Matchpoint

Chapter 42:

"The lob was high," Dom explains as he sits beside me in the conference room. Lights flash around us as the cameras take pictures for the news articles. "Clove has been teaching me about predictable and unpredictable shots. I wanted Alex to send me a lob, I wanted him to think that by doing that, he was giving himself time to get back to the centre."

"So, you're saying his shot was predictable?" A journalist queries Dom.

"No, I'm saying I was prepared for that shot because I'd thought my play through." Dom smirks. "Alex just happened to play exactly as I wanted him to."

"You must be pretty happy to make it to the finals here at Roland Garros. Can you explain that feeling?" Another journalist asks.

"Happy is an understatement, mate," Dom chuckles, receiving a ripple of laughter from the crowd itself. "I'm beyond excited. I've worked hard to get here, so to feel like that hard work has paid off is incredible."

When Dom won that point, the crowd simply erupted. The two Aussie's going head to head in a semi-final was exciting already, but to have the young gun come out on top, it was such an incredible moment.

"Clove, we'll turn this to you momentarily," a journalist begins, and I nod in acknowledgement. "What does this win mean to you? Dominic is about to go into his first final since the end of his partnership with his prior coach."

My knee brushes Dom's slightly beneath the table. "I'm over the moon." I say simply. "To be along for the ride and watch him play out exactly how we practice, it's satisfying, to say the least."

"You're friends with Alex de Minaur. Did that make this match easier or harder for you?" Another person speaks up, and I try to search for them in the crowd. With such a large room, sometimes it's just hard to pinpoint people.

"Um, look, I love Alex. We've been family friends for years. I know how he plays. That's the luck of growing up with someone. But, in saying that, every good team studies their opponent before a match. Dom and Alex did hitting practice together earlier this month, so they do understand each other's game play." I explain. "Every match is different, though. That's why you just have to be as prepared as possible."

"Now, Dominic, you'll be playing Casper Ruud in the finals. He had a brilliant match against Alacaraz to get here. History shows that Ruud will be hungry for this win, coming short two years in a row a few years back. What are your thoughts on this?" It's a good question, Dom, and I only found out he'd  e playing Ruud as we walked into the room. We hadn't had much time to discuss this topic, so I'm fascinated to hear what he has to say.

"Ruud, yeah, look, I'm pretty nervous about that," Dom chuckles slightly, his eyes turning to me as if he's seeking reassurance. "But, you've already seen where my partnership with Clove has got me, so I'm putting faith into that."

He says this whilst keeping eye contact with me. I hear the cameras shutter around us, and I become momentarily blinded by the lights.

Finally breaking eye contact, Dom turns to the crowd and runs his fingers through that firey head of hair. "I love the guy, I think he's an epic opponent. We've played a few times, and I've never come out victorious, so maybe this is my chance."

"Certainly," the journalist agrees.

I stare at Dom in awe. Holy fuck. We're playing the finals of Roland Garros. And that's just the beginning. Then it's onto Halle and even better, Wimbeldon.

♤♤♤

"He's just been ranked third, officially." Holly calls from behind us. We're making our way through the building to reach the main court. The countdown is on.