feels the rumble of it against her back. “You’re an incredible player, Luca Kacic, and I know this won’t stop you. If anyone can continue your amazing trajectory, it’s you,” she says with such sincerity that Luca’s eyes sting. The hard core of anxiety wrapped around her lungs melts into goo.

“You think so?” Luca doesn’t know how to believe her. A nagging voice threatens the relief Juliette’s words gave her. “You said I was overhyped and unoriginal,” she adds, and even now it aches to say, though she tries for a teasing tone.

Juliette’s breath is warm against her throat. “I lied.”

She closes her eyes, dizzy and overwhelmed, but she curls her fingers around Juliette’s, holding on as if she is her lifeline. She can feel Juliette’s wrist wrap press against her stomach, hiding her name.

“Thank you,” Luca says, her voice thick.

Juliette squeezes again and Luca relaxes against her, sagging back until she can tilt her head against Juliette’s. The scent of her washes over Luca, fresh citrus and something rosy in her perfume, with the lovely lightness of freshly washed cotton.

Juliette’s nose presses against her throat, and Luca feels her breathe in. “What are you wearing?”

Luca blinks, the tenderness of the moment cracking as she can’t help but laugh. “What do you mean?”

“You smell nice. Herbal. What is it?” Juliette shifts her head, and a curl tickles against Luca’s skin, making her scrunch her shoulder at the sensation.

“Lavender,” she says. “I was trying to sleep before you showed up.”

“Oh.” Juliette lifts her head, and Luca almost leans back into her again. “Should we watch that movie now?” Juliette asks, her arms loosening from around Luca’s waist. “Do you need pain medication? Did my hands help?”

Despite the warm relief that Juliette’s hands had provided on the surface level of her pain, the lingering echoes of her injury sit deeper in her muscles. “Yeah, but I still need something. It’s just irritating now.”

Juliette’s arms vanish from around her waist, and Luca barely stops herself from whining. She turns back around to rest on her pillows as Juliette heads for the kitchenette. The pillows aren’t as warm and comfortable as Juliette, but Luca will live.

Juliette returns and hands Luca a blister pack. “You can stay on the couch,” Luca murmurs. She wishes she could lie across Juliette so she can’t leave quietly if Luca falls asleep. She pops two of her painkillers with the rest of her Lucozade and tosses the pack on the coffee table among the discarded chocolate wrappers.

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