Game, Set, Match - Game, Set, Match Part 22
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Game, Set, Match Part 22

By the time she hung up with Bryce, called her mother, convinced her mother she needn't drive up from San Diego, Izzy had had enough.

She didn't need her mother and Bryce probing about where she and Nick were staying. She didn't need Bryce reminding her about her Sabrina problems. She didn't need Jessica reminding her she had poor coping mechanisms.

Without thinking about it, Izzy tossed her cell phone on the couch and padded out to the deck. Without allowing herself to fear it, she picked up the racket. Without allowing herself to feel any negativity about it, she tromped down the long stairway to the tennis ball machine and flipped the switch.

Taking position across the net, without any thought to Nick, Simon, Sabrina, or Jason, Izzy flexed her hand around the pink handle and swung.

Chapter Twenty-Four.

Am I crazy to sneak into my own house? Jason tiptoed into the foyer, unsure if he should expect a torrent of curses. After physical therapy, he'd deliberately avoided going home, figuring they both needed ample time to decompress. Now, as he shut the door behind him, he couldn't dissipate the tension knot in his stomach. Lucky for him, Nick provided ample distraction with his fluid stream of consciousness.

"I still can't believe you came to pick me up in the Porsche. Did you see Steve's face? His dad may have a Porsche, but Jason Cartwright didn't pick him up from practice. So awesome."

Jason couldn't hide the smile that tugged at his lips. "Glad I could help. Any time you want to have some friends out here to practice or something, let me know."

"For realz? That'd be dope."

"Yeah, for realz."

Nick beamed a megawatt smile, and Jason felt an unfamiliar tug on his heart. "So you wanna play a little Madden?"

Knowing there was a right answer and a wrong answer, Jason glanced around for Izzy. Not seeing her, he figured, when in doubt, do the right thing. "Somehow, I have a feeling your mom would want homework first."

Nick's eyes bugged out of his head. "C'mon. Today's Friday."

Damn. When did he cross over into the uncool zone? "Shower, homework, dinner, and then Madden."

Nick gave an exaggerated eye roll. "You sound like Mom. Where is she anyway?"

"She trained me well." Looking back around, he added, "Wherever she is, hopefully, she's not doing any damage in the kitchen."

While Nick headed for the shower, Jason went on the search for Izzy. Six or seven people could get lost in the house and not find each other for at least half an hour.

After searching all the likely locations, he headed out to the balcony. Over the rail, he had an unobstructed view of the tennis court. In the same tank top and linen pants she'd been wearing when he left the house, hair in a ponytail and sweat drenched, Izzy slammed ball after ball over the net.

He trotted down the stairs and grabbed a spare racket as he joined her across the net. He used the racket like a broom to clear the spare balls off the court and turned off the ball machine.

Izzy scowled at him. "I wasn't finished yet."

"I figured you'd get more satisfaction out of putting a face to the ball."

Arms akimbo, her scowl didn't dissipate. "I don't want to talk."

"Who said anything about talking?" He moved back to the baseline. "Shut up and play."

That was the only warning he gave her before he sent a topspin serve her way. As he knew she would, she chased it down and returned serve with a grunt-filled backhand. As he anticipated the trajectory, he took three trotting paces and sliced an overhead drop shot behind her head.

She made an attempt to chase it, but slowed as the ball bounced for the second time. "Aren't you supposed to be injured?"

He shrugged. "Aren't you supposed to be good?" He bit back a grin as she displayed an elegant middle finger.

"Shut up and serve."

"Fifteen-Love." His next serve wasn't as fast, but Izzy's return was quicker and more controlled. She still had it. As he ran after her forehand, he calculated the next set of logical moves.

But Izzy didn't play by the rules. As soon as she returned his forehand, she ran up to the net. His next shot made it five inches beyond the net before she returned it clean and fast to his right side. Shit. He'd never be able to return it. He watched it fly by, knowing the pain that awaited him if he put too much pressure on his knee.

"What's the matter, Jase? Your knee acting up?" Her eyes gleamed with the thrill of competition.

Fuck, I'm screwed.

They went on like that for the rest of the game. Izzy hit shots to his right as often as she could. Some he returned, most he didn't.

As she wiped her face with a towel during one of their breaks, she sliced him a look. "Cut it out, Jason. I can beat you on my own. I don't need you giving me points."

He took a swing of water. "I wouldn't dream of it." Trotting into position, he prayed she stopped hitting to his right. He didn't know how much more of it his knee could take.

Lining up her serve, she sliced it over the net. His return was clear and sure. Hers was more wobbly, but it still hit its mark. He drew on the weaknesses he remembered from her playing days and took into account she might not be in as good a shape as she was, he ran her around the court. When she hit her final shot to his right, he gritted his teeth as he watched it go by. Damn it.

She ran up to the net and motioned him over. Wiping at the sweat on his brow with his forearm, he had no choice but to obey.

"What's going on?"

His narrowed eyes tried to focus on her face and not the way sweat molded her t-shirt to her breasts. "What do you mean?"

Her elegantly arched eyebrow traveled a path up her brow. "I can see what you're doing. If you want to keep playing, cut that shit out."

"I assure you, I'm not doing anything on purpose."

"Bullshit."

"Watch your language, sweetheart." He grinned.

"You expect me to believe we're tied? I'm not that dumb. Stop giving me all the shots in your right pocket. I'm sick of it. I'm not going to drop my undies for you just because you let me win."

He ground his teeth against the vivid image in his mind. "If you think I'd give you a win to see you naked, then you underestimate me."

"Then learn to chase down a ball or two because I'm not going to sleep with you if you let me win."

