Wildcard: Volume Three

I want to help her, but I have no idea how. This isn't exactly my area of expertise. I’ve got no idea how to deal with this shit. I want to suggest that she own up to what happened, but with the risk of losing Jake, I know she won't go for that. Not that I blame her. I probably wouldn't do it, either.

Come on. There has to be something I can do.

My phone vibrates in my pocket. I reach for it and check the number. I don't recognize it. Shrugging, I press answer.

“Hello?”

“Hi, this Ryder Stevens?”

“Depends who's asking.” I don't recognize the voice, and with the recent developments, I’m suspicious of anything—or anyone—new.

The male voice chuckles. “Sorry, this is Jim Harmer. Cally’s father? You coached my daughter for a little while there.”

“Of course, Jim. How can I help you?” I say, my tone friendlier.

“I have an odd question for you. Or rather, a proposition. Are you still playing these days?” he asks.

“That is yet to be decided,” I mumble, running my hand through my hair. “So what is it you wanted to ask?”

“Right,” he says. “I'm just going to come right out and say it. Would you be interested in coaching my daughter on a full-time permanent basis?”

What the fuck? I nearly drop the phone. I manage to compose myself, but just barely. Is he for real? Surely there are better alternatives than me—especially for the money this guy can lay out.

“Me?” is all I manage to reply.

“I know you have no experience as a coach, but you're the only person she has listened to since she was five. She doesn't even listen to me.”

“I'm not sure I'd call what she was doing listening,” I chuckle.

He laughs in response.

“Wow, sorry, I'm just in shock. I was not expecting this,” I mumble. My future is not even on my radar at the moment.

“You don’t need to make a decision right away. Tell you what: Wimbledon starts next week. You know Cally has a wildcard entry, right?”

“Yeah,” I say. I think I know where this is headed.

“How do you feel about coaching her for that tournament? I'll make the remuneration worth your while. After, then you can decide whether it might be something you'd consider.” He pauses. “If not, then that's fine. No hard feelings.”

“Okay. Yeah, sure. That sounds like a plan. When does she fly in?” I ask, distracted.

“Saturday morning. Her match is Tuesday afternoon against Stephanie Raviskovic, ranked number 178 in the world. This is her first major at an elite level. More than anything, this is just a learning experience for her.”

“Okay. And will you be flying over too?”

“It's my daughter’s first professional tennis match. At Wimbledon. Of course I'm going to be there.” He laughs.

I like this guy already.

***

Prepping myself to coach Cally provides me with a minor distraction from Scarlett. I call Matt to let him know about Jim's call and my decision to trial coaching her. Matt is shocked, and I think a little impressed that I’m actually capable of behaving like an adult.

I haven't heard from Scar, and to be honest I'm kind of glad. I have no idea what to say to her. She left in such a hurry this morning that nothing was really resolved. Everything is still just hanging in the air, and I have no idea where we're at.

Telling me must have been such a hard thing to do. Of course, she wasn't left with much choice. It was either let me think really bad things, or tell the truth. And now I feel guilty, because while she has come clean, I'm still hiding something. There's still the issue of Tony, and the fact that I paid him off.

I just wish she could have told me earlier. I paid this guy two hundred grand to fuck off. If I’d known what he had on her, I would have added stipulations—like demanding all copies of the tapes, and whatever other evidence he has.