Chapter 29 James

James was surprised at how well Liana played pickleball, and then he was immediately ashamed of himself for being surprised. He knew Liana had great instincts and played well during their Thursday pickleball classes, but she was also new to the sport. He'd told himself not to put any expectations on her to play well — this tournament was just for fun, after all — but he was pleasantly surprised when he and Liana breezed through their first two matches. James wasn't even trying his hardest.

Sure, Liana wasn't ready to sign up for a pro pickleball circuit, but for an amateur she was damn good, and James was proud. Proud that Liana had moved past a serious physical setback. He couldn't believe that this woman, who was sprinting for the ball left and right, couldn't walk up two flights of stairs not so long ago.

Every time he said as much to Liana, she worried her lip and told James not to jinx things — that her disease had not been cured and that it would not ever fully go away, and there might be more bad times in the future. James told her honestly that no matter what the future held, she should be proud of her hard work these past few months and should recognize her accomplishment. He knew she still lived in fear each day of going back to the way her health had been last year, and he knew he couldn't fully appreciate everything she had gone through. But he was insanely proud of her and loved playing pickleball with her.

In no time, they were into the quarterfinals. James was also surprised at how well the two of them meshed effortlessly. It seemed like he'd been playing with her for years, the way the two of them could anticipate each other's moves. James loved the little touches she gave him in between points, even if they were sometimes just high-fives.

The quarterfinal match was tricky because James and Liana played a mother-son duo who had clearly practiced. James had even taught the mom in a few of his classes. James told himself he didn't care if they won or lost, but he was secretly thankful when they pulled out the win in the end after a crucial dink from Liana.

After shaking his opponents' hands, James turned toward the water tent, only to be stopped by a hand on his chest. Brock stood in front of him, blocking his way. "We meet at last," Brock said. "The epic showdown. The semifinal match."

"Well, that's dramatic," James snorted. "But seriously, are we playing you now?"

"You'd best believe it, pretty boy," Brock replied. "Me and the girl you used to have, up against you and your new chick. We'll see which of us is the victor."

James rolled his eyes. "This isn't some sort of dick-measuring contest, Brock. Don't make this into something it's not. This whole day is for charity, remember."

"Sure, mate. Charity. Let's go."

With another eye roll, James jogged over toward Liana, who was eyeing him and Brock warily. "You ready?" James asked her.

"I guess," she replied. "To be honest, this whole day, I was hoping we could play him so we could kick his ass. But now I'm nervous. I'm not that good, and if he wins, I can't imagine the things he's going to say to you."

"Hey, don't worry about him. My ego isn't fragile enough for a guy like him to hurt it. Besides, you really are good. We're going to wipe the floor with his ass."

She chuckled but then grew serious. "Are you okay with this? I mean, playing Mary Grace in this strange contest between you and Brock that she's cooked up?"

He sighed. "She did this to herself, Liana. It's not a contest when there's only one person participating. I'm sorry she brought you into this, but I'm not sorry that she's playing with someone else." He looked into her eyes, willing her to see the truth in his words. "Don't let her shake you, Liana. I only want you. I only want to be here with you."

She smiled. "Thanks. I guess I needed that. I'm really going to do my best here, but I can't promise I'll play well enough to beat them."

He snorted. "I seriously couldn't give a shit if we win or lose. If they win the match, good for them. They get to celebrate winning a dumb event for charity while I get to go home with you. I couldn't care less about what they do."

She placed a quick peck on his cheek. "You're the best."

For a second, he had thought she was going to say "I love you." If she had, it would have felt natural to say it back. But James reminded himself that it was too soon and tried to focus his attention on the match at hand.

The umpire James had hired to officiate today's events approached James. "Erm," the man said quietly, "I just wanted to tell you that we've had a couple of complaints about Brock. About his sportsmanship, I mean. I've already given him a couple of warnings. Obviously, it's your event, and so I won't do anything more without your go-ahead."

"Thanks. I'll keep an eye on it." With anyone else, James would probably kick them out of the event. But with Brock, James selfishly wanted to make sure he stayed in the tournament so he could beat him on the court. James was confident he could beat Brock. Brock might be at the top of his tennis game, but tennis wasn't pickleball, and James knew firsthand that it took a while to make the adjustments necessary when transitioning over to a smaller court and different ball and paddle.

But as if the umpire had read James' mind, he said, "I've also had to give Brock a bunch of warnings for doing things that are permissible in tennis but not in pickleball. For instance, he keeps trying to serve overhand. He also keeps trying to slam the ball from a foot in front of the net."

James ran an exasperated hand down his face. "Okay. Thanks for telling me. Just keep giving him warnings for now. And maybe you could call us all up to the middle of the court before we start for some quick reminders on the game play."

The umpire nodded. "I'll do that, but between the two of us, I don't think Brock's problem is remembering the rules. He's certainly been reminded of them enough. At this point, I'm pretty sure he's just deliberately ignoring everything I say."

James nodded. "I wouldn't be surprised at that. All right, we'll take it point by point. But I'm honestly really hoping just to get through this match."

"Okay. Ready when you are. Also, your father suggested that since we're a bit behind schedule, we should play just one game to 11 points. Is that all right?"

"Perfect." Less time to spend around Brock. "I'm ready."

James ran back to Liana, who offered him a bottle of water that he gratefully accepted. After he took a long drink, he kissed Liana on the forehead. "Let's do this thing. Don't let them get to you."

"Same to you."

James felt the need to bring in some levity. He mustered up his best impression of a dad coaching five-year-olds' soccer. Not his own dad, who had never coached any kids' teams, but maybe one of his friends' dads. "Okay, kids. The most important thing is just to have fun out there. We're all winners just for showing up today. Now let's go out there and either get our winner's trophy or our participation trophy!"

