Clean Point

8 Nico

8

Will We Talk? – Sam Fender

The cool water glided down my back as my left arm extended in front of me, pulling my body forward through the villa pool. Tilting my head, I took a quick breath of fresh air before resubmerging under the surface. The movement was second nature, my mind preoccupied with the words of a certain blonde she-devil.

‘Aren’t you worried you’ll never play again, that you’ll need to rely on somebody younger and faster if you want a chance in hell of coming near another title?’

What did she know?

Whatever had gone down to split Matteo Rossi from his golden child prodigy, I knew it could only spell trouble. I’d been a teenager when I first faced him on the court. Nobody had expected me to make it out of the qualifying rounds, let alone the finals. But there I had been, at Flushing Meadows, standing across the net from him.

When I’d won, it felt like a dream. The months after; a nightmare.

I was a kid who found himself at the top of the tennis world and enemy number one to its most successful player. For that first year, hardly anyone would touch me. Coaches would quit overnight, sponsorship deals would be on the table one day, and disappear the next, with Matteo suspiciously promoting the brand instead.

And the media. They loved the story of the young underdog taking down a legend until they realized I could do it. An eighteen-year-old against the world’s media, nobody reliable to back him up. I couldn’t have a life outside of tennis without them reporting on it, barely talking to another person without photos appearing.

Then, when a car crash sealed the fate of Matteo’s career, he disappeared to train her.

Matteo Rossi 2.0.

Emerging for a breath of fresh air, I broke the surface but immediately considered sinking to the bottom when I saw who was there.

Speak of the devil, and there she stood – Scottie. With her hand on her hip, wearing a white oversized T-shirt and shorts that accentuated the entire length of her long legs. Her sunshine blonde hair was tied up and tucked under a familiar-looking baseball cap, a few tendrils of her hair playfully escaping around the edges.

To make matters worse, there it was – the infuriating smirk on her face, as if she had been waiting for this moment.

‘Well, well, look who’s decided to come up for air.’ She stood there, a mug in hand, clearly revelling in this opportunity to provoke me. ‘Thought you’d hide at the bottom of the pool forever, huh?’

My jaw clenched, and I forced myself not to let her get under my skin as I swam to the edge of the pool, before my feet found the tiled bottom, water dripping from my body as I stood.

‘Bet you were hoping I’d drown.’

While Scottie Sinclair had been no overnight success, you could see her father’s influence giving her a clear advantage in her early days. He’d use his connections, again stealing away people from my team, but this time to her benefit. She certainly had talent. You don’t get far in this sport without it. But she also had her father’s name and money, and that opened doors. That alone, however, didn’t win championships. For that, you had to earn it.

Instead, she’d tried to take the easy way.

There was no sign of our fight from yesterday on her face, and apart from dark circles under her eyes, the usual mask of smug confidence was well intact. She scoffed before rolling her eyes with an unmatched aggression. ‘Elena sent me to get you. Breakfast is ready.’ She took a sip from her mug, slurping the liquid and ending with a satisfied sigh.

My eyes narrowed on her, my suspicions rising as I focused on the mug, and more importantly, the liquid inside. ‘Is that coffee?’

She lowered the mug a little, a mischievous glint in her eyes. ‘Maybe.’

‘Decaf?’ I asked, but her head shook in denial. ‘Jon banned caffeine.’

‘He did,’ she chirped, enjoying the fact she was breaking the rules. One day. We were one single day into training, and she already wasn’t sticking with the training. Why was I surprised?

Irritation burned under my skin, her pleasure in my annoyance only serving to feed the feeling. I was exhausted from travelling and having to deal with her yesterday, and all I’d had this morning to battle any of that was a decaf green tea.

With a sharp movement, I pushed myself out of the pool, sending water cascading down my body as I stood bare chested before her. Not bothering to grab my towel to dry off, I stood face to face with her, the cap atop her head coming into view and I realized … it was my hat she had stolen.

For a single moment, I would’ve sworn her eyes roamed every inch of my tattooed torso, following up my left arm and across my chest. The intensity of her gaze locked with mine, but it didn’t last long. My eyes narrowed in response as I broke the silence. ‘Where did you find the hat?’

Trying to maintain an intimidating stare, I struggled not to be distracted by her height, only a few inches shorter than mine. And I was reminded to ignore her long legs, to forget how soft they looked, to stop thinking about how they’d feel wrapped around my waist.

Her smile was a little devilish thing. ‘That, old man, is a secret.’

