Page 22 of Clean Point

‘No,’ I blurted, shaking my head, my fingers wrapping around the edge of the chair, pressing into the hard moulded plastic. ‘The process makes me nervous.’

I wasn’t sure why she chose to believe me, but her face relaxed, her head tilting toward me.

‘Not a fan of blood?’

I managed another weak smile, this time meeting her gaze as I took her excuse. ‘Is anyone?’

‘Try to take your mind off it.’

I swallowed down the lump in my throat, pressing my foot into the marble floor to stop myself from jiggling it. Searching for any possible distraction, I chose the first thing that came to mind. ‘I never got to say congrats on your win at the French Open last year.’

She’d fought Dylan for the title, losing the first set but coming back strong for the second and third. I hadn’t watched the match, only caught up on the recaps. The men’s competition was fine, but the women’s always left me feeling queasy and uneven, the itch to be there myself overwhelming.

‘Oh,’ she said, sitting up straight. ‘Thanks.’

‘You don’t sound too excited about it.’

She shrugged. ‘You must get it. The pressure. And then immediately being out on injury. It doubles the intensity. Most of the time, I want to hide away.’

I looked around at the empty hallway of the villa, seeing the paradise of the luscious garden outside. ‘I guess you came to the right place.’

She laughed. ‘You’d think, but somehow, being surrounded by other tennis players is worse. It’s like living around a pack of wild tigers.’

I sat forward, glad somebody had said it. ‘It’s weird being so friendly over breakfast.’

‘When in a few weeks, we’ll be competitors across a court?’ She finished my thought with a knowing smile, her head nodding.

‘Exactly.’ I had never trained like this, alongside other players so intensely. Usually, it was Matteo and coaches. We would get a hitting partner in every so often to change it up, give me a new challenge, but for the most part, this villa was a foreign experience.

‘How are you finding it? Being back on the court?’

‘Hard,’ I admitted, feeling the ache in my body down to my bones. ‘But I’m pretty certain that’s Jon’s style of coaching.’

‘Did you train at all while you were off?’

‘I kept up my fitness. It’s hard to let bad habits die.’

She smiled. ‘True. Even on my days off, I wake up every day for my five a.m. run.’

‘Exactly. And I don’t think I have the ability to stay still. I always need some sort of movement, or I start to feel a little unhinged.’ I had tried to stay in bed late for the first few months after quitting But I’d missed the exercise. It was less intensive, of course, but I’d found ways to do it for joy.

‘And I’m sure Dylan being around doesn’t help,’ Inés added with a raised eyebrow.

‘There could be nicer roommates to have,’ I joked with a nervous grin. Who could be a better person to be around 24/7 than the woman who thinks I stole a Wimbledon title from her?

‘She’s mostly bark. You must know that by now.’

‘It’s a pretty terrifying bark.’

We both laughed, my nerves almost forgotten. Almost. Until the door to my left cracked open, and a nurse stepped out. She looked up from a clipboard at the two of us, before asking, ‘Rossi?’

My heart leaped into my throat at the mention of my former name. ‘That’s not my name,’ I barked suddenly, the word sounding so much harsher than I had meant them too, but I couldn’t help it. The name felt like ripping open a fresh wound, still healing and sore.

‘I’m sorry,’ I said quickly, stuffing all the feelings of anger and rage back down into my chest, and into the box where they belonged. ‘My name is Sinclair now.’

The nurse nodded her head, writing something down on her notes, before instructing me to follow her in. Slowly, I stood up, flatting my clammy palms onto my tennis skirt.

‘Do you want company?’ Inés offered. ‘Somebody to hold your hand?’

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