Her voice joined the likes of his own, Aaron's, Brian's and Michaels. The roar of doubt and insecurity drowned all other sound from his brain. All he could hear was Michael's voice telling him he'd never make another major tournament without the assistance of some serious drugs and a miracle.

"Fuck, Izzy. Don't you think if I could return on that side I would?" He tossed his racket and ran his hands through his hair. "I would love to chase down your returns and see what you're really made of. But I can't. I'm done, Izzy. Shit, at this rate, I'll be lucky to get a job as a tennis pro." When she still stared at him in confusion, he repeated himself. "I'm done. I'll give it another month, but in all likelihood, I can't play tennis anymore."

Izzy considered Jason for several moments before speaking. "Can we get back to the game now that you're done feeling sorry for yourself?"

His brow furrowed as he blinked several times. "Didn't you hear me?"

"Oh, I heard you." She shrugged and added, "I just don't believe in wallowing."

"Wha-"

She splayed her hands to stop him. "Before we get into another full blown fight, let me ask you this. Since you've been back at physical therapy, what have you focused your brain power on?"

"Getting better so I can get back to what I do. My livelihood. My life."

"Since when did you make tennis your whole life? My father was like that, and it nearly killed me. The need to be perfect. What everyone will think. It doesn't matter."

"This from the woman who spent the last thirteen years hiding from a racket."

She cringed as the jibe hit. "You have a point." She looked around at the scattered balls. "But at least I can face the demons, thanks to you. You plan on hiding behind your injury for much longer?"

"This should be good." He crossed his arms. "I guess you have a theory."

She shifted her weight from one foot to another. "Just this. You're an amazing player. Outside of all this fame bullshit, you're terrific. They used to call you the Tiger of tennis. When did you give up being that? If you're still in recovery, then fair enough. But what I'm seeing in your eyes, every time I hit to your right, isn't pain, at least not all pain. It's fear. What do you plan to do about it?"

He stared at her and wondered why she saw to his soul when everyone else skimmed the surface. Why, she, of all people, could see him so clearly. The answer wasn't one he was ready to swallow. At least not yet. He picked up his racket, moving back to the baseline. Tossing her a ball, he called out, "Forty-thirty. Advantage, Connors."

"Are you sore?"

Izzy's eyes snapped from the page of her book to peer at Jason in the balcony doorway. "A little. I'm sure it'll be worse tomorrow."

"I can guarantee it. You want a massage?"

She barked out a laugh. "Is that a tried and true Jason Cartwright seduction tactic?"

He grimaced. "Would you hold it against me if I said yes?"

"Well, at least you're honest. I'm choosing to look at it as flattery."

"I owe you a thank you."

"Yeah well, I owe you an apology. I've been a royal bitch."

"I've seen worse.

She put her book on her lap and eyed him up and down. "How's the knee?" She watched as he rotated his leg.

"Truth? I'm a little sore, but I feel great. First time anybody's forced me to use my knee in weeks."

"Everyone let you get away with feeling sorry for yourself, huh?"

He rubbed his jaw. "Everyone except you."

She grinned. "Glad to be of service." She sobered and added, "You're better than that, Jason. You never used to let anyone dictate to you what you could and couldn't do. You shouldn't start now."

"I think I've had enough self-reflection for one night." He eased himself onto a stool. "What prompted you to play today?"

Her heart beat a rapid beat in her chest as she considered her answer. "I just needed to hit a few." At his raised eyebrow she sighed. "I've been like a pressure cooker for years. Today, my little whistle sang."

"When I gave you the racket earlier, you looked scared. What changed?"

She figured she might as well tell him the truth. She'd forced honesty out of him. He deserved a little reciprocation. "I realized today I've been hiding most of my life. Make that all of my life. I'm carrying around a lot of resentment about it."

"This have to do with your dad?"

"The day he died, I had a fight with him. I was pitching a fit because I was hurt and didn't want to play. I've never lost my temper like that before. I ended up playing. But as I did, Dad had a heart attack in the stands."

"Shit, I'm sorry, Izzy."

"He died that night. I've carried that blame around for years. Until today."

"His death wasn't your fault."

She shrugged. "Yeah, I know. I've always known. Didn't stop the guilt. Afterward, I lost it. I couldn't function for weeks. The press was there, the whole team saw it, saw my meltdown."

"That's why the press makes you so crazy now?"

She nodded. "Once I sold some photos, I spent years praying no one would put the pieces together and ask questions."

"Now I get the name Z Con."

"It's silly, I know. But once I hired Simon, he thought it would be a great way to build in anonymity and buzz all at once. Great marketing he called it."

Arms crossed over his chest, he leaned back on the stool. "While we're on the subject, what in the world were you thinking going out with that douche bag?"

She dropped her head in her hands to stifle the giggle and scrubbed her hands over her face. "I know. We only went out a few times. Going out with him just seemed like a good idea at the time. You know I broke up with him, and he refused?"

"Smart guy. I wouldn't let you go either."

Not sure how to take the blatant flirting, Izzy changed the subject. "You got a phone call earlier, is everything okay?"

Faint color tinged his cheeks. "Why would you think anything's wrong?"

"Your energy. You're still tense around the mouth. If it's none of my business, just tell m-"

Mischief hugged his words. "You spend a lot of time staring at my lips?"

Shit. "Yes. I mean no. I mean, with the photo shoots, I-uh, in the past few weeks, I've spent a lot of time looking at you, capturing your moods etc." She was glad she'd put on long sleeves before coming out onto the deck. Despite the warmth of his embrace, cool air danced across her skin, and her hairs rose in response. What were gentle summer breezes in Pasadena were magnified tenfold at the beach. She moved from the settee to the railing and stared up at the stars.

"No need to worry about me. It was just something I had to take care of."