Weirdly, the run back to the Airbnb felt much better than the run out. I was exhausted- there was no denying that- but although we still kept a fast pace, it almost felt as if Klaus and I were running together rather than competing against each other. Naturally, I took advantage of the fact he seemed to have slowed down slightly to ensure I was always one step ahead, simply just for my own satisfaction.

Maybe it was just the fact that we were on the way back to our accommodation that made the trip easier. Or maybe it was helped along by the fact I didn't have to squint- another thing I took great satisfaction in as I glanced at Klaus beside me and saw him looking similarly to how I'd felt on the way out. And maybe (as much as I loathed to admit it) it helped that Klaus had actually been... pleasant. It was certainly a strange experience after his behaviour the previous night and, oh, the entirety of our shared training together as kids. It was sort of refreshing to see him act like a normal human being, even if I didn't expect it to last. Last night, where he hadn't even wanted to acknowledge my existence- that was the real Klaus. This vaguely cheerful person was a carefully crafted deception. For what reason? I hadn't figured it out yet, but I would.

It was almost a surprise when the Airbnb came into view, as the run had gone by much faster this time around. But it was like seeing the building reminded me of how tired I was, and I was puffed by the time we burst into the house, instantly feeling the icy caress of the air conditioning. That was a plus about the US, I decided, the fact that most modern buildings had aircon.

I took a deep breath, relishing the feeling of the cool air caressing my lungs. "Thank god we're back," I said quietly, then looked up to see Quigley standing in the kitchen, frozen.

He was leaning against the island, a bowl of cereal in his hands but no spoon- since he often didn't have it with milk and preferred to just pick the cereal bits up- and his mouth paused in mid chew. Quigley was visibly shocked and at first I took offence, thinking it was because he didn't expect me to go on a run (which, fair enough actually) but then I remembered who I was with and his surprise made more sense.

"Morning," I said awkwardly. I took Klaus' sunglasses off and passed them back to him, noticing how my brother tracked the movement.

"Mrrhng," Quigley replied, attempting to speak around the cereal. Still, the confused look didn't leave his eyes.

One glance at Klaus told me that he had averted his gaze as well, making the entire situation one big, awkward, not-even-conversation (since I was pretty sure conversation required more than one muffled word to be said to each other). The whole thing was a bad vibe, so I got out of there quickly.

I strode past Quigley to the kitchen doorway, throwing over my shoulder, "I'm going in the shower!"

I didn't hear responses from Klaus or my brother, but that could've been down to the blood rushing in my ears, fueled by embarrassment I didn't even understand. It had been a run, nothing more, and one I hadn't even invited Klaus on. So why did it feel as though Quigley had caught us? Only god knew what was going on in my brain, making me feel as though a simple, albeit awkward, interaction had been more like a confrontation, when there was nothing for me to be confronted about anyway. And, even if there had been, even if I had for some reason invited Klaus on a run (how scandalous) then that didn't matter either- I was a grown woman, for christ's sake.

Alright, Isadora, chill, I thought to myself, unsure why I was getting so worked up about it. I blamed the heat and Klaus and his unexpected appearance in my life after so long making me seem crazy, even to myself.

Knowing I didn't have too long before we would have to head to Violet's match- especially given Quigley was up and awake- I quickly hopped in the shower and got ready, not bothering to dry my hair as I knew the moment I stepped outside of the house the sweltering US heat would do it for me. Then I made some brunch, happy to see I had the kitchen to myself.

Later on, a Cadillac pulled up to take us to the USTA National Tennis Centre which, though a little excessive, was the designated mode of transport for players. Obviously I wasn't a participant anymore, but I was still Quigley's sister and he was allowed a couple of guests anyway. Though, on game day, that was usually reserved for coaches and training staff.

