Page 50 of Game Point
‘Then maybe you need to accept that you just don’t have it in you.’
Maybe her words were supposed to spark that fire of fight in me again. The fire that had been relit over and over. But now, the once-raging bonfire felt like nothing but smoking ash. There was no more fuel. No more fight. I was done. Exhausted. Homesick. Lonely. Pained. Empty.
‘What are you going to do?’ She almost laughed as she said the word: ‘Quit?’
‘Maybe,’ I said, the idea sounding better with every second that passed. What if I was just delaying the inevitable. Brooke had quit. Imogen hadn’t even called. I’d driven Oliver away. What was I still fighting for? A trophy.
Oliver had said it best himself, ‘It’s just a piece of silverware.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous, Dylan,’ Avery began to rant. ‘With all the work you’ve put in? What is everyone going to say? You are really going to let them call you a quitter? Come home, tell everyone you threw away your potential? After all this time –’
‘Avery. I can’t talk right now.’ I cut her off, not needing to hear any more from her. I ended the call without any further warning.
I sat there, staring at my phone for a long moment. Finally, for the first time, feeling as if I knew exactly what I needed. After voicing the feeling, the thought of quitting, of walking away from everything I’d worked so hard for, felt like a weight lifting off my shoulders.
Maybe they’d call me a quitter. But so be it. I was done burning myself out for nothing. Done working with coaches that didn’t care about me, only results, and living with a homesickness so severe I felt the ache down into my bones.
I wanted the beach, and the freshly ground coffee onlyMelbourne seemed to get right. I wanted my family, my hometown, the heat of the baking sun. Being quick to act, I typed out a quick, simple message, not even allowing my finger to linger over the send button.
It was time to take control of my life, to stop living in the shadow of what I thought I should be and start living for myself.
Stop pretending I ever stood a chance.
18
Dylan
On Your Side – The Last Dinner Party
I was going home trophyless.
And to top it all off, I was three days into my retirement from professional tennis. I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry as I slid into the business-class seat. The bittersweet of getting to go home, the pain of all I’d put myself through still evident in my chest, the fractured ribs still a painful reminder.
Sitting as comfortably as I could, I scrolled through the texts I’d sent to Oliver. All still unanswered.
DYLAN
I’m heading back home the day after tomorrow, if you’d like to talk?
I’m sorry. Please, let me apologize in person.
I know I fucked up.
At least let me get you that round of drinks.
I couldn’t blame him for ignoring me. Not after how I’d treated him. I’d been blinded by my desperation for the win, convinced I was a match away from victory, but in reality, I was much further away than I’d been willing to admit.
Closing my eyes, I rested my head back on thecomfortable headrest. The sooner the plane took off, the sooner I could try to let everything go. With home on the other side of this flight, I knew once I was there, I could start to put myself back together, figure out how the puzzle pieces of my life fitted together without tennis.
I had no idea what was coming next, having never been still for longer than a few weeks. But I knew it would be less painful than continuing. I felt like I’d been banging my head against a wall for years, and now, the concussion was too much.
‘Is this seat free?’ a voice asked from the aisle.
‘Yeah, it’s 4D if that’s what you’re …’ I trailed off, peering up as my brain took a moment to translate exactly what I was seeing. A familiar stupid grin was wide across his handsome face asOliverslid into the empty seat next to me.
‘What the fuck are you doing here?’ A few passengers turned at my words, but I ignored them completely, struggling to take in the sight of him above me.
‘What the fuck are you doing here?’ I hissed, much quieter this time.