It was as if she already knew how much that nickname got under my skin. Unluckily for her, I’d thought of one that was perfect for her.

Katsarída. I had to stop myself from grinning at the memory of my mom beating the little black disgusting bug away with a broom, yelling their name in her native Greek.

Cockroach.

I exhaled in frustration, trying not to let her antics get to me. Despite the shared animosity, I knew we had to find a way to coexist during our time here. But as Scottie continued to smirk, I couldn’t help but wonder how difficult she might make that. Maybe she wanted me to quit, get Jon’s time all to herself.

‘Tell me where you found the hat,’ I pressed, but she seemed to revel in delight.

‘Why?’ Arching an eyebrow in question, she slowly lifted the mug to her mouth, her pink lips parting before she took a long sip. Her eyes fixed on me as if she wanted me to watch her every move. Her challenge hung in the air, and I was left to make the next serve in this game.

‘It’s mine,’ I grumbled, taking in the cap’s faded blue material, the edges beginning to fray from age.

If she could enjoy this little power play between us, so could I. With a swift, determined motion, I reached for the hat, ready to reclaim what was rightfully mine. But as I tugged it free, Scottie’s hand flew upward to stop me and in reaction, I accidentally bashed her hand holding the mug. She yelped as the coffee poured over her. I grimaced, watching the scene unfold, the hat held in between my fingers, paused in mid-air. She took a step backward, and I watched a renewed look of panic quickly wash over her face before she plunged into the pool with a splash, landing in the water behind her. Resurfacing with a gasp, she blinked a few times before they focused with an unmatched fury on me. Strands of golden hair clung to her wet face, and for a fleeting instant, I forgot to pretend she wasn’t a goddamn work of art.

‘Are you insane?’ she yelled, her voice echoing across the pool area.

‘I didn’t do anything,’ I said, shaking my head at her. Of course, she thought this was my fault. For a moment, I decided to revel in the sight of her in the pool. After the hat and the coffee, it felt good to watch her cool off for a moment. With a smug smile, I placed the hat on my head, and crossed my arms.

‘You did this over a stupid hat?’

If possible, my smirk grew as I continued, fighting it hard not to enjoy the chaos before me. ‘First off, I did nothing. You did this to yourself.’

A loud shrill noise escaped her as she shrieked in annoyance.

‘Second, this is my favourite hat, and you stole it.’

The noise she was making increased to a pitch only dogs could hear. I took that as my cue to leave. Immediately. Turning, I grabbed my towel from the sunbed, threw it over my shoulder, and slipped my shoes back on.

‘Enjoy the rest of your coffee,’ I said, not bothering to give her a second look. Walking down the path back to the villa and making sure to avoid the gang of stray cats that hung out around the grounds, I quickly used the towel to dry off. Heading through the kitchen, I was greeted with the smell of breakfast, three egg white omelettes plated up beside each other on the counter. Hungrily, I dived in, grabbing a fork and leaning against the counter for support.

‘You could have at least put on a T-shirt,’ Elena, the housekeeper, tsked as she shuffled out from the pantry. Despite her petite height, she exuded an air of authority and wisdom, which was exactly why Jon had hired her in the first place.

‘I was hungry,’ I said between bites. ‘It’s good, though.’

She smiled, although her eyes, while kind, held a sharpness that made me think twice about crossing her. It was as if she could see right through me, and with one stern glance and a slight waggle of her finger, I’d feel the same level of guilt as if I’d wronged my own mother.

‘Where’s Scottie?’ she asked as I swallowed another mouthful of food.

As if summoned, Scottie appeared at the kitchen door, hand outstretched and pointed right at me as water dripped from her clothes, a demonic expression on her face.

‘You!’

Elena turned to me, wooden spoon in hand. ‘What did you do?’

‘He pushed me into the pool,’ Scottie called from outside.

‘Why would you do that?’ Elena asked.

I ignored Scottie as she shouted from the door again, ‘Because he’s a child!’

‘She fell in.’ I shrugged, before forking another slice of the delicious omelette into my mouth.

‘I did not.’

‘And she had coffee.’

‘So?’ Elena still had the wooden spoon in her hands, ready to be used as a weapon if necessary.

‘We aren’t supposed to have it.’

‘He’s an asshole,’ Scottie added, before taking a single step inside.

Elena spun again, the spoon now pointed in her direction. ‘No! You stay out there until you dry off.’

‘What?’

‘I just cleaned these floors. You are not dripping pool water everywhere.’

