This is a story a started writing a while back and wanted to get people's impression of it. I own everything; all of it came from my head. Feel free to let me know what you think in all sincerity.

Deuce

Chapter 1

Deuce! He heard the head judge yelling from his chair. He was leading 5-4 in the third set of what seemed to be an interminable first round match at the Rogers cup. He had just lost his fifth match point in a row giving his adversary yet another chance at getting back into that match. He really couldn't see himself having to play another game, and certainly not two more.

Could this be end... he kept running this question in his head and could not come up with an intelligent answer. Never before in his career had he felt so exhausted. And there again if only that could be it, but there was the pressure too. Constant, suffocating pressure, he usually coped with it, but today was the exception.

He saw himself taking the balls, sending one back, placing another safely in his pocket and bouncing the third one on the floor. 1, 2, 3... It all felt so distant from him at this moment. 4, 5... And then he heard it, the crowd, shouting his name over and over again as if they understood what he was going through. Not that is made any sense, but it still gave him that little something he had been looking for all along. At the seventh bounce he took a deep breath and summoned all his will and energy. Now more determined than ever before in that match, he finished his bouncing ritual; 8,9,10! After the last bounce he raised his racquet and the ball together above his head and gave the ball a straight spine ahead.

At the very last moment, he hit the ball as hard as he could and gave it a magnificent swing across the court, where it landed right on the outside line before his opponent even had a chance to move. A perfect ace, his first one of the match for that matter, there was the kind of tennis they all were expecting from him, coaches, players and fan included.

-"Advantage Cortés! Match point!" Said the judge, trying to overpower the noise coming from the assistance.

The fans were ecstatic, no one could blame them; their champion had played like a junior for the past two hours, at least that's what they thought. And somehow, they didn't get it all wrong, for once. No one could explain how he managed to win the first set seven matches to six, nine point to seven. He barely won a couple of point by actually using his skills; the rest was due to sheer luck, and an incredible amount of unforced errors from the English on the other side of the court. The second set, would certainly make history... as one of the worst played set by one of the top 10 players since 1905.

In 1905, number one seat had lost the final of the Australian Open against this player who had turned pro the year before, and was, up until that moment, fairly unknown and low profile. And there again, the loosing part of the deal would have been acceptable if that young player had not won the first set six games to love. Anyways, that is another part of history, and unfortunately... or not, that's not the one we are interested in at the moment.

So, back to our infamous player... it will be said that he made a certain effort to keep up his game, to challenge his opponent in the second set. But this is all a lie, a beautiful and appeasing lie to those who didn't want to face the truth, to those who didn't want to believe that HE had, indeed, lost a set six to one. Altogether, the rough part was not losing the set, but how and when it all happened.

Tennis tournaments all work the same way, whether there be 128 players or 32, it all comes down to the same formula. The first matches are played in the first, second and third rounds some go up to four, then its quarter- finals, semi-finals... and so on and so forth. The draws for the first round are made so that the 4 top players in the tournament don't get to meet before the semi-finals, and most of the time they get a bye for the first round. Basically most of their first matches in major tournaments, like the grand slams and the master 1000, are played in the second round, where they usually meet up with players from lower ranks, beginners for the most part.

There laid the problem in the case of our player. The odds were all in his favour, and he should have never lost this set, or so they say. But all the same, he managed to come back in the game for the third set, and there he was facing a sixth match point after an amazing shot, the shot of the match, for him at least.

He could still hear the fans, his family, his friends and his coach yelling, and cheering like he had already won the game. He forgot all about them the second he rescued the other ball from the pocket of his bleu Nike shorts. Just like he had done for the previous shot, he bounced the ball on the ground, one time, two times, three times... focusing on the task ahead of him, winning that match before it was too late. After ten times, he reached high above his head with the ball and his racquet, through the ball in the air a second time, and hit it with everything he had.

This time, youngster Nick knew what was coming, and to everyone's surprise manage to return the ball with an amazing backhand, but Alejandro was ready for it. He swore to himself that he would not lose that point, and returned the ball with his forehand with such power, pushing his opponent far behind his base line. Just like he had predicted, the British nearly missed his next shot, and taking advantage of the distance he had forced upon him, ran to the net and smashed the ball in a perfect diagonal. The ball bounced one time on the right part of the court, near the net. The poor player ran for it, as hard as he could, but it was too late the ball bounced a second time and went off-court. That's all he needed, he threw himself on his knee, his fists clench and waving at the sky in sign of victory, or was he thanking who ever could hear him up there to have given him the chance to get back on track? Who knows...

- "Game, set and match Alejandro Cortés", shouted the men in the big white chair, but this time no one listened to him, not that they actually did the time before, and all of a sudden massive confusion spread across the arena. Some were cheering and applauding, hard enough to make anyone who was standing near go deaf. Others were jumping around, hugging each other hoping that the tension would wear off. Lastly, some, very few, were crying; young English player had lost yet again and would be going home in the next couple of days, his presence not required in Montreal anymore.

