Page 77 of Clean Point

‘Dad.’ The word slipped out from between my lips. Matteo. His name was Matteo.

‘It’s good to see you.’ His arms moved from his side, reaching forward as if to wrap around and pull me into an embrace of all things. I took a step back, keeping my eyes on him. He inhaled a sharp breath, and let his arms relax again, apparently getting the message.

I was frozen to the spot, throat dry as I searched for the right words, but all I could think was how much older he looked, how much thinner. His hair, once a pure black, was now heavily salted with grey, and the thin lines around his eyes have grown more defined. He looked so frail compared to how I last remembered him. In the middle of the kitchen, standing powerful in front of the island counter, his body trying to block the evidence from my view as he still fought to hide the truth of what he had done to me.

‘How are you doing?’ he asked, still looking disappointed that I’d moved away from him.

My hands curled into fists. ‘I’m fine. What are you doing here?’

‘I was invited.’

I forced my reply out through gritted teeth. ‘I mean Wimbledon. Why are you back?’ I thought back to our phone call. His attitude, the bargaining. He wanted me away from Nico and to go back to training with him. ‘I told you to stay away.’

He shrugged, like it was so simple. ‘And I told you to come to London.’

I laughed at the irony, motioning my arms around the tall limestone buildings, the busy London street just ahead of us. Walk for five minutes in any direction and you’ll find yourself at any London landmark. ‘I’m here now, aren’t I?’

‘Not what I meant.’ A bitter smile curled onto his lips as he pressed his hands to his temples in what I was sure was supposed to be disappointment. ‘I was willing to train you again, you know.’

My jaw slackened as I pulled back again, and I looked at him, as if to wait for the punchline to the joke he had clearly just made. When it didn’t deliver, my shock turned to incredulousness. ‘Are you out of your fucking mind?’ I barked another laugh, leaning forward as a disbelieving smile grew. ‘You really think I’d come back after what you did?’

His eyes narrowed on me. ‘You’re my daughter. I know what’s best for you.’

Oh, he was a real comedian now. I wondered if he had an entire stand-up set planned.

‘You think ruining my career – drugging me – is what’s best for me? Jesus, I can’t wait for your guide to raising children.’

His face remained stoney, not seeing the situation the same. ‘Raising a child and a winning athlete are not the same thing.’

‘Is that all I was to you?’ My question hung in the air a moment too long, as if he wasn’t sure what to say. In the end, he left it unanswered. But it didn’t matter. I could see it in the bob of his throat, the way he shifted from foot to foot. I was his daughter, but I was more a legacy, another thing to sit in his award cabinet and look sparkly. He couldn’t even admit it, but I knew.

He coughed, clearing his throat. Taking a step forward, pointing a finger down, he started again. ‘If you want to win, Scottie, you’ve got to be willing to do anything.’

‘I was willing.’ I ground the three words out as if it was painful. Painful that he didn’t see that I gave it everything I had.

He raised a single eyebrow. ‘Clearly, you weren’t.’

The implication was enough to turn my rage up from a simmer to boiling. ‘It doesn’t count if you cheat. That is not winning, that’s not what competition or tennis is about. I don’t want to win if it means breaking the rules to get there. If that level of desperation is truly what it takes to win, then you’re right, I don’t have it. And I don’t want it either.’

He let out a loud sigh, as if he was already exhausted by me. Had considered the past all settled up. ‘Scottie, I was just trying to help.’

‘Help?’ I hissed, almost disgusted at the word. ‘Help is giving somebody a hand when they need it, doing something useful. Not drugging them without consent for months.’

‘I couldn’t watch it all slip past you again.’

I turned at his words, trying to walk away before I was forced to listen to his excuses. But he followed me away from the venue, refusing to stop. ‘You were injured and slow, and it was risking everything we had been working toward. I’ve seen it before, the defeat creeping in. I wasn’t going to let my daughter become a failure. Rossi’s don’t quit.’

A quitter. I thought of all the times I’d run, I’d given up. I’d run for two years, but the first time was that night, when he’d stolen everything from me, when every single thing I’d worked for turned out to be for nothing.

‘I was never a quitter before you. You … you ruined everything.’

‘Ruined?’ He barked a single laugh before his eyes narrowed, the mask of the frail father before me slipping, the hungry competitive beast rearing his head instead. ‘I gave you everything you have. You think you would have made it this far without me?’

A smile crooked on my lips. ‘I made it this far, despite you.’

He took a single step forward, finger pointing down, his expression stony. ‘You only lifted that trophy because of me.’

‘And I lost it because of you.’ I shook my head, feigning disbelief with an almost laugh. ‘When are you going to give up? I’m not yours to play with anymore.’

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