The Last Set

Marcus stood at the baseline of the padel court, his breath visible in the October chill. At forty-three, his hair had started that graceful migration from his temples to the shower drain, but Javier — still sporting the same thick mane he'd had in college — looked infuriatingly unchanged.

"Your serve," Javier called, bouncing the ball. They hadn't spoken in eight months. Not since the dinner where Marcus, three martinis deep, had called Javier's new fiancée a mistake. Not since Javier had replied that Marcus was just jealous because his own marriage was imploding.

But friendship, like a bad habit, dies hard. Especially when it spans two decades.

They played in silence until Marcus's phone buzzed on the bench. Elena. Again.

"You going to get that?" Javier asked, not stopping his warm-up swings.

"She can wait."

"The divorce lawyer?"

"The divorce lawyer," Marcus confirmed. "She wants the house. She wants half the portfolio. She wants me to admit I'm the same selfish bastard she claims I've been for fifteen years."

Javier finally let the ball drop. "And are you?"

Marcus laughed bitterly. "I'm a bull in a china shop, Jav. Always have been. You know that better than anyone."

"I seem to remember you being the one who talked me off the ledge when my sister died." Javier's voice softened. "Bull-headed, maybe. But selfish? Not you."

A storm had been gathering all afternoon, and suddenly the sky cracked open — lightning forking across the darkening clouds, followed immediately by thunder that shook the court's glass walls.

"Remember Costa Rica?" Marcus asked quietly. "That storm that trapped us in that hostel for three days?"

"You drank all the rum and made everyone listen to your terrible renditions of Oasis songs."

"And you didn't leave."

"I couldn't. You'd have probably tried to surf in a hurricane."

Marcus walked to the net. "I'm sorry about what I said about Sarah."

"She wasn't right for me anyway." Javier joined him. "We ended it three weeks ago."

The rain began to hammer against the glass, drowning out the city beyond. Two men standing at the net of an indoor court, suddenly young again in the wash of memories and shared forgiveness.

"One more set?" Marcus offered.

"You're on. But this time, I'm not letting you win just because you're going through a divorce."

Marcus smiled, really smiled, for the first time in months. "Wouldn't have it any other way."