Page 59 of Clean Point

I ran my fingers through my hair, pulling as irritation pricked at my skin. ‘This … this isn’t normal, Scottie. I told you, you played well today.’

She shifted her weight from foot to foot, her attention lifting to me as she glanced around the court.. When she answered me, her voice was so small and breakable.

‘I just … I don’t want to risk you losing everything because of my mistakes.’

I let her confession hang in the air for a moment, before dismissing it, my anger shining through. ‘And what about you? Now we have to wait for this to heal before you can play again.’

She looked reluctantly at the ball machine, like she wanted to keep practising, like she still couldn’t leave yet. But there was no way I was letting her stay here like this. I knew I couldn’t trust her not to keep playing.

‘It’ll take five minutes,’ I said, the lie easy to say. ‘Then if it’s okay, you can come back.’

I had zero intentions of letting her return. But I’d take whatever means necessary to get her to stop. Her body was a tool, as much as the racket in her hand. Misuse it, and it could cost her everything. She relented, her body almost caving into my offer as she nodded.

‘I should clean this up.’ She looked around at the court with that last shred of reluctance.

‘Leave it,’ I said. ‘We’ll clean it up later.’ Another lie that Jon would make me pay for tomorrow when he saw the mess. I switched off the floodlights of the court as we left, the stray cats our companions as we headed back down the dark garden path to the villa.

‘Hold still.’ I gripped Scottie’s hand gently, keeping it in place as I tried to stop her from squirming around. She groaned, sending a frown at me, a first aid kit thrown open all over the counter beside us.

‘I’m trying,’ she complained, relenting slightly and resting her arm along the marble counter. I’d been trying to disinfect her wound with some anti-bacterial wipes, the strong smell of stinging alcohol hanging in the air.

‘You’re doing a terrible job of it.’

Her eyes narrowed on me as she replied, ‘It would be easier if you weren’t intentionally trying to hurt me.’

‘If we don’t do this, we have to chop your hand off. You won’t be much use to me with only one.’ My joke distracted her long enough that when I wiped again, she didn’t even flinch.

Instead, her gaze fixed on me as she challenged, ‘One arm is plenty enough to play tennis.’

‘That’s true.’ I smiled. ‘But I’d still beat you.’

She tsked before examining her palm. Somehow, even though disinfected, it looked worse. Blotchy, raw red, bruises appearing on the sensitive skin. I ached at the thought of the pain she’d tried to cover up.

‘Are we going to talk about it?’ I asked, only to be met with a raised eyebrow. ‘Why did you let it get this bad?’

She let out a deep, annoyed breath. ‘It’s not tha—’

‘Yes, it is,’ I said. ‘And if you disagree, then I’m probably due another conversation with Jon about what kind of practice injuries you’re used to.’

She fell silent, and I used the moment to squeeze a small blob of the antiseptic cream onto my finger, laying my hand out again for her. Thankfully, without further argument, she let me gently dab the cream into the worst affected parts until it was all smoothed out and absorbed.

‘I already told you,’ she said under her breath. ‘I … I don’t want to be the reason we fail. I know how important Wimbledon is for you.’

I kept my eyes on her palm, committing it to memory as if I needed to remember the cost of what that worry had done to her. Shaking my head, I tried to reassure her. ‘You won’t be.’

‘What if I am? What if I make another stupid mistake?’ Her voice rang with anxiety, and I swore she turned to look outside again, across the vast garden and over to the court, as if she was already wondering when she would be able to get back out there and start all over again.

‘If you really think one stupid misstep can derail our entire game, we obviously weren’t playing very well to begin with.’

‘I’m scared, Nico,’ she admitted. ‘This … I don’t think anything has ever meant so much to me.’

‘Me neither.’ The words are hushed, but nonetheless true. This last title was my only goal. And with my knee and age, a second shot wasn’t guaranteed. If I failed now, my career could be done. However, as I grew faster and stronger, this admiration for her didn’t simmer out. ‘But we make a good team.’

‘Somehow, that makes it worse.’

I dropped her hand, searching through the kit for the bandages, the cream on her palm making things look a little better. Tomorrow, I’d get Jon or Elena to take a look, make sure I had cleaned it correctly.

Pausing, I held the bandage out to wrap her with, but instead I met her gaze. ‘Scottie, even if we did lose, I would want to keep playing with you.’ I would want to keep you.

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