Page 23 of Game Point
‘My therapist taught me some breathing exercises.’
I shook my head at her. Maybe while we were at it, we should get her a better therapist, the advice was about as useful as giving her a stress ball.
Dylan grabbed the opportunity to change the subject. ‘How are you feeling about tomorrow?’
I almost winced at the question. ‘It will be fine.’
Her eyebrows pushed up. ‘Glad you’re feeling confident then.’
‘Iamconfident.’
‘You don’t sound it,’ she said. ‘That, and the fact you are also out on a court in the middle of the night.’
‘I couldn’t sleep.’ I shrugged. ‘Thought I’d tire myself out.’
‘Is it working?’ Her voice rang from the phone, breaking the quiet of the night. I looked around, the courts to my side empty.
‘Well, it might’ve but then I got a booty call.’
Her expression flattened. ‘This was not a booty call.’
‘Sending “You up?” isn’t a booty call to you?’
She shrugged, a sly grin on her lips. ‘I wanted to get your attention.’
We’d been texting ever since the party, but this was the first time we’d FaceTimed – or called for that matter – and now we were, I realized the ease of conversation with her. I was surrounded by friends on the tour, people I’d known for years, but I’d never felt so alone as in these past few months. Now it felt like every time I had a wash of the same loneliness, my phone buzzed, and I’d find Dylan complaining or threatening to steal my trophy early, or anything, as if she could read my mind from across the sea.
‘Certainly did that.’ I smiled before relenting, allowing myself to be a little more honest with her. ‘I feel fine about tomorrow. It’s the match after that, and the one after that, and so on.’
She rolled her eyes. ‘Confidence clearly isn’t the issue here.’
I laughed, but barely, growing afraid of what I’d admit, what words would escape me, and I’d realize how much I’d been lying to myself. And for how long. ‘I think I’m feeling burnt out. Like … have you ever wondered what else is out there?’
‘Like aliens?’
‘Like career paths.’
Dylan paused. ‘Does it sound cocky if I say no?’
‘You sound like a tennis pro.’ I wasn’t surprised. For a lot of us, it felt like our parents put a racket in our hands immediately upon our exit from the womb. The choice for this career path was made early, and it was less a decision than a gruelling amount of work, body and mind conditioning, and a level of dedication that bordered upon self-harm.Considering another career path was admitting defeat. And for professional athletes – we don’t adjust well to defeat.
When I looked back at my phone, Dylan’s expression had softened. ‘This is all I’ve ever wanted,’ she admitted. ‘Well, not this exactly, I imagined a couple more trophies, but I have a certain bet that ensures I’ll at least walk away with one this year.’
‘Very funny.’
‘You agreed to it!’
‘Don’t remind me.’
She laughed, the noise breaking the silence. ‘All Idois remind you.’
‘Which is why I’m asking you to stop.’
She ignored my request. ‘While I can’t say I’ve considered what comes next, I have considered doing literally anything else.’
I could relate. When the going got tough, the hard practices, the games you lost despite every best effort,anythingseemed better than tennis. But my problem wasn’t the relentless grind. It was that I was finding myself increasingly unmotivated.
‘What keeps you going?’