We got in and the driver sped off immediately, making me glad I'd remembered everything as there wasn't really a chance to turn back. One thing I noticed, though, was that Klaus wasn't there. Surely he wanted to watch his sister play. But then, when I thought back to what he'd said the night before-he'd mentioned having a match today as well. So why the hell had he been running with me this morning instead of heading straight to the courts like Violet? I didn't understand him, nor did I pretend to. Instead, I played around on my phone during the short car journey, pointedly not going anywhere near social media while Quigley was sat beside me, lest he see my near obsessive searches for myself. To my surprise, Quigley busied himself with his phone as well, even though I had seen the confused look on his face before and knew he wanted to question me. Luckily for me, he seemed to have either forgotten or decided that right now, in the car, was not the place for the conversation he wanted to have.

We arrived and headed straight to the courts to get seated. Or, at least, we tried to. We bumped into a couple of doubles players who Quigley was friends with, who were all heading to the cafeteria in the player centre. As soon as they walked up, I knew I was getting ditched. I didn't hold it against my brother- it wasn't his fault he was sociable and I wasn't. Instead, I told him I'd meet him when Violet's match was starting, and watched as he went off with his friends. I, on the other hand, didn't want to go anywhere near the player cafe, nor did I want to try and seek out Violet when I knew she preferred to get ready for matches alone. I still had my pass to the player areas so I ended up going to the practice courts, just to see who was warming up and whether I could learn anything for when I'd be going up against these people in a few months when the next grand slam rolled around.

It shouldn't have been any surprise that I found Klaus instead, on court with his coach who always seemed to be sick. And even though I'd told myself I was there to watch the competition, I found my eyes drawn to him instead. I was curious to see what kind of tennis he played these days, and whether it was anything like how he used to be. All I could remember from the days we were at the same training centre as kids was that he was good. That was it. No other details. Not that he had a powerful serve or an accurate forehand. No useful information. I just remembered that I, as a kid, always thought he was good, and that it annoyed the hell out of me because I wanted to be better. But, to be fair to myself, I hadn't really spent all that long watching him play back then, considering I was often using my energy to avoid him in an attempt to stop his incessant teasing.

Still, it would've been nice to have had a benchmark I could've judged his current play style against. But I didn't, so all I could do was stand and watch with great discontent as he served aces over and over, his form the same copy and paste every time. And sure, there wasn't another player on the court to attempt to pick up his serves, but there was no doubt in my mind that they would've been aces either way, simply because of the way they just skimmed the centre service line and went careening off so quickly they seemed impossible to hit. As much as I loathed to admit it, he was still pretty good. No other descriptors.

Afterwards, sitting with Quigley in the players' box and practically cooking in the heat, I tried to let myself relax as we watched Violet's game. Seeing the very court I'd failed on wasn't a nice feeling, but I tried to turn it into a positive- if I wasn't out of the competition, I wouldn't be able to be sitting here supporting my brother's girlfriend, as there would've been a chance I'd be competing against her. That, or I'd be on the practice courts getting ready and bathing in pre-match nerves. I would try and see this situation in the positive light it deserved- I was here, enjoying myself and getting treated to an exceptional match of tennis. There were certainly worse places I could be.

And what a match it was. Violet's play style had me on the edge of my seat, holding my breath as she took some of her shots. She hit unimaginable angles and picked up balls that other players would've given up on, points they would've dropped just because they looked as though they could be out or were seemingly too far away to get to in time. Violet was incredible, and I felt her joy like my own when the match was declared hers, winning in straight sets against her opponent. Quigley and I joined the crowd for a standing ovation, my brother whooping and hollering for Violet.

I tried to ignore the flash of cameras, the glint of light off of lenses as they swept over us. Obviously, it was normal for the event to be televised, and sitting in the players' box was a surefire way to make sure you ended up on TV, given that the space was reserved for coaches, celebrities and the players' nearest and dearest. And, of course, I had experience being filmed when I played matches. But when you were on the court it was easier to block out since you were generally more focused on watching the ball and your opponent- much to the chagrin of my coach as I often frowned without thinking about how it would look on camera. This was a different feeling entirely, and I often forgot how it felt until I was at a match. I quickly schooled my face, hoping I didn't look too annoyed or bored- two things I didn't feel in the slightest. I would have to search my name up again that evening, just to check no one caught me doing anything stupid. It couldn't hurt to do that, to just look at a couple posts, right?

