Wildcard: Volume Three

“I thought this would be good news.” Josh sounds surprised.

“Yeah. Well, it’s not. Look, I can’t go into details, but thanks for this, mate. I’ll see you tomorrow. Rest up, and good luck.”

“Thanks, man. Try and drop by and see me, okay?”

“You know I will.”

***

It’s nine o’clock Tuesday morning when I arrive at the stadium. I feel the rush in my stomach that I used to feel before a match, and realize that I do miss it. I’ve had so much going on that playing hasn’t even entered my mind, but missing it is not something I expected to feel. Even if I don’t play again, I doubt I can walk away from this altogether—and I have no idea where that leaves me. Would coaching give me that extra challenge that’s missing when I play?

I meet Cally in the players’ room, and to my surprise she is freaking the hell out. I almost laugh, and then remember that I’m supposed to be her support. She sits in the corner on a bench, her long blond hair tied back in a plait. She’s keeled over, as if she’s going to be sick. What is it with everyone around me being sick?

I’m beginning to wonder if it’s me.

“Hey,” I say, sitting down next to her.

She looks up at me and scowls. I laugh and her glare intensifies.

“I’m gonna make a fool out of myself, and you’re going to let me,” she accuses, her dark eyes flashing. “Have you seen how many people are here? She’s going to drive me into the ground.”

“With that attitude, she will.” I sigh, trying to summon some words of wisdom. “Look, don’t go out there expecting to win. Go out there and learn something new about your game. You can do this, Cally. You’re a damn good player.”

“You think so?” she asks, her voice small. For the first time I see the vulnerable girl she really is.

“I know so.”

She jumps up and runs past me. I look over and see her throw her arms around Jim. If I’m totally honest, I’m shocked they’re as close as they are. Their relationship is the polar opposite to what I had been expecting.

He’s not the father who has no time for his kid so he buys her affection, like I first thought. He’s always there, always encouraging, always supportive. I envy their connection because I never felt like I had that with my own father. I know my dad loves me, but nothing ever feels good enough. Even with numerous grand slams under my belt. It was always ‘try harder’. ‘Do better’. ‘Stop fucking around’. Standing up, I join them. Jim sticks his hand out, and I shake it.

“Ryder.” He smiles. “I hope you’ve got my girl ready to play?”

“She was always ready, Jim.” I grin.

He laughs. “I knew I liked you for a reason. I’ll see you in the box?”

“You will.” I nod.

He pats me on the back and hugs Cally. “Good luck, honey. Win or lose, you’re my little princess.”

“Dad!” she hisses, her face glowing as red as the Nike logo on her shirt.

He laughs again and slaps her shoulder.

She shakes her head as he walks off. “Why does he always have to embarrass me?”

“That’s what they do. Would you rather he not show up and ignore you?”

“Sometimes,” she mutters. “Shit, I’m about to play in fucking Wimbledon.”

“Language, Cally,” I say.

She rolls her eyes at me. “Please. You’re having a go at me about language?” She laughs. “Do you listen to yourself?”

Good point.

“Just do your best, okay? Good luck.” I lean over and kiss her on the cheek.