Her Secret Santa - Miley Maine

1

Tony

I swung the racquet back as hard as I could. My shoulder muscles strained as I forced them to work harder and faster than they were really capable. The racquet wiggled slightly in my grip as I struggled to keep strength on my fingers, and it hit the ball squarely. I felt that sweet feeling of the ball bouncing off the webbing and flying through the air with explosive force.

I realized that my legs were wobbly, and I was trying to stop myself to get back on the defensive. My tired legs were crying out for rest, but I would be damned before I gave up to anything. It had never been in my nature. Some people would attribute that very thing to my outrageous success, but they forgot that my father started the company, and his ego was far more out of control than mine.

It was almost five-thirty in the morning. I was enjoying the regular game of racquetball with my best friend Quinton Morris. I’d known Quinton since college. He had a brilliant mind, and he was a good friend. He was however a lousy athlete.

He rushed for the ball before it hit the point for me, and I could painfully see his foot landing awkwardly and his ankle twisting at just the wrong angle as he tried to rush for the ball. He cried out in agony and his body collapsed above it. He hit the hard floor and lay there like a dead fish. The ball zipped just past his head (which in a way was good else it would have probably caused a much worse injury since it was so close to his eye) and bounced off to the side before careening against the wall and slowing its momentum.

“Buddy, you alright?” I asked jogging over to him.

He was holding his ankle and wincing. I expected him to be in even more pain after the way I saw his foot turning, but he seemed to be doing ok just massaging the thing through his tube sock. He was a bit of a wimp at times, always milking an injury to be far more worse than it was. But the guy had some style. He could charm the shit out of anyone.

“Yeah, I think. I just came down on it wrong.” He flexed his foot at the ankle and then back. Then he tried it again a bit faster, wincing each time.

“It’s not broken. Is it sprained?” I asked.

“Nah,” he said. “I think it’s just sore. That was close though. Why do we keep playing this game? I suck at it.”

“Well, it is a great way to get some exercise. If you didn’t do this your blood would be like sludge trying to get through your veins. Tell me any other exercise you get besides this.”

He shook his head. “Yeah, I should do more, but I don’t really want to. I’m pretty happy just being a lay about.”

“Now you are being a little hard on yourself,” I said. “Tell Sophie to make you do that rock climbing stuff she is always into. I’ve been meaning to get back out there.”

“Why do you want to do that? These extreme sports stuff where you are placing your life in your hands,” Quentin asked me.

“That is the whole point. How do you know you are really alive until you are staring death right in the face? You have to come face to face with your own mortality time to time. Otherwise, you are really just coasting through and not really experiencing all of the great joys of the world.”

“Fine, you guys can go and leave me out of it. And yes, Sophie is always trying to get me to do stuff like that. She thinks I should be way into extreme sports and do more macho pursuits.”

“She is not using the word ‘macho’,” I said. “It doesn’t sound like her.”

“No, but you know what I mean,” he said. He reached his hand out to me and I helped him up. He started slowly walking around on the ankle. He was limping slightly with some pain. He could tough through it to finish the game, but I knew he would use it as an excuse to get out of being beaten. It sounded like both me and his girlfriend Sophie were trying to awaken the beast within him.

“Yeah, I guess,” I said. I knew what he meant, but it was more fun for me if I made him say it.

“She doesn’t say