Matchpoint

Chapter 48:

Griekspoor is looking like a top ten ranked player against Dom. It's hardly even a match. Dom's conceded far too many points. The match is way out of reach now.

With a groan, I bury my head in my hands in a pathetic attempt to ignore what's playing out before me.

It doesn't help that in the background of the match are the unwanted voices of the commentators. "Well, this is not what we had hoped for from Dominic. Where's the fire from the French Open?"

"I don't know John," the two men speak solemnly to each other. "But it's a real disappointment."

Dom sends a shot over the net, but it's high, loopy, passionless. It's an easy point for Griekspoor.

I can see the moment Dom loses his temper. It is not now when he throws down his racquet. No, it was several sets ago when he realised that his campaign was coming to an end in Halle.

"Mr Fraser, that's a warning," the umpire speaks into the microphone. My heart drops when I watch Dom's body freeze in place. He slowly turns to the umpire and throws up his hands. I can't exactly hear what he's saying, but I know it's not good.

"Mr Fraser, if you do not calm down, I will be forced to end this match prematurely." Dom's eyebrows knit tightly, and he shakes his head. Come on, Dom, pull it together.

My phone rings, Holly.

"Your parents look like they could kill Dominic," she speaks softly over the phone. And she's not wrong. In the box, my mother has her head buried in her hands, and father, well, his fists are balled, face red. Need I say more.

"He's completely lost it," I mumble in response, absolutely hating to see Dom so defeated.

"He's really retracted all of his hard work," Jayce joins in the conversation. It's funny how we're all watching the match, regardless of where we are in the world and what time it is.

"Guess he'll be home sooner than we expect." I sigh because even though he'll return home, we'll still be forced into isolation from one another.

Holly won't be home for another week. She's made it into the quarters easily. But Dom's campaign is a whole other story.

Dom takes another risky shot, but it's not the right time for it. It's exactly as he did before he and I started working together. It's a panic mechanism. He's fallen back into old habits. Bad habits.

His shot misses once more. A poor decision. A poor game.

"And that might be it for Dominic," the commentators say through the laptop. Judging by the sigh on the other side of the phone, I just know that Jayce has heard the same comment.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Sure enough, Dom practically concedes the matchpoint. After receiving a hit from Griekspoor, one that should have been an easy return, Dom simply whacks it effortlessly into the net.

It reminds me of that time he and I were doing hitting practice. I wasn't working hard to make the returns, I was simply pushing his buttons to see how quickly I could get a reaction out of him. But, he knew the game, and he played along, continuing to match my energy and hitting the ball back pathetically or not even at all.

This, though, this is different. He's on a court. Playing in a prestigious competition. In front of my parents, who I just know will be unimpressed.

It's a sign of resignation. He's forfeited. All his fight has disappeared.

"I'm hanging up," I croak, and that's where I leave my conversation with Jayce and Holly.

My full attention is zoomed in onto Dom. He walks towards the net and shakes Griekspoor's hand defeatedly before turning thanking the umpire and walking over to his seat.