Page 9 of Game Point
‘You do make it to a lot of finals,’ he pointed out. I could see his thoughts written across his face:Lots of finals, but no wins.
‘I do.’ Countless finals ran through my mind. The exhaustion of them hitting me all at once. It was vastly underappreciated how much energy it took to get to the final round every single time. Vastly underappreciated the disappointment to walk away empty-handed as well.
His expression softened. ‘What happens?’
I snorted a harsh laugh. ‘I lose.’
‘No.’ He shook his head. ‘What I mean is,whydo youlose? What’s different in you, in your play between that final match and all the others?’ A silence fell as we both waited for my response. ‘Sorry, if I’m digging too much.’
‘It’s fine.’ Anger and frustration bit at my words, but the feelings were not directed at him. ‘These are the questions I ask myself over and over. What went wrong? Why didn’t I make the shot? I get so close sometimes only to fuck it up. Did you see the score yesterday? She demolished me. I should be embarrassed for losing like that.’
He pulled back, sitting into the cushion of the booth, his eyes assessing. ‘Those matches are the worst.’
‘I wasn’t doing anything right. I made it so easy for her to win, I practically gave it away. I don’t even know why I kept going after the first set.’
‘But you do get there,’ he pressed. ‘How are the other matches?’
‘Fine. Child’s play,’ I waved my hand as if to push the idea away. I took those matches so easily, so brutally and without a second thought to my opponent. I left girls crying as they left the court, and I fucking loved that power. In contrast, losing felt like a bucket of icy water to pull you from the haze. ‘And then I reach the final and it’s like I can’t keep it together.’
Frustration had me fisting my hands so hard my knuckles turned white.
‘I’m tired of this,’ I admitted. Quitting was for losers, for people who gave up. I’d never ever considered it before, but now … ‘I’m tired of losing, and I know it’s still second place, and some players would kill for that. But I’m not doing all of this to be second best. I’m here to fucking win.’
He let out a heavy breath, and I felt the tension grow between us, heavy and tangible.
‘Sorry,’ I apologized. ‘I’m ranting and I’m ruining your night. I said a fun drink and here I am being bitter and stupid and –’
‘No, keep going. You said you needed a friend.’
I looked at him for a moment.Really looked.The softened gaze of his dark eyes, the relaxed posture as his long arms stretched out onto the table. He was listening, interested even.
‘I’ve known you for hours.’ The point felt moot, given everything I’d admitted. Feelings I’d never even told my best friends, things I keep buried and safe from my therapist.
Oliver shrugged. ‘Every friendship starts somewhere.’
‘I have a therapist,’ I said, taking another drink. ‘I should call them.’
‘Is it helping?’ he asked easily. ‘Therapy?’
‘Not really,’ I admitted, thinking over the last few weeks, few months. Sadness coloured the memories blue. ‘I get so angry. It’s valid most of the time, but it makes this big mess. I lash out and I’m mean. I’m so mean and …’ I stopped myself from saying anything else. What had happened with Scottie. I couldn’t have known, but maybe if I’d stopped and asked myself why. Why her dad had taken me on to coach so easily. Why Jon, her coach, had taken her back.
‘I can relate.’ Oliver sounded just as grim as me. His head swayed from side to side, as if he was fighting some internal conflict. ‘I’m … There’s a lot going on in my life right now.’
He held up his bare left hand in answer, the saddestcurve on his lips. ‘There’s nothing I could do to stop it. For years, it was fine, and then she – she wanted something different. And it wasn’t even her fault. It was nobody’s fault. But somehow it makes it feel worse.’
I didn’t think about it as my hand stretched out across the table towards his. One big squeeze. It should’ve felt stranger, being this raw with someone I barely knew. But maybe that’s how it was to be around Oliver. Some people allow you to open up. More than a friendly demeanour and a fun time, somebody you could sit with in a crowded room, and they still managed to make you feel like the only two people there.
‘So,’ he cleared his throat. ‘What’s next?’
My shoulders slumped. Even the simple thought of the remaining tour was difficult enough. ‘It feels like giving up would be easier at this point.’
‘After all of this?’
I was scared of my own answer. Scared to admit to anyone how much it hurt to keep going when I kept ending up in the same position.
‘I’m alone a lot. I miss Melbourne. It’s nice to have a home open but it doesn’t mean I get to spend any time there. I miss my family and my sisters. It’s so loud and chaotic and they don’t put up with any of my bullshit.’
He chuckled, ‘I doubt you take that well.’
