The Final Set

The padel ball hit the glass wall with a sound like finality. Marcus missed it again.

"Your head's not in it," Elena said, wiping sweat from her forehead with the back of her hand. The court smelled of rubber and impending storm.

Marcus leaned on his racket, staring past her. "Guess not."

They'd been playing for an hour—well, she'd been playing. He'd been going through motions, his body present while his mind arranged and rearranged the words he needed to say. The words that would change everything.

Outside the court's glass walls, the sky bruised purple. A weather system moving in, fast and violent. Their dog, Buster, a golden retriever mix with one floppy ear, pressed his nose against the glass, watching them with that intense, judging look dogs sometimes get.

Elena followed his gaze. "He needs to go out."

"I'll take him after," Marcus said. Though after what, he wasn't sure. After this game? After they packed up their separate bags and went their separate ways? After he said the thing that had been sitting on his tongue for three months?

Lightning fractured the sky—a white wound that split the darkness. One-Mississippi. Two-Mississippi. Thunder rattled the court's glass walls.

"Big one," Elena said quietly. She bent to retrieve the ball, her shirt riding up, revealing the small of her back. He'd kissed that spot a thousand times. He'd woken up pressed against it just this morning, their legs tangled, Buster wedged between them like a hairy, demanding anchor.

Why was this so hard? People left each other every day. It was practically America's favorite pastime.

"I'm not happy," he said.

Elena straightened slowly, the ball in her hand. She didn't look at him. "I know."

"You know?"

"I know a lot of things, Marcus." She bounced the ball once, twice. "I know you've been unhappy since February. I know you started running again to get away from the house. I know you think about her."

Marcus felt the air leave him. "I never—"

"You didn't have to." She threw the ball against the wall. It came back to her hand, mechanical and perfect. "I'm not stupid."

The sky opened then. Water sluiced down the glass walls, distorting the world outside. Buster's whine was audible even through the glass.

Marcus's phone buzzed in his bag. Her, probably. Or maybe work. It didn't matter.

"Are we doing this?" Elena asked. "Here? Now? With him watching?"

She gestured to the dog, who'd sat down outside the glass, head tilted, knowing something was wrong.

"I can't keep living a lie," Marcus said, though the words felt like stones in his mouth.

Another lightning strike, closer this time. The automatic lights over the court flickered.

"Fine," Elena said. She opened her bag and took out her keys. "But I'm taking Buster."

"He's my dog too."

"Who bought him? Who trained him? Who sleeps with him every night even though he snores like a freight train?" She shouldered her bag. "Exactly."

She walked to the court door, paused with her hand on the handle. "You can keep the paddle. You'll need something to do with all your free time."

She was gone before he could think of a response, Buster trotting happily beside her, indifferent to the destruction of everything Marcus had thought was solid.

Marcus stood alone in the court as the storm pounded the glass. Outside, someone was running through the rain—a jogger, insane or committed, moving through the downpour with steady, rhythmic determination.

He watched them disappear into the gray, water blurring their shape until they were nothing but motion.

He picked up his racket. He bounced the ball against the glass once, twice. The sound was the same as before: finality.

But he kept playing.