Page 22 of Game Point
You up?
A grin broke out across my face, shaking my head at the message before I opened the camera up, snapping a selfie with the court in the background.
DYLAN
My inside-out forehand is off.
Can you help?
I didn’t waste another moment, my finger automatically going to her contact and calling her on FaceTime.
Ring. Ring. Ring.
Maybe I’d been too hasty. Should’ve just texted her back instead. She accepted, her tanned face filling the entire screen, the phone a little too close as her brows pressed together in confusion.
‘I was going to send you a video.’ Dylan pulled the phone away, allowing me to see her from the shoulders up, revealing the oversized green T-shirt she was wearing.Her long brown hair was pulled back in a bun, her cheeks flushed pink from exercise.
‘This is easier,’ I shrugged, sitting down on the bench. ‘Set up your phone and show me what you’re doing.’
Dylan knelt down, placing her phone on the ground. She struggled to prop it up, the phone falling as she swore under her breath. I sat down, taking a sip from my bottle, almost unable to tear my eyes away from her.
She moved back behind the baseline, pressing the button on the remote of her own machine. A couple of balls flew past her before she started moving forward on her left foot, rotating her upper body and shoulders. She loaded the backswing, the racket pulled back, primed and in position to create maximum power, and as the ball arrived at the perfect spot, she swung, brushing the strings up the back of the ball with topspin. She reset, moving over and over again to hit each shot that flew her way.
I analysed each movement: her footwork; the power of her swing; timing, waiting to see the issue she was speaking about. She headed back to the phone, her skin flushed a deeper pink, a light sheen of sweat across her brow.
‘Well?’ she asked, looking unsure.
I paused, trying to understand. ‘Who said there was a problem?’
She sat down on the ground, her exhaustion clear. ‘Brooke’s been on my ass all day about it.’
I paused, considering my reply. ‘I don’t know what to tell you, Dylan. It looked fine to me. Is it your shot selection she had a problem with?’
‘No, it’s this specific movement.’ Her head fell backwards with a groan. ‘We ran drills all day and then she kept hauling me over my positioning, my footwork. I laid in bed for hours trying to understand the movement. I can’t tell you how long I spent in front of the mirror trying to get it the way she kept telling me to do it.’
I tried to pick my words carefully. ‘Didyouthink there was a problem before?’
She bit her lip, my attention caught on the pull of her teeth. ‘Not really. I think she’s still punishing me for the paperweight.’
It had only been a week since the news broke that Brooke was rejoining Dylan’s team. She’d been whisked away to some German training camp in preparation for the China Open later in the month. I’d seen it work out with other players before, going back to basics with a coach who knew you well. But Brooke had a reputation. She was an effective coach for the right kind of person, but Dylan did not strike me as that kind of person. Especially since the entire tour knew of their past together.
‘It’s going well then?’ I joked lightly, pushing myself up from the bench to begin cleaning up the balls that sat abandoned across the court.
‘She’s always been a hard ass,’ Dylan complained, climbing to her feet, copying me as she cleaned up her own court, dragging the ball basket in her free hand. ‘But I swear it’s like she thinks I’m still a child.’
‘How long did you work with her?’
She sighed so loudly I felt like even without the call, I’d be able to hear it from Manchester. ‘Too long. But she took me pro, taught me a lot. I felt like I owed her.’
‘I understand.’
Even playing singles, it could start to feel like a team sport, especially behind the scenes. At the height of everything, with your coach, trainer, physiotherapist and an agent to tie it all together, it could become a tight-knit group. And while you’re the boss, you don’t exactly feel like one. It can be a good working relationship with the right people, or descend into a circus act with the wrong.
‘But you know you don’t owe anyone anything except respect when you pay them.’
‘Respect went out the window with the paperweight.’
‘I hope you’ve worked on your anger issues since then.’
