The Padel Court at Midnight
The bull tattoo on Marcus's shoulder seemed to stare at him accusingly as he buttoned his dress shirt. Another night away from Elena, another excuse about working late when he was actually at the padel club, hitting ball after ball into the chain-link fence until his palms blistered.
Three months ago, he'd told her the padel league was good for networking. That was the first lie. The second was that he'd made partner. The third was that he was happy.
The club was empty at midnight. The fluorescent lights buzzed like dying insects as he retrieved his racket from his locker. His grandfather's fedora sat on the bench—Elena had given it to him as a joke on his thirtieth birthday, something about aging gracefully. He'd worn it to their wedding. Now it collected dust alongside his marriage.
He'd been running from something for years, he realized as he stepped onto the court. The truth, probably. That he'd never wanted law school, never wanted the corner office, never wanted the life they'd carefully constructed like a house of cards.
A stray cat appeared from the shadows, orange fur matted, one ear notched from some fight. It sat and watched him, tail twitching. Marcus hit a serve. The ball ricocheted off the back wall, missing the cat by inches.
"You're judging me too," he said aloud.
The cat yawned.
His phone buzzed. Elena: "Where are you?"
He could keep running. That's what bulls did, right? Charge through things. But this wasn't a bullfight, and he wasn't brave. He was just tired.
He sat on the bench, the fedora in his hands. The cat approached cautiously, sniffed his shoe, then jumped onto his lap. Its purr vibrated against his chest like a second heartbeat.
"I'm going to tell her," Marcus whispered. "Tomorrow."
The cat butted its head against his chin.
He texted back: "I'll be home in twenty minutes. We need to talk."
The cat stayed until he stood up, then disappeared into the darkness. Marcus left his racket in his locker. Some things you don't need to carry with you anymore.