Page 55 of Clean Point

I let out a breath, debating for a moment, remembering how he’d strutted out to Centre Court that day. He’d stared Matteo down any opportunity he got, playing mind games even when they weren’t playing. Matteo had complained about it to the umpire, but he’d listened to none of it.

‘Could’ve fooled me.’

A laugh escaped him, his body relaxing. ‘You know what they say. Fake it till you make it.’

‘I guess so.’ I hummed, ‘There was something about how you dismantled his defence that I’d never seen before. You destroyed him in that match.’

He shook me off, his attention turning back to the cat. ‘He was old.’

‘Don’t play dumb. You knew what that match meant. He was almost unbeaten that year, and you … you tore into him. He wasn’t expecting that.’ I watched as his shoulders tensed, his fingers scratching at the cat’s fur as it rolled onto its back.

I wondered, for a moment, what it had been like for him. I didn’t allow myself to think very long on my only win, the memories best left to be forgotten, but I had holed up in hotel rooms for a very long time before I ventured out again. The press was very different, but with Matteo, I’d grown up with that. I was used to it. But for Nico, he’d stepped onto that court, a relative nobody, and walked away a Legend Killer.

‘How fast did everything change after?’

A heavy breath escaped him. ‘I couldn’t walk down the street for the first few weeks. That was scary, everyone suddenly knowing my name. Tabloids trying to dig up every bit of dirt they could after I took down their favourite player. And competitions got harder, but there were a lot more opportunities.’ He paused, the moment stretching out, until with a heavy head hung lower, his voice lower, he admitted, ‘It changed my life.’

I nodded knowingly before speaking again, ‘Changed mine, too.’

‘How so?’

‘His attention wasn’t split anymore.’ I shrugged, before folding in on myself a little, trying my best to match Nico, to share the parts of myself I kept hidden. ‘I was his back-up. I’d been in training since I had developed the basic hand-eye coordination. Then, it was time for little Scottie Rossi to step up. I had just turned fourteen when we went pro.’

His voice was hoarse when he asked, ‘Would you change it?’

‘What?’

He motioned with his hands. ‘Playing tennis? If you could, would you go back and Tonya Harding my ass?’

I smiled at his joke, shaking my head. I didn’t need time to ponder his question. It wasn’t something I didn’t already ask myself in the early hours of the morning on those nights where sleep seemed impossible. ‘Even if you hadn’t beaten him, somebody would’ve. And besides, I was already playing. I just had more time.’

‘So … you wouldn’t change it? If you could?’ I knew what he was saying. Every moment for the last few years. Wimbledon, every mistake that was made, the two years I had.

In a voice that was quieter than I had anticipated, I answered, ‘Would you judge me if I said no? If none of it had happened, I don’t know where I would be. And, I mean …’ I looked around at the beach, the waves washing onto the sand, the sun low in the sky surrounded by hues of orange and pink. I thought about the last few weeks, and as much as there was struggle, I’d not felt more like myself in years.

And then I looked at him, those eyes burning into mine, his sculpted cheekbones, his lips. If any of it changed, would I have met him? Gotten to know him. Would I trade this for an easier ride? Did that even exist?

I looked right at him as I spoke. ‘I don’t regret tennis, just the shitty dad. And besides, it brought me here, right?’

He kept looking at me, those grey eyes unreadable. A smile crept onto his lips, full of comfort and a little relief. ‘Yeah, I guess it did.’

I forgot to breathe, my lungs useless, when he looked at me like that. Like there was nobody else in the world. For a moment, it was made only for the two of us and the curve of his lips. And I knew that wasn’t right, that I shouldn’t think things like that. This was a professional partnership, we both had everything on the line: our careers, our reputation, or at least what was left of mine, and … and an ‘us’ put all of that at risk, no matter how much I wanted it.

But when he opened up to me and told me things that made me feel like I belonged in his world, I couldn’t help but want it all. Every moment he could give me, every smile breaking through that cloud of grumpy grey moodiness. I didn’t know what life would be like without him anymore.

‘Hey guys,’ Sarah’s voice pulled me from my thoughts, dragging my attention reluctantly over to her. She was standing a short distance away, and I realized then that she’d been taking photos all this time. It wasn’t a problem, like the yoga on the beach, instead a testament to how effortlessly I got caught up in Nico Kotas. ‘Can we get rid of the cat? It’s pulling the focus,’ she asked.

I looked up at Nico, who’s attention was on Sarah with furrowed brows, clearly offended on the cat’s behalf at Sarah’s comment. But without any argument, he stopped, lifting his hand from the cat and resting it on the top of his thigh. The cat turned, staring up at him with what I could swear was a similar furrowed brow to Nico’s own, before letting out the loudest, most strangled meow I had ever heard.

I struggled to contain my laughter and found it even harder when I took in his raised eyebrow as he directed his attention back to Sarah, who was now standing with one hand on her hip, waiting to restart her work.

He looked at Sarah and shrugged. ‘I guess she’s determined to be the star of the show.’

My smile broke out, knowing that despite his reluctance, or anything he said, those cats had crept into his heart, and dug out their own piece. And maybe it was near the piece I’d started to claim as mine.

25

Scottie

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