Scottie let out a sound of annoyance but remained in the doorway. Smugness washed over me as I grinned delightedly at her, her blue eyes full of anger, a sneer on her lips. I knew then I’d started a new battle between us. Whether it was something I could finish, I wasn’t quite sure. She wasn’t anything to be afraid of, right? Elena, on the other hand …

The housekeeper turned to me. ‘You. Go get her a towel.’ I paused for a moment, a refusal playing on my lips. But one look at her stern face and the spoon she was still wielding as a weapon, and I swallowed the words. I put the fork down and stepped away from the breakfast bar. ‘There are fresh towels in the downstairs bathroom.’

Without argument, I did what she said, grumbling my way through the villa. When I returned to the kitchen, bath towel in hand, Elena was nowhere to be seen.

‘Hello? Elena?’ I shouted, looking around for her.

‘She went to clean up. Just pass the towel over,’ Scottie said, appearing in the doorway. She was still soaked, but she’d tied her blonde hair back in some sort of complicated braid. As my eyes wandered down, I noticed her white T-shirt sticking to her, showing off every curve of her body … and since the water had made it translucent, the pink lacy bra she was wearing underneath.

The image of Scottie Sinclair in pink lacy underwear plagued my brain, temporarily knocking me out of reality.

‘What?’ Scottie pulled my attention back to her. ‘Scared of what I’ll do to you if you step outside?’

I gulped, her eyes narrowing on me.

‘No, I don’t want to get wet again,’ I lied, edging toward the villa entrance, trying to avoid thinking about the pesky pink bra that was staring right at me, begging my eyes to wander south again.

‘Maybe you should be worried.’

I stretched out the towel to her. ‘I don’t know what you think you could do.’

‘A swift kick to the balls?’ she joked, placing a hand on her hip.

I pressed my lips together, taking a mental note to keep at least a leg’s length of space between us at all times. That girl looked like she had a sharp, strong knee. I gave the towel a little shake. ‘Do you want this or not?’

She leaned forward, water dripping from her arm to grab the towel, but I moved backward on my heels, taking my turn to smirk at her.

‘Say please.’

‘Really?’ she said on an exhale. ‘This is a game children play.’

‘Alternatively, you could tell me where you got the coffee.’

Her answer was quick and solemn, delivered over crossed arms and with a straightened back. ‘Never.’

‘Who’s acting like a child now?’

‘You threw me in the pool.’ Scottie cried, looking at me like I’ve lost my mind. I almost did as she unwrapped her arms, and the pink bra was revealed once again. It used up all my control not to steal another look.

‘I barely touched you.’

‘And why on earth would I tell you my source now?’

I hummed for a moment. ‘Call it team building.’

‘Call it “I know where you sleep, and I won’t hesitate to smother you with a pillow”.’

Stepping away from the doorway, she gave up, the distance between us feeling strained with every step she took. I knew I was being immature, leaving her in the pool and now, with the towel, she didn’t deserve it. But everything she said on the plane, it cut deeper than she could’ve known. In the limited time we’d spent together, she’d managed to read me perfectly, and knew how and where to twist the knife. But I also knew I’d evened the playing field. With a shake of my head, I relented.

‘Here,’ I said, stepping out of the kitchen and reaching out to pass her the towel. She eyed it with suspicion, calculating the risk. ‘I promise it’s fresh.’

It took her another moment before she gave in, taking the towel and wrapping it around her damp body. I tried to look at anything else other than her patting the cotton material across her pale freckled arms and long legs, ignoring the flash of lace I could still see. Forced myself to fix my gaze on the wall, on the vines of green wrapping their way around the brick of the whitewashed villa. ‘We need to find a way to get along.’

‘Maybe if you stop pushing me in pools, that would be a start.’

‘You know,’ I pressed my lips together, trying to let any irritation simmer away, ‘I didn’t push you in.’ As much as I wish I had.

Scottie sighed, throwing the towel over her shoulder. ‘Let’s assume it was an accident.’

I saw her words for what they were: an opportunity to meet me in the middle and let the matter go. It was better than spending weeks arguing against each other.

A little more relaxed at her words, I joked, ‘And you still won’t tell me where to get coffee?’

She cracked a smile at my response, her eyes connecting with mine ‘And I probably never will.’

Her head dipped, and she looked back over through the lush garden again, a long pause filling the space between us.

‘But you’re right.’ she continued. ‘I’m serious about all of this, everything you said on the plane—’

I cut her off, ‘That was mean of me, I … I was mad.’

‘That’s not the problem.’