As he walked back to his seat, hugging his defeated opponent and shaking hand with the referee on the way, Alejandro replayed the match in his head, still not believing that he had won, that this torturous 2 hours and 15 minutes was finally over. He didn't give any attention to the crazy, overexcited crowd; except for when he threw away his wrist and head bands to the fans up in the stadium. He sat down, to stop his heart from racing, drank a bit of water and packed his stuff in silence. He didn't feel like talking to anyone just now, all he wanted to do what to get back in the locker room, have a long shower and get some sleep, it was now way past midnight after all. And contrary to the popular myths, athletes are not super heroes, each and every one of them had his limits and in the end, they all needed to sleep after a long and painful day at work, and this day had been one of those.

Of course, that being said, he knew there was no way this was ever going to happen, he would have to cope with his trainer, give an interview, answer to some crazy journalists' questions, and only after that would he get that shower and that long deserved sleep. He was undoubtedly happy, that he couldn't fake or hide, but there was something stronger than that happiness raging inside him, and this was hanger. He couldn't bring himself to accept that he had won in such a disgraceful manner. What kind of tennis player was he to abandon faith in the middle of a match, certainly not the kind that deserved to be considered as the number one player in the world. Yes, he was the best player of the time, after two years as number two; he had finally made his way to the top seat about six months before. Today, more than any other since that frantic moment, he felt like he didn't belong there, like he should have never climbed in the rankings in the first place. At this precise moment, he would have believed anyone who would have told him that there had been a mistake in the compilations of points, and that he wasn't the best after all.

Trying to leave those depressing thought behind, he stood up, and went straight to the locker room, ignoring the fans that were standing on top of the entrance waiting for an autograph. Something he had never done before and he couldn't feel sorry for all the young heartbroken kids out there, not today.

***

At noon, the next morning, Alejandro jump in his sleep, and laid eyes open hoping that if he ignored his alarm it would stop by itself. He rolled in his bed, trying to go back to sleep in an ultimate attempt to repress the utterly displeasing noise coming from the desk of his five star hotel room. After five minutes of torture, he finally decided that it was no use, and that he should shut the damn thing off before the whole floor came rushing to check if he was still alive. Slowly, but surely, he stepped out of bed and headed for the alarm clock with one idea in mind, smash it into tiny little pieces. After the first couple of steps he realised that his body was in a general state of aching, he hadn't felt so bad after a heated match in a very long time. Good thing he didn't have to play again that day.

On the way back to the bed, he stopped in front of the mirror and stare as his reflection for a couple of minutes. He was tall nearly six feet two, but that was not unusual for a tennis player. Being from Spain he inherited of the natural tan of the Hispanic cultures. He had well defined muscles, with all that training... but it was nothing massive or pretentious. He had brown, messy hair not too long, but not too short either, not that he really cared about that. The real deal about him was his eyes; they were what placed him above any ordinary guy, without making him a top model. Everyone agreed that they were the most beautiful eyes they had ever seen; they were blue like the ocean, the perfect dreamy bleu of an undisturbed sea. And not until much later did he realise the effect they had on people.

He stayed there until he realised what he was doing, what kind of man stares at himself in front of a mirror, really? He thought. He looked at the mirror one last time, only to see a sad reflection of himself, he really looked like a mess. He hadn't got a chance to get to bed before three thirty, due to a never ending lecture about how to play tennis by his coach, followed by an even longer interview. He searched his room, looking for proper clothes, the first thing he found was a set of blue tennis shorts and white tee-shirts marked with the Nike logo in the same electric blue, all off the same model; he rarely wore the same set of clothes to play more than two or three times, and that's because he was Eco-Friendly as one might say. Same with the racquets, he could even change it twice in a match, and would never use those again. That's what happens when you get sponsored by Nike and Wilson. Once he had found a polo shirt and a suitable pair of pants, he got dressed, attempted to fix his hair, although it didn't change much of anything and headed to the Uniprix stadium, host of this week's tournament.

***

What else do I need? Alejandro Asked himself while he was walking from court to court, checking on the different matches that were being played. He had everything any athlete could ever wish for; he was first in the rankings, he had awesome sponsors, the world's best coach, a great family and a fantastic career. He could play tennis, his favourite sport, for a living and that was not given to everyone, especially not at the young age of 23. He shouldn't even be asking this kind of question, but he could think of two things; the first one he wouldn't get before long, and the second one was not even a possibility at the moment, and probably wouldn't be for the next couple of years. First, he needed vacations, desperately! The second was not something he needed as much as something he wished he could have; a girlfriend and maybe even a family of his own... How could he even think of that when he was on the road all the time, what life did he have to offer to any girl?

It was not like he didn't always have a pack of girls ready to go out with him, from the 16 years old fans to the mature celebrities, but he wanted none of that. None of these girls who liked him because he was famous, a great tennis player; they would all get tired of him one day, when fame would slowly desert him. What he wanted was...

It's at this exact moment that he saw her for the first time, sitting with a friend at one of the dining tables of the lunch area. There she was, the girl he had been waiting for, although he wouldn't understand that until much later.

***

Chapter two as already been posted, please review

Thanks for taking the time to read, it means a lot to me