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"Who are you?" "Whoever you want me to be." /Marissa and Ryan, the O.C
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NEW ROCHELLE, NY ( 2019 )
The ball cut through the crisp morning air, its rhythm steady as Holden returned each shot with precision. The sun had barely climbed over the treetops, casting long golden streaks across the court, but he was already drenched in sweat. Brielle stood at the net, feeding him another ball, watching through her sunglasses the way he moved—more assured than before, more grounded in his confidence.
Her head was throbbed, the remnants of a restless night and a lingering hangover pulsing through her veins. Last night she could barely sleep, Patrick's words played on an endless loop in her mind, dragging buried memories back to life. Still, at six sharp, she woke Holden. A life crisis might be unraveling inside her, but nothing—not even the chaos in her own head—would come before her promise to him.
"That's it," she called, nodding as he sent another clean shot past an invisible opponent. "Keep that follow-through steady. Don't let your arm tighten up."
Holden nodded, rolling his shoulders to shake out the tension before settling back into position. He was quiet as he worked, focused, but there was an energy beneath the surface—something buzzing, eager.
Brielle smiled. "You gonna say it or keep it in?"
Holden let out a small, breathless laugh, running his fingers through his messy hair. "I don't know. Feels like I might jinx it."
"You won three matches, Holden. That's not luck."
His smile grew, soft but proud. "It just... it feels real now, you know? Like I'm actually doing this. Like I belong here."
Brielle's chest tightened at his words. The words hit her harder than she expected. Brielle exhaled, her grip tightening on the ball in her hand. It was the fifth day of the Challengers, and he was proving himself over and over again. The youngest in the draw, the one they all underestimated. Too kind, they said. Too soft. But Holden was tougher than they realized, and at this rate, he was barreling toward the finals.
