Page 84 of Carrie Soto Is Back

“Congrats,” the dad says to me. “Great match today against Moretti.”

I say, “Thank you.”

“Sorry about Alderton,” the dad says to Bowe. “Rough break.”

“Thank you, sir.”

The doors open, and the boy and his father get off. Bowe and I are now left in the elevator together.

“It’s not always so easy,” Bowe says. “Standing next to you.”

“I’m not going to apologize for it,” I say.

“No,” Bowe says, shaking his head. “Nor would I want you to.”

The elevator opens on his floor. He gestures for me to go first, and we walk into his room.

It is smaller than I expected. He does not have a suite but instead a single bed, not much of a view.

When he closes the door behind us, I turn to look at him. “What is your plan?” I say, pointing to his ribs.

Bowe sits on the edge of his bed, softly. He shakes his head. “I don’t know.”

I sit next to him. “Are you in a lot of pain?” I ask.

Bowe nods. “It hurts like hell. I can barely breathe without feeling like my chest is ripping open.”

“Are you taking anything?”

Bowe shakes his head. “No, and I’m not going to. I didn’t kick alcohol just to take up worse stuff. I’ll deal with it.”

“What did the doctor say?”

Bowe frowns. “I’m out for weeks, at least. Wimbledon’s fucked.” He shakes his head. “The season is going to be winding down before I’m back on the court.”

“I’m sorry,” I say. I grab his hand and hold it. He looks down at our hands together, and I pull mine back. “You will be ready for the US Open. I know it. And Wimbledon isn’t even your best surface. You’re shit at anticipating the ball on grass.”

“Yes, thank you,” Bowe says. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

“What I’m saying is that the US Open is your best chance. And you will be better by then.”

Bowe nods.

“Plenty of time to fuck shit up.”

Bowe laughs.

“I am sorry,” I say. “About saying you were embarrassing yourself.”

“I shouldn’t have lost my cool about any of it,” Bowe says. “You play how you want to play––that’s your business.”

“Sometimes I think you’re the only person who’s harder to deal with than me,” I say.

Bowe rolls his eyes. “Not even close.”

I laugh. “You’re going to be okay.”

“I know, I know,” he says. “It’s not the end of the world.”

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