Welcome to Corbet's Inlet, North Carolina, where the teenagers act like adults and the adults act like teenagers. It's Griffin Connolly's favorite place in the world. And while she may not be good at making decisions when it comes to her own life, s...
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Lauren hadn't responded to any of Griffin's apology text messages yet.
And to make matters worse, Rob was waiting for her when she got to the tennis hut that afternoon.
"Hey, Rob," Griffin said when she walked up. He was leaning back against the counter, arms folded across his chest and a pair sport sunglasses on. Griffin couldn't get a read on his expression.
"'Lo, Griff."
"How's it going?"
"Pretty good," he said, following her in through the side door.
Griffin set her bag down on the desk. "What's up?"
Rob splayed his hands on the counter and leaned into them, looking out across the courts. He seemed tired. His wispy blond hair had thinned a lot more at the temples since last summer, and there was permanent sun damage on the back of his neck.
He cleared his throat. "We need to talk about the Charity Tournament, Griff."
"What do you mean?" she asked.
He faced her and took off his sunglasses. "You know what I mean."
Griffin tried to keep her face neutral. They hadn't talked much since the final match, but she could tell he'd caught onto her that day. There'd been some weirdness between them all week because of it.
"Er—OK," she said lamely. "OK, yeah, let's talk."
Rob leaned back against the counter and crossed his ankles. He didn't say anything at first. Just let the awkwardness stretch out between them. Griffin counted the interval pop's from a tennis ball cannon over on court six.
"So," Rob finally said. "You threw the final match."
Griffin cringed and looked down at the floor. She didn't know if he wanted her to explain herself, and now she was too afraid to look him in the eye for confirmation.
"I'm not going to ask why you did it," Rob went on when she didn't. "But, Griff? If I ever catch you doing anything like that again, for anyone, I'll be extremely disappointed."
Griffin's face burned. "I'm sorr—"
"Do not apologize." He pinched the bridge of his nose and took a deep breath in. "This is gonna be harsh, Griff, but as your coach, I need to make myself clear on something:
"I did not coach you every summer for a decade to watch you throw a match because you thought you were doing your opponent a favor. I don't care who it is or the reasoning behind it—that's not kindness. It's arrogance. Do you see the difference?"
Griffin stood frozen in shock. Rob's coaching style had always been a bit of a one-two gut-punch, but Jesus, that one put a tennis ball-sized lump in her throat. She'd only thrown the match because she respected him more than any other adult in her life (even though she'd never admit it him). No tennis pro at a world-class country club should lose on his own court to a teenage girl. Was that really arrogant?
