Page 56 of Game Point
She took in a deep breath. ‘I was saving it.’
‘For the right knick-knacks?’
Dylan shook her head. ‘For a trophy.’
‘You do know they give out second-place trophies, Dylan.’
She laughed, the sound a little bitter. ‘Yes, and my collection is probably somewhere in the bedroom.’ She cleared her throat. ‘But keeping this shelf empty was supposed to “motivate” me to win. Bring home a winner’s trophy and put it here.’
Something settled uncomfortably in the pit of my stomach. ‘Did you really think that was a good idea?’
‘Felt like I was manifesting.’
I weighed how I’d feel if I left an empty shelf at home, haunting me for not being able to close out a tennis match. ‘Feels more like you were punishing yourself.’
She laughed again. ‘A little from column A, a little from column B.’
Her eyes found mine, the spotlight returning. For the first time, I felt like I could see past that hard, grumpy exterior I enjoyed, and instead, caught a glimpse behind the armour, to that delicate centre. Where she kept her heart, battered and bruised from crushed hope, safe from the world.
Dylan Bailey was a warrior, and even if hidden, she still had the battle scars to prove it.
‘Stay here,’ I said, heading towards the door.
‘What are you doing?’ her voice cried from behind me. ‘Oliver?’
I went back into the hallway, eyeing the velvet bag that I had set down beside my suitcase. I took a moment, remembering that day on court when I earned it. That day had meant everything, the very pinnacle I’d worked towards in my career.
Her day would come, but until then, I wouldn’t have this empty shelf haunting her.
Heading back into the room, I said, ‘If you hate me for this, then fine.’ I took a deep breath in as I closed the gap between us, meeting her again at the shelf. ‘Fill the shelf, Dylan.’
She stared at my hands, the snow globe with a replica Beijing skyline held out towards her. I’d spotted it in the airport, taking a moment to grab the souvenir, as it instantly reminded me of her.
‘It was a paperweight I threw,’ Dylan recalled, her voice cracking a little as she looked up at me. ‘Not a snow globe.’
I shrugged. ‘Do you think I’d give you your weapon of choice just after you agree to let me coach you.’
‘I did not agree to that.’
‘I give it a week.’
She shook her head, but didn’t say anything, falling uncharacteristically silent.
‘Stop torturing yourself with this shelf. It deserves to have something to display. It looks so sad and abandoned.’ I lifted it towards her again, urging her to take it. She took the plastic object from me, the glitter shimmering around as her fingers inspected.
She was resistant, but there was also something in her eyes, a glint, that told me something else. Her voice was a little hoarse as she said, ‘I suppose.’
‘You don’t have to, if you don’t want to. I know what this means,’ I offered, trying my best not to overstep again.
‘Can I see it?’ she asked. My brows furrowed in question. ‘Your trophy.’
I nodded, leaving her alone in the living room again. When I returned, heavy velvet bag in hand, the snow globe was unceremoniously sat on the shelf, my heart swelling at the sight. Progress.
A small curve grew across her lips as I pulled it from the bag, the silver still as shiny as the day I had first held it. Her eyes flickered to the trophy as she stretched out, taking the shining silver from me.
‘You drank out of this?’
‘I do not recommend it,’ I replied, the memory of a slight metallic taste returning to my tongue.
