For the Love of Tennis | ✅

Chapter 28

I show him my father’s grave. Then I sit him down on a bench nearby and tell him a story.

“He was driving home one night,” I begin. “It was cold and dark and icy on the road. He was going round a bend a little quickly.” I stop to lace my hand through his. “And there was a car coming round the other way.”

Amias closes his eyes as though he already knows.

“They hit head-on,” I mumble. “And he was killed instantly. It’s his anniversary today, in fact.” I pull back. “Mum hated driving after that. She wanted to sell our second car. But I said no. I kept her driving until I learnt to drive. And since then she’s come out of her shell a little, just a bit.”

He circles his thumb on my palm and it sends little shivers of delight down my spine.

“Your mother is an amazing woman,” he says. “From what I can see, she’s got strength.”

“She does. A lot of strength.”

My phone then pings. A text from Mum.

You OK? Where are you?

Amias peers over my shoulder at the text.

“You need to get home?” he asks.

“I’ll tell her where I am,” I say, typing back a reply.

Out with Amias. Tennis was good.

She replies in less than an instant.

OK. Just don’t do anything stupid.

I grin to myself. Then I lean into Amias and he instinctively wraps his arm around me.

“Thanks for listening to me,” he mumbles into my hair. His lips trail down my ear. “And for holding me when I cried.”

“Thanks for telling me,” I say back. “And you can cry whenever you like.”

He smiles. I find myself melting.

We sit there – me curled into him, him with a protective arm over me – overlooking the graves.

“Weird that they were buried in the same place,” I muse.

“Not many other cemeteries for miles around.”

He pulls me in closer. I take his chin and kiss him.

“We’re still not together,” I say.

“You want us to be together?” he says with a smirk. “That can be arranged, I’m sure.”

“I don’t know if I want it to be official.”

“I haven’t met your Mum yet.”

I pull back, glancing at his face. “Why don’t you, then?”

He turns his side slightly to the side.

“Come to mine,” I babble. “You can meet her. She’ll love you! And then we sort through this bloody mess together.”

He puts a hand lightly on my shoulder. “Chandy.”

“What?” I’m not backing down. “Seriously, she’ll love you. She’s been dying to meet you.”

“Really?”

“Come along – I can cook you dinner.”

He shakes his head slowly. “Not tonight.”

“Okay, well tomorrow then. Or the weekend.”

“Tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow,” I confirm, and my palm is on his hard chest for some reason. Then I lean in and when we kiss, it feels like magic.

His fingers wind through mine and soon they find my hair. Gently tugging at my hair band, my hair falls in sticky waves over my shoulders.

“You look like a girl from the 60’s,” he teases as he combs my hair out with his fingers. “It’s weird how we first met each other,” he begins as he smooths down every strand. “You were in a rage.”

I blush.

“And you screamed bloody murder. Next thing I know your ball is hitting me on the head, and to be perfectly honest, it felt like coincidence.”

“We met because of tennis.”

“Yeah.” He looks at me and it feels like he’s staring into the very depths of my soul. “For the Love of Tennis.”

I laugh. Then I raise an imaginary glass. “For the Love of Tennis.”

We clink glasses.

I might as well be drunk. I’m drunk on laughter, on Amias, on the world.

It’s a heavenly feeling.