Page 19 of Clean Point

One wrong move, and it was over.

‘Jon was right when he said I’m too slow. I lost my speed, and I’m tired too quickly to last a game, never mind an entire tournament. Wimbledon … It’s always been the dream. The singles title there, it’s what got me into tennis.’

‘Really?’

‘I’ve won the other Slams. Never that one.’

She let out a single laugh, side-eying me as the air lightened for a moment. ‘Rub it in, why don’t you?’

I scoffed, nudging my shoulder against hers as I hung my head. To say the words out loud made me feel a little too raw, too vulnerable. But I’ve known what I’ve been working toward my entire life. I knew it when I spent two weeks every summer glued to the television, getting up early and watching every match I could. I knew it on the hard blue ground at Rod Laver in Melbourne, on the clay French courts at Paris, on the turf at Flushing Meadows in Queens. I knew it with two gold Olympic medals hanging around my neck.

‘I want the Wimbledon title,’ I admitted. ‘Then I can retire.’

I looked at her, trying to see that she understood what this truly meant to me. I’d spent weeks lying in bed, waiting for my knee to heal, convincing myself I’d lost the chance. That it had slipped through my fingers. But I realised, as I took in the understanding and resolve held in her eyes, that she might be the only person who understood what I had on the line.

After all, regardless of the fact it was her fault, she already had lost everything. And this was her chance at getting it back.

‘I know how it feels. Having that goal.’ Her voice was so fucking hopeful, it almost cracked me wide open. ‘That’s why I’m here, too.’

I pushed the emotion back down where it belonged, before asking the thing I’ve been dying to know. ‘Why are you here?’

‘Because Jon convinced me?’

I shook my head, getting to the point. ‘That’s not what I mean. What’s this revenge plot you’ve got against your dad?’

She stiffened, inhaling sharply as she did. Her head tilted down to her lap, where her fingers were rubbing against each other.

‘Nico,’ her voice cut like a knife’s edge. ‘I know it may not make sense to you. But I need you to stop calling him my dad.’

I was about to ask why when she spoke again. ‘I don’t want to talk about it, but believe me, I have my reasons. If I’m going to stay here, if we are going to work together, you’ve got to stop. Or I’ll get back on the plane to London tonight, and we can be done with each other already.’

I was itching to know more, but a single look at her stiff posture and darkened eyes told me enough. Instead, I noted the request and nodded. ‘I won’t call him that anymore.’

‘Thank you.’ Her voice cracked as she spoke, before sending me a small smile. I watched her for a moment, seeing a different side to her than I’d ever expected.

Professional athletes weren’t supposed to show weakness. We were taught to be strong, to carry on through the pain, to risk our bodies and mind and soul for a single trophy. And get up and do it again. We rip our palms and knees and soles of our feet to shreds and thank everyone for supporting us while we did.

But in that moment, she was a raw nerve. Exposed and unprotected. I grew desperate to wrap my arms around her and make sure, whatever she was thinking about, she knew nothing could hold us back.

However reluctantly, she was my teammate. Which meant as much as she was my problem, I was hers, too.

I tried to crack the tension with a joke. ‘And in return, you’ll tell me where the coffee is?’

All evidence of our serious conversation disappeared when she looked at me, a glimpse of the playful, annoying sparkle returning to her blue eyes.

‘You wish.’

9

Nico

$20 – boygenius

‘No.’ My firm denial had an immediate effect on Jon, whose shoulders slumped with disappointment. He sat across the desk from us, the chair of his makeshift office creaking as he leaned back. His face was a crumpled mixture of disbelief and hopelessness. I shook my head, lips pressed together as I doubled down. ‘Absolutely not.’

I couldn’t believe what he’d proposed. He knew me well enough, knew my career, and understood the kind of respected standing and solid reputation I had in this community. There was no way I could agree to it.

I looked at Scottie for some unspoken solidarity; she was also not on board with his plan. Her frame slouched in the leather chair beside me, her body language mirrored my own. However, her attention remained fixed on Jon, an intensity in her gaze I couldn’t read.

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