My brows pushed together in confusion as I watched her bite her lip in a move I could’ve sworn was nerves, that was, if she was even capable of feeling them.

‘It was all true,’ she added.

‘I swear, I was just mad. I didn’t mean it.’ I found myself arguing back, for some reason, trying to soothe her.

‘You did,’ she called me out on the lie as a calm look settled across her features. ‘And so did I. It’s not the point. I meant what I said about you, but it doesn’t mean it’s true. You know yourself, people come back from those surgeries all the time.’

She was right. They did. But my situation was different. A heavy knot pulled in my chest, the fear making the air feel tighter. I sat down to the right of her, avoiding the skinny grey cat that was perched at the end of the wall, watching our every move with its big eyes. There were dozens on the grounds of the villa, no doubt acting as a deterrent for mice and insects, but that didn’t mean I had to like them.

‘There were … complications,’ I admitted. ‘It wasn’t straight-forward. The surgeon botched the job, and that’s why the rehab took so long.’

I didn’t want to go into the details, the pain still seared in my memory. It was supposed to be simple, a few weeks of recovery and followed by intensive therapy. Instead, weeks had turned into months and corrective surgeries that never should’ve been needed, and suddenly I was staring down the barrel of losing everything. I’d never been in that position before, where everything balanced so precariously.

One wrong move, and it was over.

‘Jon was right when he said I’m too slow. I lost my speed, and I’m tired too quickly to last a game, never mind an entire tournament. Wimbledon … It’s always been the dream. The singles title there, it’s what got me into tennis.’

‘Really?’

‘I’ve won the other Slams. Never that one.’

She let out a single laugh, side-eying me as the air lightened for a moment. ‘Rub it in, why don’t you?’

I scoffed, nudging my shoulder against hers as I hung my head. To say the words out loud made me feel a little too raw, too vulnerable. But I’ve known what I’ve been working toward my entire life. I knew it when I spent two weeks every summer glued to the television, getting up early and watching every match I could. I knew it on the hard blue ground at Rod Laver in Melbourne, on the clay French courts at Paris, on the turf at Flushing Meadows in Queens. I knew it with two gold Olympic medals hanging around my neck.

‘I want the Wimbledon title,’ I admitted. ‘Then I can retire.’

I looked at her, trying to see that she understood what this truly meant to me. I’d spent weeks lying in bed, waiting for my knee to heal, convincing myself I’d lost the chance. That it had slipped through my fingers. But I realised, as I took in the understanding and resolve held in her eyes, that she might be the only person who understood what I had on the line.

After all, regardless of the fact it was her fault, she already had lost everything. And this was her chance at getting it back.

‘I know how it feels. Having that goal.’ Her voice was so fucking hopeful, it almost cracked me wide open. ‘That’s why I’m here, too.’

I pushed the emotion back down where it belonged, before asking the thing I’ve been dying to know. ‘Why are you here?’

‘Because Jon convinced me?’

I shook my head, getting to the point. ‘That’s not what I mean. What’s this revenge plot you’ve got against your dad?’

She stiffened, inhaling sharply as she did. Her head tilted down to her lap, where her fingers were rubbing against each other.

‘Nico,’ her voice cut like a knife’s edge. ‘I know it may not make sense to you. But I need you to stop calling him my dad.’

I was about to ask why when she spoke again. ‘I don’t want to talk about it, but believe me, I have my reasons. If I’m going to stay here, if we are going to work together, you’ve got to stop. Or I’ll get back on the plane to London tonight, and we can be done with each other already.’

I was itching to know more, but a single look at her stiff posture and darkened eyes told me enough. Instead, I noted the request and nodded. ‘I won’t call him that anymore.’

‘Thank you.’ Her voice cracked as she spoke, before sending me a small smile. I watched her for a moment, seeing a different side to her than I’d ever expected.

Professional athletes weren’t supposed to show weakness. We were taught to be strong, to carry on through the pain, to risk our bodies and mind and soul for a single trophy. And get up and do it again. We rip our palms and knees and soles of our feet to shreds and thank everyone for supporting us while we did.

But in that moment, she was a raw nerve. Exposed and unprotected. I grew desperate to wrap my arms around her and make sure, whatever she was thinking about, she knew nothing could hold us back.

However reluctantly, she was my teammate. Which meant as much as she was my problem, I was hers, too.

I tried to crack the tension with a joke. ‘And in return, you’ll tell me where the coffee is?’

All evidence of our serious conversation disappeared when she looked at me, a glimpse of the playful, annoying sparkle returning to her blue eyes.

‘You wish.’