Page 130 of Game Point
‘Yes,’ I nodded, ‘but also changing my goal.’
‘I asked you that before.’
‘Yes, you did.’ Again, I thought back to that last interview we had. She’d asked for my goal, and I’d been my usual self.
‘You said you wanted to win,’ she summarized. ‘If that’s changed, what is it you’re here for?’
I adjusted in my seat, swallowing as her previous words repeated themselves in my mind. They were hard to forget. ‘You told me I’d had plenty of chances at the top? That my potential was unfulfilled without a trophy.’
‘Isn’t it?’ A brutal question from a brutal woman, which again would have stung before. But I had Oliver’s reassurance, his words and actions, and the knowledge that no matter what, I was enough.
‘No,’ I said. ‘My aim is to always be competitive. If that means second place, I’m going to accept that, knowing Idid my best, and I’m going to be proud of that.’ Her eyebrows pushed higher, her tiny brain probably exploding as I continued. ‘I’ve been taking my time, I’ve been resting. If I play less, I’ll burn out less, and I’ll be more competitive. And maybe I will win. Maybe I won’t.’ I shrugged, ‘If I still have the record for most grand slam finals achieved, without being able to claim that top prize, then at least I’m still in the fucking running.’
There was a long silence, Rachelstaredat me like I’d lost my goddamn mind. And maybe I had. Falling in love had a way of doing that to a person. But I felt more like the pieces of me were put back together, not only by Oliver, but by coming home, by being with the family I’d missed, by realising who actually had my back, and by being myself, for letting myself accept that defeat didn’t have to be second place. Or third. Defeat was only when you accepted it.
‘So, you’re satisfied now? With being runner-up?’ she asked.
I took a moment to think on my answer, the instinct to immediately respond forcing me to bite my tongue. I was almost sick of having to clarify, defend my mindset. As if burning myself, body and mind, to the ground was the only way to compete.
‘Nobody is ever satisfied with being the runner-up. I wouldn’t be an athlete if I was simply happy with second place. But …’ I trailed off, trying to find the right words. ‘I’m simply unwilling to be disappointed any more with second place.’
Her eyes narrowed, ‘And has this anything to do with your coach from the last few months?’
‘Former coach.’
Rachel nodded. ‘Yes, I understand you’ve split ways right before the final. Rather unusual, isn’t it?’
‘Not given my track record.’
She looked at me plainly. ‘And your plan is to what? Burn through coaches? This is four in the last year alone.’
‘Sometimes it’s not a good fit. Sometimes I simply learn all I can from them. I’ve been playing this sport for a very long time.’
‘Which is it?’ she asked. ‘The reason for splitting with Oliver Anderson? Was he not a good fit? Or did you learn all you could?’
I swallowed, feeling on edge, unsure if she was hunting for something specific, that piece of information that could confirm any rumours, if Avery and Brooke hadn’t kept their mouths shut.
‘We were great friends,’ I said, the answer rehearsed. ‘It didn’t make for a good fit as player and coach. But Oliver is wonderful to work with; any other player would be lucky to have him.’
‘I see.’
Her answer was simple, but that didn’t mean I was any less anxious about it, the fear of what she might know, might be leaving unsaid, unsettling my stomach. Rachel opened her mouth to say something else, and the sense of foreboding only grew, the air turning the room hot and overbearing.
‘You know,’ she started. ‘There have been some ru—’
She was cut off by a knock at the door, opening to reveal an official media assistant, the one coordinating all of the interviews and photography for the day.
‘Sorry to interrupt, but Dylan has another appointment to run to.’
Relief washed over me at her words, not questioning the fact I was sure Rachel was supposed to have another ten minutes.
‘It’s been a pleasure,’ I grinned, unable to hold back my joy at escaping her.
‘As always,’ Rachel forced through gritted teeth.
I followed the assistant out, heading into the busy hallway and over towards another room. Taking a deep breath, I readied myself to face another journalist.
What I didn’t expect was Oliver, smiling brightly, reclining back in a chair.