I remembered what my coach had said about me frowning and made sure I was smiling as wide as I could as I clapped for Violet and then listened dutifully as she completed her post match interview. Then, Quigley and I filed out with the rest of the people in our box and headed to the player centre to wait for Violet.

"We might be able to get into Klaus' game," Quigley said as we manoeuvred back towards the centre.

I sent him an incredulous look, which was gone unseen as my brother was a few steps ahead, leading the way. I knew that he had accompanied Violet to Klaus' matches occasionally in the past, but he had never suggested the idea of going to me, mostly because I could tell he tried his best not to mention Klaus at all. My brothers didn't know the full extent of what had gone down between us as kids, but they knew enough to know that Klaus was a touchy subject for me and that he had been involved in my transfer. And so, in our house, Klaus didn't exist. It was such a thing that Quigley felt the need to ask my permission to date Violet, simply because she was related to my sworn childhood enemy. Needless to say, I made him fully aware of how stupid he was but appreciated the sentiment anyway; there was no way in hell I'd keep him away from someone who was so clearly his soulmate.

So the fact Quigley would even think I would want to go to Klaus' match was slightly mind boggling and, if nothing else, suspicious.

However, I needn't have worried. When we got to the player centre and looked at a screen with the current scores on, it became apparent that Klaus' game had already finished, despite mens games generally taking longer to complete than womens.

Klaus had lost. Quite brutally, at that.

And to make matters worse, he was heading in our direction, his expression stormy and his pace quick. One of his trainers struggled to keep up with him, especially given he had chosen to carry one of Klaus' sports bags slung over his shoulder.

It was then that I realised that there was no one else. No one else had watched his match. His coach had gone to support Violet after watching him on the practice courts, and it was a well known fact that Klaus was a bit of a loner amongst his peers (a bit like me, I supposed). Which only left his singular trainer sitting in his box supporting him. Despite myself, I felt the telltale signs of guilt. What, Isadora, would you have gone? I heard myself think, the voice in my head taking a deprecating tone. And why would he want you there?

Just then, Violet bounded over, her coughing coach in tow. She took one look at her brother and immediately hid her victorious smile, not wanting to salt the wound. The atmosphere was awkward as there was nothing you could say to an athlete that would make a loss feel any better- trust me, I knew that feeling all too well. Klaus would have to work through the horrible feeling and get back to his training at his own pace.

Wordlessly, we began to head to the entrance, Violet swooping in next to Klaus and putting her arm around his shoulders in quiet comfort. I followed them, but not before taking one last look at the scores, just to see which games were still happening and who had come out victorious in the ones that had ended. But as I was about to catch up with the group again, I couldn't help but notice a familiar face amongst those queuing at player operations, hoping to secure a last minute practice court. It was Coach Olaf, which wouldn't have been a surprise if I'd still been in the competition or if Quigley played singles. But with Coach Poe taking most of the control when it came to Violet and Quigley's doubles training (mostly because of his possessiveness of his players) that left my coach with no reason to be waiting around for a court opening. And especially no reason to be waiting with such a cunning, scheming look on his face. 

Author's Note:

Hey guys, apologies for the long wait. I really appreciate every one of you reading this, especially given that this story centres around tennis, a sport I love! However, I just want to point out that although I am doing a lot of research when I'm writing, there is a chance that some of my information- especially with the behind the scenes stuff at grand slams- might be inaccurate. I love to watch tennis but I don't play, nor am I a professional who has been in any of these spaces before so apologies if things aren't 100% true to life. 

Also, the story so far is very tennis centric (which seems obvious given the premise) but more Isadora/Klaus stuff will come into play as it progresses. If you've read one of my stories before, you know I love a slow burn so... 

Anyways, thanks so much for reading. I really hope you enjoyed this latest chapter and I'll see you in the next one!