Opposites Attract

against the lockers, feet dangling as Ty grabbed his shirt in both hands, jerking him up. Coolly, Chuck looked into the stormy eyes. “Not your woman, friend?” he said softly. “Tell that to somebody who doesn’t know you.”
    Breathing hard, Ty struggled against the need to strike back. The hours of violent tennis hadn’t drained the anger or the grief. Without a word he dropped Chuck to his feet, then snatched a shirt from his locker.
    “Are you going out there?” Chuck demanded. “Somebody should stop her before she makes whatever’s wrong with her worse. You know damn well she isn’t going to listen to me.”
    “Don’t push me.” Ty dragged the shirt over his head before he slammed the locker door. This time Chuck kept his silence. He heard the tremor in Ty’s voice and recognized that the emotion wasn’t anger. Only once before had he seen his friend this torn apart. It had been Asher then, as it was obviously Asher now. With warring loyalties, he reached out.
    “Okay, you want to talk about it?”
    “No.” Clenching his fists, Ty fought to regain his control. “No, just go on out . . . keep an eye on her.”
    ***
    She was fighting, and losing. Asher had used almost all her reserve of energy to take the first set to a tie breaker. The ultimate loss had taken its emotional toll. Kingston was a crafty enough player to sense her opponent’s flagging stamina and capitalized on it. Precision was nothing without strength. Asher’s strength was ebbing quickly.
    The noise played havoc with her concentration. Already playing below par, she needed the sound of the ball hitting the racket. Engines drowned it out, denying her the sense of hearing. On the brittle grass the ball jumped, skidded and stopped. Top speed was necessary, and she didn’t have it.
    Unable to prevent himself, Ty came to the edge of the tunnel to watch. Immediately he could see that Chuck hadn’t exaggerated. She was too pale, too slow. Instinctively he took a step forward. Restraining himself was more difficult than going on, but he stopped, cursing her even as he cursed himself. She’d made her own choice. She herself had cut off any right he had to influence her. From where he stood he could hear her labored breathing, see the strain she fought to keep from her face. At the twinge of fresh pain he turned away from the court.
    With a blind determination that was more nerves than power, Asher had taken the second set to three-all. Her face shone with sweat. Weakened, Asher knew that she would have to find a hole in Kingston’s game soon, and have the wit and stamina to exploit it. Grit was a weapon, but not weapon enough against power, precision and cunning.
    At double break point Asher prepared to serve again. If she could pull this one out, she’d have a chance. If Kingston broke her serve, the match was as good as over.
Concentrate, concentrate
, she ordered herself as she gave the ball a few testing bounces. She counted each one, trying to calm herself. Ty’s furious, accusing words hammered in her brain. His face, enraged and stricken, floated in front of her eyes. Tossing the ball, Asher drove at it with her racket.
    “Fault.”
    She shut her eyes and cursed. Control, she ordered herself. If she lost control now, she lost everything. As she took an extra moment, the crowd began to hum in speculation.
    “Come on, Face, let’s see what you’re made of!”
    Gritting her teeth, Asher put everything she had left into the serve. The ace brought a roar of approval. She wasn’t beaten yet.
    But her next serve was soft. Slapping it back to her, Kingston incited a hard, punishing rally. Asher battled by instinct, all reserve depleted. Her eyes, her mind, were fixed on the ball and the ball only. Dodging after a slice, she skidded, barely meeting it with her racket as she stumbled. She went down to her knees, crumbling into a ball of exhaustion and pain.
    Someone’s hands hooked under her armpits, pulling her to her feet. Asher pushed them away blindly to stagger to her chair.
    “Come on, Asher.” Chuck toweled off her streaming face, talking to her as she drew in ragged, straining breaths. “Come on, babe, you’re not in any shape to be out here today. I’ll help you inside.”
    “No.” She shook off his hand. “No, I won’t forfeit.” Rising, she dropped the towel to the ground. “I’m going to finish.”
    Helpless, Chuck watched her fight a losing battle.
    ***
    Asher slept for almost twenty-four hours