The calf tightened on the first fast step I had taken in nineteen days.
I had returned from Northmere the evening before. Ivo had a court for me at ten, and I had followed the progression from the clinician carefully enough to be bored by how much I could now do without pain. Boredom had felt like an achievement. I wanted one full-speed movement to prove it.
I stopped. Ivo was feeding from the far baseline; the next ball bounced twice between us. I put the racquet on the bench so I couldn’t decide to try again while he walked over.
“Same place?” he asked.
“Yes. Not as hard as Southmere. It’s there.”
“Then we’re done.”
“I know.”
He looked at the racquet. “You didn’t wait for me to say it.”
“I had a good coach. She taught me to call early.”
He was about to correct the pronoun, then…
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