Though she still looks a little green, she’s a hundred times better than she was when I arrived. I wave as I walk off, making my way around to the players’ box. I have twenty minutes before her match begins, so I decide to
drop past and see Josh, who I know will be training for his afternoon match against a wildcard—a match he should win.
Josh grins as I approach him on the outside training court. He hugs me, slapping my back. “Hey. You made it. How’s the kid?”
“Shitting herself,” I chuckle. I shake my head. “She’ll be fine once she gets her nerves under control. You know, they’ve asked me to coach her full-time.”
“Wow,” Josh says, raising his eyebrows. “And you’re actually considering it?”
“I’m more than considering it. I think I’ve decided to do it.”
His eyes widen. “You’re serious? You’re ready to give all this up?”
I shrug. “I think we both know my heart was never really in it.” I smirk. “Besides, maybe you’ll actually win a tournament that way.”
“Watch it, Stevens.” His eyes narrow, but I can see the light in them.
“Catch you later, okay?”
On the way back to Cally’s player box, I call Scar.
“Hey,” I say, my heart thumping at the sound of her voice. “Feeling any better?”
“I am,” she says. “I think I just needed a good sleep. How’s your student?”
“She’s a wreck.” I shake my head. “But she’ll be fine. Are you at the hospital?”
“No,” she hesitates. “Okay, so maybe I’m not feeling as well as I let on.”
“Scar,” I chastise. I’m immediately concerned, to the point where I consider going to check on her. But I can’t do that to Cally. Not today. Not if I really plan on coaching her.
“What?” she protests. “I don’t need you worrying about me. We have enough on our plate right now.”
I sigh. Tony. Fuck. How the hell am I going to tell her that he’s in a fucking coma? She’s going to freak out.
“I’ll come home as soon as the match is over, and you’re going to the doctor. No arguments.”
“Okay,” she grumbles.
I hang up and take my place in the box next to Jim. Cally and her opponent are on the court, warming up. The crowd is pretty decent, considering it’s an early morning match on an outside court between two relatively unknown players.
“So, Ryder,” Jim begins, turning to me, “have you considered our offer any further?”
I’m about to reply when I stop myself. Why didn’t I think of this earlier? My heart races as I try and control my excitement. I need to keep cool. I need to hold my cards close to my chest.
“Jim, I’m willing to consider it, but I need a favor from you in return,” I say smoothly.
His eyebrows shoot up, but he recovers quickly. “Sure. What do you need?”
“I need information about a possible crime. A friend of mine might be in trouble back in the States, and I need to know what the, uh, situation is.”
“This friend isn’t you, is it?” he asks suspiciously.
“What? Hell no,” I retort, avoiding his eyes. “Look, this friend hasn’t done anything, but certain circumstances might possibly look unfavorable to the police—if you know what I mean.”
“Okay, I’ll tell you what.” He hands me his card. “Send me an email with all the details and I’ll look into it.” He pauses, his expression serious. “I really do hope you consider this offer seriously, Ryder. I think it could be great for my daughter to learn from you.”
“Thanks, Jim. I’ll definitely think about it.”