Page 126 of Game Point
The official nodded. ‘Yes, and we did the same yesterday.’ He stretched his hand out again, looking towards Dylan. ‘Please, if you will.’
I took in the thin line of her lips, her narrowed glance, before she nodded sharply.
‘I’ll go,’ she agreed. ‘But my coach must come with me.’
Like they’d be able to keep me away.
‘Of course,’ the official agreed, looking a little thankful we didn’t have any more arguments.
‘Okay. Fine. Let’s get this over with.’
We were led down a long corridor, heading past the locker rooms and towards a section of the arena that was lined with medical examination rooms for first-aiders and physios.
He stopped at a random room, Aisha Thompson’s own coach standing outside, her expression equally as grim as my own. She rolled her eyes as she looked over at me. Then Aisha appeared in the doorway, and it struck me how young she actually was to get this far in the competition. A semi-finalist at eighteen? This sport was insane.
Both Aisha and her coach moved aside, silently heading back down the corridor, Dylan watching Aisha’s every move, like a hunter stalking its prey. Aisha looked back over her shoulder, a confident, cocky smile on her lips. We were in for some fight on court.
‘You can wait here.’ The attendant looked at me, before pushing on the door. ‘The nurse needs a few minutes to draw some blood.’
I stepped forward again, Dylan standing in place behind me.
‘You said I could stay with her,’ I pressed, my fingers curling into frustrated fists at my side. I couldn’t bear to look at her, terrified that if I saw her face, I’d break and drag her away.
‘Nobody but officials and the player being tested are allowed in the room. This is our new procedure,’ The attendant’s stony expression didn’t change. ‘You can either wait here while we draw blood. Or you can both leave, and forgo the match.’
I opened my mouth again to argue, unwilling to let hergo in alone. We were moments from the court, from the deciding match that would see her through to the final.
The final.The words didn’t seem real. She’d come so far, and now with the final in sight, it was hard to let something like this come up and risk it all.
‘It’s fine,’ Dylan said, looking over at me, her expression set. She turned to the official. ‘Let’s get it over with.’
She slid her bag strap from her shoulder, holding it towards me.
I took it, my fist clenching around the strap. ‘I’ll be right out here.’
The door clicked shut behind them, leaving me alone in the hallway. I sank down onto a bench opposite, watching the door like a dog waiting for its master to return.
A shadow moved in the hallway, catching my eye. I looked up, finding a familiar face.
‘Oliver, good to see you.’ Brooke Turner looked down at me, her blonde hair cropped sharply short, her green eyes piercingly cold. She didn’t try to shake my hand, but I didn’t offer up mine either.
‘Brooke,’ I said, keeping my voice controlled as I got up from the bench. And despite my much taller height, she still somehow eclipsed me. ‘It’s been a while. What are you doing here?’
‘I’ve been coaching some players in the doubles matches. They were playing earlier, but of course, I can’t miss this big show.’ Her gaze floated down to the red racket bag I’d left on the bench. ‘I saw you took on a player. That’s a … big job for a first-time coach. Are you sure you’re up to the challenge?’
I hated the way she spoke about Dylan, not evenmentioning her name. What had Brooke got to be mad about? She was the one that had burnt her player out, destroying her self-confidence.
‘Dylan can do it,’ I simply said, not wanting to give her any more of my time than she deserved.
‘Although I guess this isn’t the round that is usually the issue,’ she said. ‘It’s always the finals when she fucks it up.’
I stared her down, not showing any reaction to her words. She could say what she wanted, but I wasn’t going to let her talk about Dylan that way.
‘She’s going to win,’ I said, any anxiety I’d had evaporating away, leaving me only with the pure conviction she would lift that trophy.
‘I’ve thought that before,’ she grinned. ‘But she always chokes.’
‘Don’t talk about her like that,’ I snapped, stepping back. I’d heard things about her, from before Dylan. How hard she was, cold and relentless to her players. There were too many out there that took advantage, used too strict methods to drive athletes into greatness. But when that success left those players broken and mentally ill, was it really worth it?
