Matchpoint

Chapter 38:

My knee jiggles as I sit in the box. I'm surrounded by the team. Stack to my left, Philip and Paul beside her. Jayce is to my right, and Holly is beside him.

I don't know why I'm so nervous. Dom looked good this afternoon. Calm. Composed. Clear in the mind.

Dom hops from foot to foot on the baseline. Eyes analysing Fritz's movements and gathering whereabouts his going to send the first serve of the game.

Momentarily, the whole arena freezes. It's just Dom and Taylor standing opposite each other on the court. Dom sways, Taylor poises his racquet.

All I can hear is my own breathing, my own heart, my own worry.

Then time speeds up, Fritz smashes the ball over the net, with such intensity it sounds as if his racquet snapped.

I don't realise I'm holding my breath until Dom eases into the return and sends the ball back into Fritz's court.

Relief.

Both boys are light on their feet as they swiftly move across court. This first rally is already shaping up to be a big one. The two are quite evenly matched. Neither loses focus. Neither seems to break.

Back and forth, the ball goes. There are risky shots, ones that make Stack gasp or Jayce wince, but nevertheless, Dom does not let Fritz get one over him.

"This is the longest fucking rally I've ever watched." I hear Holly mutter to Jayce.

"The longest grand slam rally was like eighty-six strokes. This is nothing." Jayce scoffs.

Yet, the rally between Dom and Taylor still amazes me and still seems to stretch for ages.

It's only until Fritz gets lulled into a false sense of security that he seems to fumble and hit the ball a little too low. It goes flying into the net. Dom wins the first point of the game.

I breathe out deeply, Stack's hand falling onto my arm as she too feels a sense of relief.

As the game continues, so does the similarity in Dom and Taylor's game play. As one raises the bar, the other just raises it further. I can feel myself clenching my jaw, holding my breath, and furrowing my eyebrows. The stress seems too much to handle.

The first set ends in a nailbiter. It's six all, onto a tiebreaker they go. As Dom switches sides, his eyes catch mine. Those lips quirk upwards as he notices the stress stretching across my face.

Then, without a second thought, Dom winks at me. Fuck.

"Real subtle." Jayce snickers beside me.

I try my best not to react to his commentary. But, my cheeks betray me, I can feel them heating up, which only means one thing, they're most certainly red.

Dom starts the rally, and the duality between the two only continues.

1-0
1-1
2-1
2-2
3-2
3-3
4-3
4-4
5-4

Dom's up. He needs this breakpoint. He needs to get this set.

It's Taylor's serve. Not even I am able to tell where he's going to send the ball. Dom sways from side to side, twisting his racquet in his hands.

Thwack. The ball goes flying. Time slows once more.

The neon yellow bullet skims the centre of the court. Dom strikes out his racquet, his reaction time impeccable.

The ball slices back over the net, and the rally continues. Back and forth, it goes.

Until suddenly, Dom does setting unexpectedly. He slides up to net, stretches his arm, and slams the ball down into Fritz's court, just to the left, just out of reach.