Page 9 of Courting Trouble
‘I watched you walk onto the court and I thought, “Right. She’s got good posture and knows where her limbs are.” And then you picked up that racket and—’ she made a soft poppingnoise with her lips—‘something happened. So I reckon it’s more psychological than physical. Which I can work with.’
Delilah looked at her for a long moment. Her expression cleared slightly. ‘OK,’ she said, wiping moisture from under her eyes. And she climbed out of the car.
Cassie watched, mildly stunned, as she sashayed back toward the courts with the kind of commitment that suggested she hadn’t just been sobbing into her steering wheel two minutes ago.
Cassie, belatedly, got out of the car and jogged after her. She couldn’t really understand how she’d gotten Delilah back on her feet. But she wasn’t about to question it.
Eleven
Delilah told herself she wasn’t going to cry again. What was there to cry about? She sucked. It wasn’t a tragedy. And Cassie was right. It also wasn’t the end of the story. Not unless Delilah let it be.
Delilah took up her position again. The racket still felt foreign in her grip, too heavy and somehow too flimsy at once, like a flat-pack wardrobe. But Delilah was gonna grip it and swing until something happened.
The first ball whizzed past her. She didn’t even move.
The second, she swung at and missed by a hilarious amount.
‘Keep your eyes on the ball,’ Cassie said casually, like she wasn’t watching the sport of tennis’s biggest clown.
‘That’s what I’m doing,’ Delilah muttered.
‘Then do it harder,’ Cassie told her.
Delilah rolled her eyes. But adjusted her stance. She suddenly realised she wasn’t so scared of Cassie anymore. Cassieknew she was a mess. What else was there to really fear now? Cassie wasn’t exactly warm and fuzzy, but somehow less like a brick wall. She was more like a wall made of wood now.
Third ball… Nope. The fourth, she thought she might have heard it whoosh as it sped past. Or maybe that was her own breath, escaping in a groan of despair.
Her legs were starting to ache. Her grip was too tight. Her pride was a memory.
But then something unexpected happened.
Cassie lobbed another ball toward her, same pace, same arc, and Delilah moved. Just a little earlier. Just a little sharper. She drew the racket back and swung. She fully expected it to miss.
But it didn’t.
The ball made contact. Not hard, not clean, but it connected. It bounced off her strings and shuddered awkwardly over the net.
Delilah froze. She blinked. ‘Oh my God.’
Her face split into a grin so wide it felt ridiculous. She let out a noise that was half-laugh, half-yelp. ‘I hit it!’
Cassie didn’t break into applause or even smile back. She just gave a small nod and said, ‘Good. Keep going.’
Delilah’s grin widened. One hit. One tiny, wonky, ridiculous hit. But it was enough. Cassie was right. She was bad. She was bloody terrible. But she wasn’t hopeless.
She could get better.
Twelve
The following morning, Cassie was ready to kick Delilah’s arse into shape. No mollycoddling. She wouldn’t ease up because of one little breakdown. She had a job to do, and it wasn’t what she did for her other clients. This wasn’t fitness. Delilah needed to improve drastically.
‘Morning,’ Delilah said breezily.
Cassie didn’t acknowledge that. She opened a fresh can of balls with a hiss. ‘We’re going for two hours today.’
‘No, we’re not,’ Delilah said instantly. ‘One hour a day, that was the agreement.’
Cassie finally looked up. ‘You want to look like a tennis legend or a woman in activewear?’
