Page 35 of Game Point
‘Yes, please,’ he nodded and I turned, opening the cupboards to try and find the mugs. Even after a few weeks, I still wasn’t used to the setup of the kitchen. Jon eyed me suspiciously from where he was perched on a stool at the breakfast bar. ‘Are you still having that problem with your topspin?’
I looked over at him, my brows furrowed. ‘What problem with my topspin?’
He grinned. ‘That’s what I like to hear from my biggest competition.’
I shook my head at him, pouring out two cups of coffee. ‘You’re trying to get in my head.’
‘Is it working?’ I laughed him off, secretly making a mental note to take a look at that movement on court, in case he was being genuine.
Jon took a sip of his coffee, his face scrunching up as he drank. ‘Decaf?’
‘Only the best for my company,’ I grinned, taking a sip. That, and it was already in the apartment when I got here.
‘Have you started thinking about what you want to do next?’
I leaned backwards against the kitchen counter. ‘What do you mean?’
‘I mean this with no offence, Oliver.’ He paused. ‘But … you’re not playing with that heart. It would be fine if you were injured, but as far as I know, you’re fit.’
‘I made a final not that long ago,’ I pointed out.
‘I know,’ he nodded. ‘And you played well. But you still didn’t have that spark, the thing that made you the player I’ve watched beat my own.’
I tilted my head forward. ‘That’s because I’m better than Nico.’
Jon grimaced. ‘Tell that to his gold medals.’
‘Who needs ’em?’ I waved him off. The Greek American giant had two to his name and given the chance,lovedto show them off. ‘And why do you care?’ I asked. ‘Again, how do I know you’re not here to take out the competition.’
He shrugged gently. ‘I don’t have a player in competition with you anymore. And besides, I thought we were friends.’
Cautiously, I decided to believe him. We’d been friends off-court for years, and with Nico retired, Jon only coached Scottie now.
Jon leaned forward, his coffee forgotten. ‘Do you have goals?’
His question shouldn’t leave me so … struck. Ask any athlete and they would all have something they were working towards. A very clear goal. We had to have one, to work this hard, to stick to the goddamn diet and get up at 5 am every morning to make sure we could fit two gym sessions in a single day. But recently, I’d been bouncing around competition to competition, just happy to be there. It had to be enough for the goal to show up and try to win … right?
Jon continued as if he could read my goddamn mind. ‘Real goals that are more like, do you want to win a specific Grand Slam? Get your career slam? Get to a number one ranking? Even work towards a specific brand partnership? Design a goddamn trainer?’
His suggestions were great. All reasonable next steps in my career. None of them sparked joy or made those early-morning wake-up calls any easier. None made the pain in my hips feel ‘worthwhile’.
I rubbed the back of my neck uncomfortably. ‘I’m … I’m not sure.’
‘What gets you excited about tennis?’ Jon asked. I tried to consider my answer. There was a lot I liked about it. I was good and had always done reasonably well. The money was nice too. The power on court had been a thrill, playing my opponent down for that win incredibly warming. But recently … none of it was new. None of it was special.
‘I liked the passion,’ I admitted, finding the right word to encompass how I felt. And then came the hard part. ‘But I’m not sure I have that for my own career anymore.’
I’d known this was coming for months, and had been feeling that ache for a while. But putting it into words and telling another person, it felt final, a little too real.
‘What about others?’ Jon proposed, an eyebrow arched.
‘Coaching?’ He nodded, and I tried to consider the idea. I’d never thought about it as a next step.
‘Those who can’t do …’ Jon teased.
‘I mean, Icando,’ I pointed out flatly. ‘I’ve won before.’
‘It’s not just that anymore,’ Jon argued. ‘Maybe you aren’t invested in your own journey anymore becauseyou’ve already done it. Some peoplearesatisfied with what they’ve managed to accomplish, and then the grind of being a professional athlete is too much. They start to miss cheeseburgers.’
