Page 107 of Game Point
As I turned away from the arena, making my way down the tunnel, I couldn’t help the delighted laughter from breaking, the electricity of the crowd leaving my hair standing on end. I’d played here before, and every single time the rush of the high was unmatched. Today, however, I’d outdone myself.
A force slammed into me, long arms wrapping around my sweaty torso.
‘How the fuck did you manage that?’ Inés practically screamed. ‘I thought you were down for the count.’ She released me; she was only slightly shorter than me but her slim body made me feel like a giant this close to her. She was dressed in a fashionable one piece, the emerald colour paired perfectly with her sun-kissed olive skin.
I adjusted my racket bag back on my shoulder, mocking and pushing my ponytail back over my shoulder. ‘Never count me out.’
‘Mila was pissed,’ she pressed, linking arms and dragging me back towards the locker rooms, dodging press and other players who were lurking.
‘She’ll get over it,’ I said as we reached the busy warm-up area, players and coaches taking up every bit of spare room. I looked over at her as we walked, ‘When do you play?’
‘Later today.’
‘Feeling good?’ I asked carefully. Ever since Inés’ win at Roland Garros, she’d been plagued with injury. Between operations, intensive training and retiring early from tournaments, she’d barely played in the later stages.
‘Yeah, I think so,’ she nodded, unhooking our arms. ‘My wrists are improving and Brisbane went well. Scottie beat meagainbut she’s lucky I like her.’
I hummed in agreement. I’d followed her matches, rooted for her as I always did. Turned the TV off before I watched her lose again. I never liked to watch friends lose, only win, but only when they weren’t playing against me.
‘Felt like everything kept going wrong for you,’ I mumbled. Inés had been a good player, fun to compete against. She was the kind of person you couldn’t help but be friends with, despite how competitive we both got.
‘Life of a tennis player, I guess.’ She took my racket bag from me as I climbed onto a treadmill, pressing the options into a light walk. It was my chosen way to cool down after a match, taking a brisk stroll to transition my mind and body from the high-intensity setting that was required. She continued, ‘Once you get one injury, it feels like it’s non-stop.’
Her words struck me a little harder than normal. My mind went to my ankle which I hadn’t allowed myself to give much thought to since winning the match. Mind over matter, and with that sort of celebration from the crowd, it was easy to be distracted. But now that my feet hit the treadmill, I could feel weakness in the joint burning hotter like a brand.
Walk it off, Bailey. Like you always do.
‘Speaking of injuries.’ Oliver appeared, walking towards us, his lips pressed into a disapproving thin line.
‘Oh hi,’ Inés greeted, smiling his way. But he didn’t look at her, instead his attention fixed on me.
‘We need to get ice on that ankle,’ he instructed.
I didn’t dare to match his gaze, instead looking ahead, keeping my focus. ‘It’s fine.’ I shrugged his concerns off, thinking of the rest of my body, my heart rate still thundering in my chest. Even faster now he’d entered the room.
‘I still want you to rest it.’ He leaned forward, slowly pressing the down button on the treadmill speed. ‘I’ll get the physio to meet you in your room.’
‘I’ll be fine,’ I ground out, increasing the speed again. The faster movement caught me off guard, almost causing me to misstep and fall on my face. Panicking, I was forced to press the stop button, that simmer turning into a rolling boil as I handed him his next point.
‘Dylan,’ he pressed, his hands placed at the top of the treadmill, forcing me to look at him. I tried not to melt instantly. His stupidly adorable fluff of brown hair was all pushed up, like he’d been pushing his fingers back in it, all stressed and worried while he watched.
I rolled my head towards Inés. ‘Just ignore him, he gets grumpy when I argue.’
She raised her hands. ‘I’m staying out of this.’
‘Inés, you’re playing soon right?’ Oliver asked.
She nodded. ‘I’m next up.’
‘Good luck,’ he said sincerely. ‘I bet she listens to her coach.’
‘She doesn’t give me much choice in the matter,’ Inés mumbled.
‘See?’ he said, looking at me.
I only shrugged him off, climbing down from the treadmill as the ache began to grow in my legs and thighs. ‘Who are you against?’ I asked Inés.
‘Chloe Murphy.’
