Page 120 of Game Point
I tried to pull myself together. I wasn’t a stranger to panic attacks, I’d had them before. It was partially why I used to play the way I did, picking and choosing the tournaments I took part in, taking weeks or months when necessary. Balance was key, I couldn’t keep up with playing in every tournament, but when I was more selective, I was a much more competitive player.
But I hadn’t thought that it would be this way being a coach. I’d thought I’d be insulated from the pressure and stress, but knowing how close she could be, all the while watching her ankle for that injury, I’d overestimated myself.
Every moment of her match I spent obsessively examining each movement, each piece of footwork and glide of her racket, waiting for something to go wrong. And for it to be my fault.
If it all went wrong for her, would I lose her?
Inhaling sharply, I pushed myself up from the floor,stepping forward to lean on the counter. Staring at myself in the mirror, I could make out the sweat on my brow, the redness to my eyes caused by another sleepless night terrified of failing her.
I quickly splashed some water on my face, trying to look semi decent so she didn’t know why I’d had to lock myself away. I was only able to half convince myself that I was ready as I left the bathroom, greeted by a soft smile from Dylan.
One look at her, one smile, and the bathroom immediately felt a million miles away, any remaining grip of the anxiety soothed.She was everything.
‘Hey, what happened?’ she asked, sitting on the bench opposite the door, her eyes filled with concern. ‘You left during the match.’
I swallowed, ‘I’m really sorry,’ I apologized, feeling terrible for having left her, as if I’d abandoned her without a second thought. ‘I …’ The words dried up in my throat, as I realized that I hadn’t prepared an excuse for why I had disappeared, my apprehension hanging in the air between us.
‘Is it that curry from last night?’ she asked, one eyebrow crooked upward.
My hand went to my stomach, patting it as if to comfort myself. ‘Yeah, my stomach is not great.’ I felt bad lying, but the idea of telling her the truth didn’t sit any easier with me.
‘I told you to pick something else.’
‘I should’ve listened,’ I admitted, my stomach twisting in knots, only not from food but from guilt.
‘It’s okay,’ she replied, ‘I enjoy being right.’
‘Youenjoyme being ill?’
‘No. That’s terrible,’ Dylan shook her head. ‘But I did try to tell you. Are you still able to come for dinner?’ she asked, and I took a moment to assess my true feelings, the tight squeeze of anxiety beginning to ease.
‘Yeah, I should be fine,’ I nodded.
‘Good,’ she added, ‘I thought we could go out after. There are some places in the city I need to show you.’ I loved the idea of getting outside with her.
‘So …’ I trailed off, ‘You won right?’
‘Of course.’
‘Congrats!’ I grinned at her, my arm wrapping over her shoulder, pulling her body into mine as I rocked with excitement. ‘One more down.’ I was reminded, true happiness spilling out of me for her. I wanted this badly for her.
‘Two more to go,’ she retorted, sounding a little worried about them. Her hands moved, straightening out the linen shorts she was wearing.
I shrugged her concerns away. ‘You are playing so well. I’m proud of you.’ Dylan’s cheeks began to burn red, her shoulder pushing into me.
‘Aw, thanks coach,’ she said, unable to match my gaze as her body pressed against mine. ‘I couldn’t have done it without you.’
‘I know,’ I said, grabbing her attention. I grinned, ‘I’m an excellent coach.’
‘Cocky too.’
I winked, unable to stop myself, ‘Don’t you know it.’
‘You’re telling me …’ I trailed off, looking around at all the various food stalls, the vastly different sweet and savourysmells all mixing into something delicious and irresistible. I looked across at Dylan who was busy sipping a flat white. ‘This was all here while we were dancing around the threat of food poisoning and cooking at home?’
She tsked, her hand going to the cap on her head, the sunglasses no doubt hiding her rolled eyes from me.Sunglasses and a hat. The perfect disguise.‘Sure, but who wants to trek into the city every day for dinner?’
‘If it means not fearing for my life with every forkful,’ I said, my stomach groaning at the sight of the various offerings. Dinner with her parents couldn’t have gone better, both her mum and dad enthusiastic about Dylan’s recent playing. Even sitting with them while we watched the match had been fun. The way they spoke about her game play, the hits she had made, even breaking down the analytics of the match, made me wonder what it had been like to grow up with them as a fledgling tennis player. All they had was excitement and pride towards their youngest daughter.
