His body had taken a beating and he wasn’t as agile as he had once been. His knee ached, the joint protesting every time he came to a sudden stop or made a quick turn. He just needed to hold on for a few more minutes. Just needed to win a few more points.
As the clock marked four hours and one minute, the cheer of the crowd was like a wave of thunder crashing repeatedly on a beach. Breathing hard, Luke walked slowly back to the other side of the court. His legs felt like lead and his lungs burned as he gulped in the early evening air. This was it. Just a few more points.
Concentrate.
Ten minutes later, it was 5-6 with Koehler a point up. Luke didn’t have enough gas left in the tank to keep going. What kind of attitude was that? His inner voice sprang to life. It ain’t over ’till it’s over.
With a deep breath, Luke nodded to the ball girl and caught the ball she tossed. He knew the crowd was cheering for him, trying to spur him on, give him strength. He bounced the ball once and caught it again before tossing it aside. He nodded for another, killing time trying to get his second wind.
Scratch that. More like his tenth.
Twenty-three thousand people held their breath as he bounced the ball twice and tossed it up into the air, his racquet catching it in the sweet spot and hurtling it over the net. There it skidded off the back of the service box and out of Koehler’s reach.
The crowd exploded. It was 6-6. They switched sides and Luke served again, dumping the first one into the net. The second wasn’t hit hard, but he managed to get a sharp angle on it and Koehler’s smashed return went just wide. The serve went back to Koehler, who took his time setting up. Not that Luke was complaining about the chance to take a few more deep breaths.
The umpire shushed the audience and Luke bent into position, waiting for the blur of green fuzz to hurtle towards him. When it did, he returned it with a backhand down the line. Koehler smashed a running forehand crosscourt and Luke raced towards it, the ball moving faster than his legs could. He took a futile stab at it and tumbled onto the court.
As the crowd gasped, Luke rolled onto his back. The sky above was a dusky blue, the clouds reflecting the orange glow of the sun as it descended. He felt the roar of the fans vibrating through the ground beneath him and he slowly got to his feet. Millions of people were watching all around the world, and Luke felt like they were all there in the stadium, their expectation hot on his face.
He brushed himself off and the cheering intensified. Luke tried to soak up the energy, let it seep into his bones, his muscles, his skin. Suddenly the screen of the electronic scoreboard high above the court came into focus. Luke saw the camera zoom in on his mother in the crowd.
Yet Luke’s gaze wasn’t on her, but the person standing behind in the entranceway to the first level of seating. Almost out of frame, his arms crossed over his chest, lips pressed tightly together the way they did when he was nervous. A second later he was gone, the camera sweeping by on its way to check in on Koehler’s latest supermodel girlfriend, who was poised as always for the camera.
Jesse had only been on screen for a few seconds at most, but he was unmistakable.
Luke was rooted to the spot. Jesse was here. He’d stayed. The image played over and over in Luke’s mind as the crowd chanted and cheered and rose to their feet. Despite everything that had happened, Jesse was there. Jesse wasn’t afraid. In that moment, Luke knew that he’d been wrong all along—Jesse didn’t need his protection.
Luke gazed around at the pandemonium and felt a calm float over him, settling down softly like a veil. Win or lose, he knew what he had to do. For Jesse. For himself.
The umpire asked for quiet and for play to resume as Luke took his position on the court to receive serve at 7-7. Luke had a feeling Koehler would serve out wide. When he did, Luke was ready and placed his crosscourt return perfectly, catching Koehler off balance.
The crowd went wild, still on their feet and now making even more noise, although Luke wouldn’t have believed it was possible.
“8-7,” the umpire intoned. “Match point, Rossovich.”
Luke took a deep breath and motioned for a towel, wiping his face quickly. At the service line, he held the ball in his hand and closed his eyes briefly. In that moment, he thought of all the years that had come before, of his father, of Nik, of Jesse. He exhaled and gripped his racquet, the ball bouncing onto the court. “One more point,” he muttered.