Chapter 60: Plan
Freya swung hard at an easy ball, sending it flying straight into the net. The referee called the point for her opponent.
"She’s distracted," Aaron said, a slight frown touching his forehead. "She’s missing easy hits."
Freya stomped her foot on the court, her face red with frustration. She looked up at the bleachers again, seeing Aaron leaning in close to whisper something into Isabella’s ear, making Isabella smile.
Freya gripped her racket so hard her fingers hurt. A dark, bitter thought began to take root in her mind.
’He’s not even watching me,’ she thought, her chest tight with an unbearable ache. ’He’s only looking at her. She gets all his time. She gets all his care.’
She remembered the last time she had Aaron’s undivided attention.
When she was hurt, he forgot everything else. When she was hurt, she was the only thing that mattered to him.
Freya stared down at the hard court surface beneath her shoes, her eyes narrowing slightly as her mind began to work.
The afternoon moved along quickly. Finn’s event came next.
Unlike Freya, Finn was in his element. The loud crack of his air-rifle hitting the targets echoed across the field, followed by the announcer calling out his high scores.
"DID YOU SEE THAT?!" Finn screamed from the field, waving his arms wildly toward the bleachers after landing his final shot squarely in the bullseye.
Isabella laughed out loud from her seat. "I heard it, Finn! Great job!"
"Hearing it isn’t the same thing, but I’ll take it!" he yelled back.
A few minutes later, after the scores were finalized, Finn came running up the bleacher steps, holding a small brass ribbon.
He didn’t even stop at Aaron, he went straight to Isabella and threw his arms around her in a huge, clumsy bear hug.
"I took second place!" he cheered.
Isabella gasped in surprise, then burst out laughing, wrapping her arms around the boy’s shoulders and hugging him back tightly.
"Congratulations, Finn! That’s amazing!"
Finn froze for half a second, his face flushing bright red as he realized he had just aggressively hugged a grown woman in public, but he grinned anyway, pulling back with a proud chest.
Sitting right beside them, Aaron stared at Finn with a dark, unblinking glare.
Pyotr leaned down from behind the bench, whispering near Aaron’s ear. "Careful, boss."
Aaron didn’t break his stare. "About what?"
"You’re glaring at a fifteen-year-old boy like he just stole your wallet."
"I’m glaring at him," Aaron grumbled, "because he almost knocked her off the bench with his clumsy feet."
"Of course you are," Pyotr chuckled, shaking his head. "Whatever you say."
The final match of the day was the secondary tennis finals, and Freya was called back onto the court.
The sun was beginning to dip, casting long, golden shadows across the grass. The air had cooled down, and the crowd gathered around the main court to watch the last few points of the tournament.
Isabella sat quietly, listening to the rhythm of the game. Aaron stayed close to her side, his hand resting gently over hers on her lap.
"She made it to the final round," Aaron noted quietly, his eyes tracking Freya’s movement on the court. "She’s playing much faster now."
Down on the court, Freya hit a sharp cross-court shot, winning the point. The crowd applauded softly. But Freya wasn’t looking at the crowd. She flicked her eyes toward the bleachers.
Aaron was holding a small paper cup of warm tea for Isabella, helping her guide it to her lips so she wouldn’t spill it on her jacket. He was completely focused on her.
Freya’s jaw set tight. Her chest burned.
Now, she thought.
The opponent served a high, bouncing ball toward the corner of the court. It was a simple ball to return, an easy step back.
Instead of stepping back, Freya sprinted forward with full force, chasing the ball at an awkward, reckless angle toward the edge of the court, right where the wooden boundary fence met the hard clay surface.
She reached her racket out, purposefully overextending her stride, letting her left ankle twist hard against the raised edge of the wood.
Snap.
A sharp, awful pain shot up her leg, and Freya let herself fall, throwing her body weight sideways onto the hard ground. Her racket went flying, clattering loudly against the fence, and she hit the dirt with a heavy, sickening thud.
A sharp gasp went through the crowd.
