The Last Set

The Padel court echoed with the familiar thwack of racquet against ball, a rhythm that had once been the soundtrack of Saturday mornings for ten years. Marcus stood at the net, his breath catching in the humidity, watching Daniel return a shot that should have been impossible. They hadn't spoken since the funeral.

"You still got it," Marcus said, his voice thin. He adjusted his hat—a worn baseball cap that Elena had bought him in Barcelona, back when they were all still friends, back when Daniel hadn't slept with his wife.

Daniel didn't smile. He wiped sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. "Your dog's waiting by the fence. Been watching the whole time."

Marcus glanced at Buster, the golden retriever who'd been his through everything—the divorce, the depression, the long nights of staring at ceilings. Buster had been Elena's choice, a Christmas gift from their first year of marriage. Now he was the only living thing that still greeted Marcus with genuine enthusiasm.

"He's not my dog anymore," Marcus said. "Elena got him in the split. Just visiting."

"She let you keep him for the weekend?" Daniel's tone was careful, measured. Like he was stepping through a minefield.

"We're working on it. Shared custody." Marcus served the ball hard into the corner. Daniel missed.

They played in silence for twenty minutes, the only sounds their ragged breathing and the ball's hollow percussion against the glass walls. Marcus remembered the way things used to be—them and Elena, playing doubles, drinking cold beers afterward, laughing about nothing. Now every shot felt weighted with everything they couldn't say.

"I'm leaving the city," Daniel said suddenly, letting a ball bounce past him. "Got a job offer in Austin."

Marcus caught his breath. "When?"

"Two weeks."

"Oh."

"Marcus—" Daniel started, then stopped. "I never meant to—"

"Don't." Marcus bent to retrieve a ball from the corner. "Please don't."

Buster barked from the sidelines, sensing something. The sun beat down through the court's translucent roof. Marcus fingered the brim of his hat, remembering how Elena had laughed when she gave it to him, saying it made him look like a washed-up tennis pro. He hadn't worn it since the day he moved out.

"One more set?" Marcus asked. "Like old times?"

Daniel looked at him, something unreadable in his expression. "Sure. Like old times."

But nothing was like old times. Marcus served the ball, and for an hour, they played as if nothing had changed. As if the last six months of silence hadn't happened. As if some things could be forgiven, or at least forgotten, in the sweat and motion of a game.

When they finished, shaking hands across the net, Marcus knew they would never play together again. Some games end with a handshake. Others just stop being played.

He whistled for the dog. Buster came running, tail wagging, and Marcus thought about how easy it was for animals to keep loving. How hard it was for everyone else.