Page 8 of Clean Point

Nico’s jaw opened as if to deliver a sharp retort, but Jon interjected instead, ‘See, this is what we want to see, but on the same side.’

Nico’s attention was torn from me, his dark brows pressing together. ‘Mixed doubles? With her? Are you insane? You know the single’s title is what matters.’

‘You’d both take part in the singles and the mixed competition.’ Jon tilted his head, undeterred. ‘Besides, ever heard “the enemy of my enemy is my friend”?’

‘He’s her dad, not her enemy.’ He pointed an accusatory finger at me, and I fought the urge not to slap it away.

‘He’s not my dad.’ I corrected him. ‘Not anymore.’

Jon stepped further into the room, hands out as if to try to ease the mounting pressure. ‘It’s not that, Nico. You have a brilliant tactical mind, but your speed is still lacking. Your recovery will only take you so far.’

I scoffed. ‘So, I’m supposed to carry him?’

‘You’re supposed to learn from him.’ Jon shook his head, his eyes soft on me. ‘You play with him, learn his style, and you’ll be unstoppable in the women’s competition.’ I didn’t react, instead analysing his plan. Nico had been one of the top tennis players for the last decade. Clearly, even while trying to launch a comeback after his surgery, there was a lot to learn from him. I’d be rusty from my time away, but I still kept my speed and relative fitness. Guidance was precisely what I needed.

Jon continued, looking to Nico, ‘Meanwhile, she’s the perfect training partner for you. She’s fast enough to be a challenge and in the mixed, she can compensate if your injury acts up.’

I wanted to shout about how unfair it was for me to be expected to compensate for him, especially in a sport that constantly sidelined women, overlooking and underappreciating our accomplishments. Where people contest the simple fact we have some of the greatest sportspeople of all time because they were misogynistic or racist or hell, even both.

But deep down, I understood Jon wasn’t suggesting anything of the sort. This was a pact with the devil, and it was as difficult for Nico as it was for me. One look at Nico, and I could tell he was contemplating quitting just to avoid working alongside me.

Yet, Jon had a knack for persuasion. ‘Play together. Win together. Piss off Matteo together.’

The room fell into a tense silence, Jon’s words lingering in the air. I could sense the internal struggle within Nico, his conflicting emotions warring against each other. The prospect of teaming up with me, the daughter of his former rival, was undoubtedly a bitter pill to swallow. But there was something in Jon’s proposition that chipped away at his resistance. I weighed my decision too. I could see what Jon was offering, but I’d never played mixed, never trained alongside anyone else. How much of a change would it be?

But without Nico, I couldn’t return to tennis. Couldn’t allow Matteo the satisfaction. I’d be giving in to what he wanted – a tennis prodigy to carry on his mantle. A different surname would never take away the fact that I was his daughter. I needed a way to twist the knife. To come back on my own would prove to him and myself I could do it without cheating, but it wasn’t enough.

Teaming up with his rival, however, could be the perfect revenge I’ve been craving.

Nico let out a frustrated sigh, his gaze darting between Jon and me. ‘Fine,’ he muttered begrudgingly, as he ran a hand through his hair, longer strands escaping to fall around his face. Nico’s gaze landed on me, a mix of scepticism and curiosity in his eyes. ‘But don’t expect me to go easy on you.’

A small smile tugged at the corners of my lips as he extended his hand to me. I took a moment, remembering from before how he’d dismissed mine. I returned the gesture, his calloused fingers rubbing against my own and sealed my fate.

And just like that, the enemy of my enemy was my new teammate.

5

Scottie

You’re Just A Boy (And I’m Kinda The Man) – Maisie Peters

Jon laid out the plan. Within a few days, we’d ship out to a training program he’d set up at a private complex in Rhodes. There were already a few different pros at the camp, which would give us the opportunity to play against varied competitors and would offer shared access to some of the top trainers and professionals in the sport. Then six weeks’ later, we’d make our anticipated comeback at Wimbledon. It would have been ideal to have a warm-up tournament to attend first, allowing me to ease back into that world, but since this was the first event after my ban expired, it was the only option Jon proposed.

Not to mention, Nico seemed to make it clear this was the only event he was interested in.

After I left Jon’s, I heard nothing from my new mixed partner. Not surprising, given he barely looked at me while Jon had laid out the plan, going over the names of personal trainers and nutritionists he’d involve in our training. All of them were new to me. I’d asked Jon only to use people he trusted, and more importantly, people with no connection to Matteo.

I still wasn’t sure about the plan when the travel itinerary for the trip to Greece landed in my inbox, and again, still half convincing myself as I stuffed all my belongings back into the two large suitcases I lived out of.

I stopped at the row listed on my ticket. Ignoring my assigned aisle seat, I slid into the window spot instead. I’d never enjoyed flying. Something about being sealed into a metal container that hurled itself 33,000 feet or so in the air had always left my stomach twisting into knots. The window made it slightly better when motion sickness kicked in, and so I always tried to reserve it. Hopefully the rightful owner wouldn’t mind. If they did, I’d grab the barf bag and warn them out of the splash zone.

Getting comfortable, I continued to weigh up the pros and cons of agreeing to become mixed partners with Nico Kotas. I’d been left with sleepless nights ever since Jon appeared on my mum’s doorstep, so I had resolved to use the four-hour flight time to sleep it off. Once we landed, there wouldn’t be much time for rest. We had a lot of ground to cover if we were going to get into shape in time. Placing a silk sleep mask on, before propping my head against the window, I closed my eyes and tried to relax, surrendering to the weariness and allowing sleep to wash over me.

‘You’re in my seat.’ I was almost sure I’d dreamt up the voice, but one peep from under the eye mask and I discovered Nico staring down at me, donning a cap and a face contorted with irritation.

Casting a glance at the exasperated passengers forming a line behind him, I suggested quickly, ‘Can you take the aisle? I’m a nervous flyer.’

His grim expression didn’t waver, eyes fixed to me.

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