Liana laughed and shook her head. "Participation trophies are the reason our generation has crippling anxiety and constantly thinks we're not good enough."

"Touche, Abrams. Yeah, fuck participation trophies. Let's kick their asses."

A small crowd had gathered around the sides of the court, presumably to see Brock. After the umpire reminded them all of the rules — during which time Brock looked deliberately bored, facing away from the umpire and then bending over to tie his shoelace — they set up on opposite sides of the court.

Liana was the first to serve, and she hit a beauty right into the opposite square. Mary Grace returned it right back to Liana, who hit another perfect ball that barely landed inbounds. Mary Grace lunged but didn't get there in time, and the umpire declared the point for Liana and James. Brock made a weak protest that the ball had been outside the line, but he quickly moved on after Mary Grace gave him a look.

They played a couple more points without incident, until Brock suddenly ran forward into the kitchen to return Liana's ball. Despite having just been reminded by the umpire not to hit the ball while standing in the kitchen, Brock made a showy windup and then smashed the ball overhand, straight down onto Liana and James' side of the net. He smirked when Liana couldn't reach the ball.

The umpire called that the point belonged to James and Liana, and Brock turned quickly. "What the fuck? Did you not see that perfect shot? Are you blind?"

James stepped in front of Brock before the angry tennis player could get too close to the umpire. "Come on, man," James said. "The umpire already told you. You can't hit the ball overhand. And you can't swing like that from within the kitchen. You already know this."

Brock rolled his eyes but turned away, muttering a string of curses directed toward James and the umpire. James took a deep breath. The score was 3-2 in favor of James and Liana. He could make it. They could win this.

James had to admit that Brock seemed to have little problem converting his tennis game to pickleball. Sure, Brock was deliberately flaunting the rules and running into the kitchen, but he was clearly a talented athlete who naturally excelled at pickleball.

Unfortunately for Brock, his partner wasn't pulling her weight. Mary Grace was simply no match for Liana as the four of them volleyed back and forth. James knew it might be unsportsmanlike for him to keep hitting the ball toward Mary Grace, but he couldn't really bring himself to care, not when his ex had put herself in this situation. In Mary Grace's defense, she likely would have played better had she not been distracted by Brock. Not only was Brock constantly taunting James and cursing out the umpire, but he also criticized Mary Grace and offered unsolicited pointers that made James cringe.

9-7 in favor of James and Liana. Just two more points. James was on serve. He hit the ball toward Brock, who rushed the net as he, once again, hit the ball overhand. The umpire declared the point to James and Liana, since Brock had cheated again.

James was exasperated. He wanted to beat Brock fair and square, not because Brock lost every point on a technicality. "Brock, can you please just play by the rules for one second?" he asked.

Brock smirked. "What, you can't take a tennis swing, pretty boy?" Brock taunted. "Oh, how the mighty have fallen. Tennis god no more, I see. Or are you just a fucking pussy?"

"Hey!" cried James, Liana, and even Mary Grace in unison. The umpire blew his whistle.

"This is a family event. We don't condone that kind of language," James said evenly.

"What?" Brock feigned surprise. "Are you going to run to dear old daddy? Here's something I thought the club managers would have taught you, since you are the hired help around here: the customer is always right. I paid the entry fee and made a donation to your shitty little charity event. Ergo, I am a paying customer."

"I don't care if you donated a million dollars to the foundation. You can take your money back. This is your last warning." James thought he probably should have kicked Brock out already, but he really, really wanted to beat his ass at pickleball. Just one more point to win this match , he reasoned with himself. You can make it the rest of this match. One more point. Tune out the noise.

"Come on," said Liana. "He's not worth it, James. Let's just play."

"Oh, Ja-ames, he's not worth it," Brock intoned in a singsong voice that James supposed was meant to imitate Liana. James turned on him. "What?" Brock continued in his normal voice, which was somehow more annoying. "Did your little girlfriend shit her pants?"

"Excuse me?" said James, sure that Brock couldn't mean what he thought he was saying.

"You know," Brock continued, "did she shit her pants? Because she has IBS? That's the shitting disease, right? So she probably goes around shitting her pants all the time. Unless she's wearing a diaper?"

"Fuck you, man," James shouted.

Liana apparently decided she had the element of surprise, because she suddenly served the ball over the net while nobody was paying attention. It bounced in front of a dazed Mary Grace, who didn't even raise her paddle to return it.

"Um, game over?" the umpire offered weakly. "Alonso and Abrams win and advance to the final."

"Thanks," Liana said to the umpire, "but we forfeit the final match. You can give the trophy to the team that won the other semifinal." She turned her back on James and walked off the court.

"Liana, wait," James cried as she stuffed her paddle, water bottle, and sweatshirt hurriedly into her bag.

But she just eyed him coldly. "I told you about my disease in confidence," she said, her tone even and icy. "That wasn't your story to tell. And you told these two, of all people?"

"I know," James said, "I know, it was a mistake, Liana, please…"

She shook her head. "I believe that. I just don't know if I can trust that my secrets are safe with you."

James thought he could feel his heart being wrenched from his chest. "Please," was all he could muster.

"Not right now, James," she said and started to walk off the court. "Oh, and Brock?" she turned to the smug-looking man beaming from the other side of the net. "You're not just an asshole; you're an ignorant asshole. Crohn's disease isn't the same thing as IBS. At least get your facts straight if you're trying to make fun of someone's medical condition." And with that, she turned and walked steadily off the court.