Page 107 of Clean Point

I thought he’d been waving, trying to taunt me. But of course, he was smarter than that.

‘When I asked him what he was doing, he said he was friends with the umpire. Something didn’t sit right with me. He smiled and …’ she paused, pulling back into her seat, uncertainty – another new emotion for Dylan – spreading across her face. She shook her head. ‘It could be that they are just friends. But it felt like too much of a coincidence when I saw them together after.’

I sat silent, unsure of this new discovery. Could he really have done it again? Stolen yet another opportunity from me? But why?

Before, it was for his own gain, to see his name, the Rossi name, succeed again. I was just another trophy back then, something else for his mantle. And now I was on my own, with my own name, trying to reclaim what he’d stolen from me, but he’d denied me that opportunity once again. It began to dawn on me that he wouldn’t let me go so easily. I could change my name, wreck my reputation, and team up with his former rival, but it would never be enough.

I’d win on his terms or not at all.

‘I know now that he’s been playing me,’ she started again, her eyes breaking from mine as she closed them. Her lips pressed into a thin line as if she was trying to pull herself together for a moment. ‘At the villa … the failed test.’

I sat forward on the edge of my seat, realizing what was coming next. Matteo had warned me when I called him to ask him about the leak. ‘Not everyone in that villa is your friend,’ he’d said when I’d asked him how. I had my suspicions. Dylan had left the very next day, only to reappear by his side.

‘I told him, Scottie. I overheard you and Jon, and I assumed you were planning on cheating again. I called him up, told him what I had heard, and told him I wanted him to coach me. He agreed and told me to stay a few more weeks. When the story broke, I knew it was time to leave. I was so sure I knew what was happening. I’m sorry for that.’ I let her admission hang in the air, waiting for that rush of anger to hit me, the blame settling on the person responsible. How the test had come back a fail, I’d never know, but now I understood how it had all spun out. Instead, I only felt relief that I knew the truth now.

‘Thank you,’ I managed, catching her attention. I nodded toward her. ‘I appreciate you telling me.’

Her eyes stuck on mine, searching for an answer she hadn’t yet asked. I braced myself, knowing what was coming, and what it would take to finally tell her. I’d kept this part from her as much as she had kept her admission from me. Her voice was soft but demanding. ‘I know there’s more to this story, what happened between you and Matteo. I think I deserve to know.’

I swallowed down the uncomfortable lump in my throat, my clammy fingers ringing with the opposite hand. I couldn’t deny that after all this time, all this drama, she should learn the truth. If anyone else deserved this information, it was the other person who’d gotten swept up in Matteo’s game.

I’d told two people, my mum and Nico, and each time, it felt like walking right up to the edge of a sharp ledge. Every step closer was a risk that the earth below you could give way, that they might not believe what you said. It was dangerous ground to tread. I had to trust Dylan, keep the faith that she would accept my side of the story, and have the confidence in myself that if she didn’t, that if I walked all the way out on that ledge and fell, that I would eventually get back up again. No matter what, broken bones mended with time, and I would get back up again.

I took in a deep breath, filling my lungs up, and took a leap of faith.

‘Everything about the cheating at Wimbledon. It was all true.’ My fingers curled in, nails biting at the skin of my palms, pressing in and leaving small half-moon imprints. I reminded myself that this wasn’t a lie. I wasn’t twisting the situation. This was the truth, and Dylan was ready to listen and believe me. ‘But I didn’t know about the drugs. It was all Matteo.’

The words hung in the tight air between us, my heartbeat soaring as I tried to remain calm. I was stripped bare, the hurt resurfacing. It was the truth, and somehow, it was more painful than the lie I’d crafted, wrapped myself up in like it would protect me. But taking the blame hadn’t changed anything. He still found strings to pull.

‘And you didn’t think to tell anyone? For two years,’ she said the words straight and to the point. No bullshit, the way I’d learned Dylan always was.

‘I didn’t think anyone would believe me.’

‘You didn’t even try?’ she snapped, eyes narrowed on me.

‘I don’t think that’s fair. You have no idea what I’ve been through,’ I argued back, sick of apologizing. The lump in my throat refused to disappear. No matter how hard I’d tried to swallow, the hurt from years ago resurfacing, refusing to be put back in the box I’d kept it stuffed in. ‘Who was going to believe me? Against him, with no evidence? I had no chance.’

The air was full of tension, so tight I could hardly breathe. Then she let out a heavy sigh as her eyes pressed closed, a hand rising up to rest on her brow.

‘I’m sorry.’ I almost fell off my chair at the words. An apology coming from Dylan Bailey? If I looked out the window, would I find flying pigs?

When she spoke again, her tone was calmer but still with that edge of Dylan slice. ‘I’m not trying to be nasty, Scottie. I just want to understand why you’d keep this to yourself.’

I nodded, understanding her intention. I could see she was trying. That had to be something.

‘So,’ she said tentatively. ‘You took the blame and ran?’

My only answer was a wince. There were those words again. I had been running away the day Jon appeared on our doorstep, and Mum convinced me to hear him out. When Dylan had yelled at me in the garden, and again, when Nico found me on the practice court after and I told him the truth, thinking it would drive him away.

All I’d done was try to outrun Matteo, and I’d ended up in the exact place where he could use his influence over me to extract whatever result he wanted. A win or a loss, as long as it was what he wanted. I could still feel his control all over me, those strings I was tangled in. And it made me sick. I’d been running for two years, but I was exhausted. So out of breath that I’d stayed in one place just long enough to see that I’d never really escaped him. If I really wanted to be free of him, I needed a new game plan.

‘Scottie.’ My attention snapped to Dylan, realizing that I hadn’t given her an answer in a long time. ‘I know … we’ve never been close, right?’

At first, I wasn’t sure if it was a trick question. I slowly shook my head, waiting for some sort of cruel trick.

‘But when you won, that day at Wimbledon. I was bitter, and I held onto that. Do you know how many finals I’ve reached? Four. And I still don’t have a title that I’ve truly won. I’ve lost every single one. But that Wimbledon title – it haunted me. Because while it was mine, it really wasn’t? You know? We both know how it feels to lose, but to lose and then find out your competitor cheated? It felt like I’d been robbed of the thing I’d spent my entire life working toward. It never sat right with me, and I think I let you know that.’

I bit my lip, answering very carefully, still treading on new ground. ‘You have a very angry communication style.’

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