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It had been months since New Rochelle. Patrick was still playing, Tashi coaching him. Art had let his hair grow back out ever since Patrick ran a hand through it and muttered, “I liked it better long.” And the three of them, together, were something. Art wasn’t sure what.
By November, they’d settled into their new routine. As soon as Art played the Open, he quit. They bought a house. Patrick and Tashi traveled constantly, Art joining when he felt like it. He preferred it on the sidelines: taking Lily to school, massaging Patrick’s shoulders, listening emphatically as Tashi talked through each game. Art liked being their support system. More than that, though, he liked having them both around. Together.
—
Art sat at the kitchen table, head bent over a crossword puzzle. 3 Down. Zero. Four letters. A small smile flickered onto his features, pencil scratching out an L before he felt arms loop around his shoulders. He knew it was Patrick from how they settled into place, the weight of them, the remnants of nail polish from last weekend, when Lily insisted his nails should be the same color as his racket.
“Come play with me.”
Art turned his head slightly, giving Patrick a half-hearted glare. “No.”
“C’mon.”
“Where’s Tashi?”
“She’s… out,” Patrick said. He sat down on Art’s lap. Feigning dramatics, one head against his forehead, he added, “I need your help, Artie. Only you can save me from this torment.”
“Torment?”
“Yes. The horrors.”
“You don’t need my help.”
“I want your help.”
“Patrick,” Art muttered, but his tone lost some effect given how his hands had settled on the other man’s hips, the slow circles he traced without thinking.
Patrick was pouting, whining, “Please?” and Art should have known he was never going to win this argument.
He sighed, shaking his head. “I’ll serve to you. That’s it.”
“You’re the best,” Patrick grinned, biting his earlobe before he practically skipped to the other room, dodging how Art swatted at him.
—
It wasn’t that Art had a rule for himself about never stepping foot on a tennis court again, it was just that he had other things to do. Maybe he’d teach Lily to play one day, or do a pickup game at the senior center when old and decrepit and only able to move a few inches at a time. He had loved tennis. Tennis hadn’t loved him back.
Now, at least, it still felt like too much too soon. He watched every game Patrick played. He knew the current national rankings and he let Tashi keep a list on the fridge. Sometimes, he’d want to play, but when he touched a racket it felt a bit like failure, and he’d go for a run instead. In short, Art was fairly certain he’d lost any skill he had. If he said this to either of his partners, they’d have told him that you can’t lose a skill in a matter of months, that he could probably still play if he wanted to. He didn’t, and they thought he was happy retired, focusing on other things.
And he was happy! He was. But as Art watched Patrick swing, aiming each ball carefully to either side of him, he felt itchy. He zoned out, serving each ball one after the other, listening to the smack of the netting.
When Patrick hit the ball straight back to him, Art swung.
“Dude, I said I was only gonna serve.”
“But I want to play,” Patrick said. “Also, dude?”
“I’m not playing against you,” Art said. He let the racket hang by his side, glancing towards the exit. He could just walk away. Patrick didn’t need his help, not really. They had machines to do this sort of thing. Art wasn’t actually that useful, anyway.
“Then play with me.”
Patrick said it so earnestly that Art’s brain stuttered. He blinked. Blinked again. “What?”
“We can play doubles. I bet there’s another pair around here somewhere.”
“We don’t play doubles anymore.”
“And who decided that?”
Art frowned. He was fairly certain Patrick hadn’t meant it as a dig, but it still felt like one. Patrick frowned too, his usual smirk faltering. Sometimes, Art forgot how well Patrick knew him, how different it was from Tashi. Tashi knew, but she didn’t react. Patrick’s expressions were as obvious as you could get.
“Sorry. One game.”
“No.”
“Baby,” Patrick pleaded.
Art kept frowning, but he spun the handle of his racket. “One.”
Patrick grinned. He typed a text out on his phone before slipping it back in his pocket and walking over to Art. “Let’s go find the poor suckers who have to play against us.”
—
Those ‘poor suckers’ ended up being two 20 year olds who asked for an autograph from both (both!) of them. And then immediately asked if Tashi was there, but who could blame them for that?
But Art and Patrick won.
Of course they won. Art knew it was just for fun, a way for Patrick to let off steam, but he’d be lying if he said it wasn’t a relief to play again and not feel exhausted. It was nice to win. It was nicer still to have Patrick jump on him when they won. It was nice to remember what it was like to play with Patrick, the little hand signals and knowing exactly where Patrick would be on the court. To know that if he missed it, Patrick had his back. To know that he could fix a mistake, too.
When Patrick let go of him, Art saw Tashi sitting on the courtside bench, wearing a knowing smile.
“Looks like I’ll have to find a doubles tournament,” She said, her tone lighthearted.
“I’m retired,” Art protested.
“Don’t look retired.”
“Patrick carried us. He doesn’t need to work harder.”
Beside him, Patrick gave an indignant, “Hey!”
“What? You’re the superstar.”
Patrick leaned in closer to him. Too close, maybe. “I play a thousand times better with you,” he murmured to Art. “Right, Tash?”
She nodded.
Patrick untangled himself, bounding over to Tashi to kiss her cheek and look at Art in that same inquisitive way. “I doubt he even needs to do that much to get back in shape.”
“I can hear you,” Art groaned.
“Good. You look great, baby!” Patrick grinned.
“I think you should consider it,” Tashi said, her voice far gentler. “I could coach both my boys at once.” She rubbed Patrick’s hair, her other hand extended out towards Art.
He walked over to her, head leaning against her shoulder, eyes shut. He missed the fond smile Patrick gave him, the small nod Tashi gave. They went home. Art made dinner. Lily rattled off stories about her day, Patrick asking enthusiastic follow up questions. Tashi sat on the couch, watching, listening, and when Art caught her eye, she smiled.
They didn’t make any decisions that day. But when they went to bed, when Art looked at his two people, the only ones could have ever convinced him of this, it felt like starting again.
—
(Art eventually won his Open title. This time, though, he got to have Patrick beside him on the podium, Tashi screaming from the stands, and the victory felt a thousand times sweeter.)