"Ow! Mishka!" Freya cried out, her voice high, sharp, and full of pain.
Up in the bleachers, the tea cup in Aaron’s hand froze.
In a fraction of a second, his entire posture changed. The calm, relaxed demeanor vanished instantly. His eyes went wide, catching the sight of Freya lying curled up on the red clay, clutching her ankle.
"Freya!"
The word tore from Aaron’s throat. He didn’t think. He didn’t hesitate. He stood up so fast the wooden bench creaked under the sudden shift.
"Pyotr, stay with Isabella!" Aaron ordered loudly, his voice raw with sudden panic.
He vaulted over the edge of the bleacher railing, hitting the grass running. He shoved past a group of startled spectators, his long strides covering the distance across the lawn in seconds.
"Freya!" Finn was already running from the player tent, his face pale with worry.
Aaron reached the court first. He dropped to his knees in the red dirt right next to her, his large hands hovering over her trembling body, completely terrified to touch her the wrong way.
"Freya—hey, look at me," Aaron rasped, his hands coming up to gently frame her face, pulling her chin up. His eyes were wide, scanning her face, her shoulders, her twisted leg. The cool, controlled man was completely gone, replaced by a man gripped by sheer terror. "Where does it hurt? Talk to me."
Freya winced, tears springing to her eyes, half from the actual sharp pain in her ankle, and half from the sheer rush of seeing him like this.
"My ankle," she sobbed softly, clutching his sleeve. "It hurts, Mishka... I can’t move it."
"Okay. Okay, don’t move," Aaron murmured frantically, his voice soft and trembling as he moved his arms under her back and knees.
He lifted her off the dirt effortlessly, pulling her small frame tight against his chest. "I’ve got you. I’ve got you, sweetheart. You’re fine."
Finn arrived a second later, breathing heavily. "Is she okay? What happened?"
"Get the car to the front gate now!" Aaron barked at Finn, turning around and carrying Freya toward the medical tent with fast, urgent strides. "Move!"
Finn turned and ran to get the driver.
Up on the bleachers, the sudden noise, the screaming, and the frantic footsteps had created a blur of sound.
Isabella sat completely still in the dark. She heard the crowd gasping, heard Aaron’s panicked voice roar across the field, heard the heavy thud of his boots as he ran away.
"What’s going on?" she called out softly, reaching her hand out into the empty space beside her.
Her fingers touched nothing but cold air.
"It seems there’s an accident," Pyotr’s steady voice came from right beside her. He gently placed a hand on her shoulder so she wouldn’t feel lost. "Freya took a bad fall. Boss is carrying her to the tent."
"Is she alright?" Isabella asked, her voice full of genuine worry. "Is it bad?"
"Looks like a sprained ankle, maybe worse," Pyotr replied softly. "Aaron is taking her straight to the private clinic."
Isabella slowly pulled her hand back, wrapping her arms around herself. Around her, people were murmuring and moving, but where she sat, it suddenly felt very quiet. She didn’t feel angry. She didn’t feel hurt. She understood completely, Freya was hurt and Aaron was responsible for her.
She just sat there on the bench, listening to the fading sound of Aaron’s voice in the distance.
Down near the medical tent, Aaron was holding Freya tight against his chest, walking fast. He kept his chin rested against the top of her head, his heart pounding hard against his ribs as he whispered soft, comforting words to her.
"We’re going to the hospital, alright? I’m right here."
Freya buried her face into the warm crook of his neck, her small hands holding onto his shirt like a vise. The pain in her ankle was throbbing, but as she listened to the rapid, terrified beat of her Aaron’s heart, she slowly opened her eyes.
Over Aaron’s broad shoulder, she looked back across the green lawn toward the high wooden bleachers.
Far in the distance, sitting all by herself on the long wooden bench under the big oak tree, was Isabella. A small, lonely figure surrounded by empty space, completely blind to the world around her.
Freya let out a soft, tiny breath. She closed her eyes again, resting her head comfortably against Aaron’s shoulder, and let her fingers tighten on his chest.