She's back ~ L. Hamilton

106. | This is real life

Later on, Liam went home late. He'd stayed late and the three of us had watched Wonka, which had recently come out. I was surprised at how interested in the movie My uncle and Liam both were.

But I wasn't focused on it.

I couldn't focus on it.

Throughout the entire movie, my mind was elsewhere. All I could think about was the approaching Open.

It's like a sickness, it's taken over my entire body and now it's spread to my brain. It's just constantly on my mind.

I had attempted to sleep but after an hour of tossing and turning I knew it was pointless and I was just wasting time lying in bed.

And with that, five minutes later I was tying my tennis shoes on and jogging down to the tennis courts at the bottom of the garden. I set up the tennis ball machine on the other side of the court.

And then I began.

The balls came firing at me hard and fast, and I returned them one by one.

I got into a rhythm of hitting them back, I got so into lost in the rhythm of firing them back that I didn't even realise as it began to rain down around me.

It was only when the machine ran out of balls that i looked around me for the first time and noticed the rain that was now pouring rather heavily around me.

but I didn't pay it much attention, thanks to the Australian climate, even though it was raining it's still rather warm.

30 minutes later and the rain had quickly turned the court into a slick battlefield, but I didn't care. Every muscle in my body burned, my lungs ached, and my soaked ponytail clung to my neck, but I kept swinging. Ball after ball, serve after serve, pushing my body past the edge of exhaustion. I had to. There was no other choice.

The match was approaching. The match that could define everything. My entire career, my future, my name. Winning wasn't just an option—it was survival.

Thunder rumbled overhead as I tossed the ball up for another serve. My grip slipped just slightly from the wetness, but I adjusted, sent the ball flying across the net, and—

"Laney"

I froze at the sound of his voice.

Lewis.

He was the last person I needed to see right now. And yet, even with my body drenched from the storm, it was his voice that sent the real shiver down my spine.

I exhaled sharply, ignoring him, picking up another ball.

Toss.

Swing.

The smack of the racket against the ball was sharp, but not sharp enough to drown out the sound of his footsteps on the wet pavement.

"You're going to destroy yourself if you keep this up," Lewis said. He was closer now. I could feel him just behind me.

"I know what I'm doing," I muttered, bending down to grab another ball.

He exhaled a quiet, humorless laugh. "Do you?"

I turned sharply, glaring at him. He was soaked, his dark hair dripping, his t-shirt plastered to his skin, but his eyes—God, his eyes—were the same. Sharp, unreadable, intense in a way that made my breath catch.

But his tshirt,

A Mercedes top.

A poignant reminder of who he was - who my brother was