Page 67 of The Challenger

“He got my number from my agent,” she says. “It’s a long story, and it’s one of the reasons why I fired him.”

I sit down hard on the bed, my universe falling apart. That day in Bologna she was so out of it, claiming agent woes while snapping photos to send to Douchebag Dixler. Fuck! How could she do this to me?

“Did you two…” I can’t even say it.

Seeing my alarm, she makes a calming gesture. “Nothing has happened like that, I swear.”

“Then unlock your phone and prove it.”

I hand her the phone and surprise, she doesn’t take it. “There is a thing called privacy, Chavez.”

“Privacy?” Is she for real? “How about secrecy? I’ve been trying to figure you out from day one. Can we talk about a motivational guru begging for anti-depressants?”

She pales, and yeah, that was a low blow. “That’s confidential information,” she says.

“Seriously? That’s your concern? I’m asking you to be up-front with me.”

“I’m not depressed. I have anxiety.”

“No shit! You think leading a double life might have something to do with that? ’Cos that would sure as hell keep me up at night.”

She inches to the other side of the bed. “Don’t yell at me.”

“I’m going to shout at the top of my lungs until you come clean.”

“What do you want to know?” she shouts back.

“Everything! Starting from the top. You got this big-time career, out in the public, you musta been photographed a hundred times a day on the road. And yet, one photo with me and you’re jumping like a scared rabbit. After dinner with my parents, I dropped you off but then circled back. All I wanted was one more kiss, but you were jumping into an Uber. And what is the deal with your family? Because if someone who loves you is in the hospital and you don’t give a shit, then you might as well walk out that door.”

Her eyes widen at my litany of accusations. Weeks of lies I’m calling her on. Her jaw grinds back and forth.

“I don’t talk to them,” she finally admits, “because they lied to me. You read that in my memoir. They never told me I was adopted. And when I found out, they also told me my mother was a train wreck who didn’t want anything to do with me. But I’ll never know the truth because she died two months before I found my adoption records.” Her voice turns cold and bitter, something I’ve never heard before. “You want to know what it feels like to have your entire world as you know it flushed down the toilet? I don’t think you do. Because it’s a pain you never forget.”

It craters my soul to see how lost she looks. I reach for her, to show her she is not alone in her battles. “Flynn, you’re shaking like a leaf. You have an avalanche of issues barrelling down, and—”

“Don’t tell me you sympathize or understand,” she snaps. “I was so messed up I made a decision I’ve regretted my entire life. I am responsible for someone else ending their life. And I cannevertalk to my real mom, even if I wanted to. You have the option, but you’d rather be at war with your family and yourself and the tennis world, fucking the Vanyas and God knows who else, like your reputation doesn’t even matter. No wonder Arlo wanted to punch you out.”

It’s like she’s kicked me in the balls. Vanya? Where is that cold shit coming from? And making it sound like Arlo’s in the right? I am shaking so hard my teeth hurt. “Is that why you’re sexting Brandon? Because of some one-night stand that I wish never happened?”

“Everyone knows it happened.”

“They call it history for a reason, Flynn. And if you remember, I cleared the decks on day one, date one. If you had an issue with my numbers, you should’ve said something then. Digging in my past to throw it in my face months later is bullshit.”

Rain starts to spit against the window, a wild wind whipping the drops around. Her face sets in an expression somewhere between anger and mistrust, and I momentarily lose my bearings.

“Do you even understand what’s going on here?” I ask, the pitch of my voice rising. “For someone who went to Stanford, you’re pretty fucking stupid if you can’t figure out that I am falling in love with you.”

For five long seconds, I think finally, I’ve touched her. We can start on the rocky road to repair. Then she peels out of bed, drags the sheet around her, and her eyes narrow into slits. “So now I’m fucking stupid?”

I throw up my hands in frustration. Why do women do this all the time?

“Did you even hear the other part? The part where I am in love with you? Jesus Christ, Flynn. I’m trying to think of what my life would be like without you in it and I can’t. I am struggling to make sense of how you make me feel. And I've said nothing because I don't want to scare you off, but I always have this feeling you’re not with me one-hundred-percent. And this just proves it.”

“You just proved spying is fine in a relationship,” she fires back. “Looking at my phone or telling me who I can or cannot speak with is unacceptable. If this is how it’s going down, I’m out.”

My God. Where has this harsh woman come from? She is shutting down, blocking me like a stone gate covered with padlocks. I don’t believe it. I throw down my last hand, hoping it’s enough to beat this ugly situation.

“If you want to be with me, I need honesty. I need commitment.” I corner her up against the wall and jab my finger into her chest. “I need to own your soul.”

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