Clean Point

21 Nico

21

Would’ve Could’ve Should’ve – Taylor Swift

Scottie walked away, her blonde hair disappearing as she headed down the path that led to the tennis court, my mind reeling.

‘Coward,’ Dylan spat. I narrowed my eyes on her, heart beating so loud it drowned out almost every other sound.

‘Don’t call her that,’ I replied firmly. I wanted to follow Scottie, figure this out, but first I needed to deal with Dylan. ‘Where do you get off saying those things?’

She rolled her eyes, throwing her head back on a huff. ‘I think I’m more than entitled. It’s all true.’

I paused for a moment, weighing up what Dylan had said. For weeks now, I’d been trying to match up the Scottie I’d assumed she was: the daughter of my rival; the party girl who didn’t take any of this seriously; the cheat. But also trying to connect her with the person I had spent countless hours on the court with. The person I knew she was.

‘You don’t think there’s a chance she’s being honest?’ I asked, brows pressed together. I didn’t know her before, but Dylan had.

‘You can’t trust her, Nico.’ She pressed forward, waving her hands dismissively before staring me down. ‘This is your career. Your fucking legacy. And agreeing to play with that cheat is going to cost you everything.’

I hesitated, Scottie’s words echoing in my head. Jon had believed her, enough to invite her here and pair us together. Enough that he kept this from me.

‘You don’t know that,’ Inés said, stepping closer to the table. ‘I had never expected her to be a cheat before. We used to be friends. It never felt like her. It took us all by surprise.’

Dylan huffed a laugh. ‘Not me.’

Inés let out a heavy breath, looking at Dylan before meeting my gaze. ‘For what it’s worth, I believe her.’

‘Ridiculous.’ Dylan shook her head. ‘You know what you’re risking with her.’

I clenched my fists as I felt the weight of the decision I was making. Dylan was right. The wrong call here and I could be throwing away my last chance. But there was something, an itch at the back of my head, that told me Scottie was worth the risk. ‘I don’t think any of us truly know what happened with Scottie,’ I admitted.

‘We know she cheated before. This test shows that she’s more than willing to take shortcuts again.’

I knew the facts, understood there was hard evidence to back it all up. But these weeks, every glance and secret shared, they’d told me something new about her, and what I thought I knew altered with every moment spent with her.

‘If it’s right,’ I said the thought out loud. She’d sworn it wasn’t, begged me to believe her. I closed my eyes, and I could see the desperate look on her face, the worried press of her eyebrows, the sadness in her eyes. ‘I know her.’

‘You’ve only known her for a few weeks,’ Dylan retorted. The truth of her words somehow stung more than they should have.

‘And it was long enough to know she wouldn’t do that. Not again.’ I shook my head as I made a decision. I hoped I wouldn’t live to regret it. I’d seen how hard she worked. She was quick and smart and strong, and I couldn’t help but doubt everything I’d once held true about her.

Dylan bit at her cheek, anger and frustration lacing her words. ‘Once is already enough, but twice? She’s not trustworthy.. You’re an idiot for thinking she is.’

‘Dylan,’ Inés interrupted, trying to calm her friend down by reaching out to touch her shoulder, but Dylan only shook her off.

‘No, Nico is. Him playing with her only helps validate her stupid comeback. That’s probably why Jon paired them up in the first place. Give her the best tennis partner, ignoring any player more worthy.’ She turned her attention from Inés back to me. ‘He knew you were her father’s rival. Imagine all the attention it’s going to get on court. It’s a circus act, and we’re her clowns.’

‘Enough,’ I broke. ‘You don’t have to move on, but if you keep talking about her this way, then we are going to have a problem.’

‘Move on? You’re delusional, Kotas,’ Dylan scoffed. ‘Scottie Rossi, or Sinclair, or whatever she wants to be called is a fucking cheat and we all know it. Does she really think changing her last name will make us forget what she did?’

I turned to Inés. ‘You better keep Dylan away from Scottie.’ And then I stormed down the same path that Scottie had disappeared down. I nearly made it all the way to the beach looking for her before I turned back, but when I saw lights in the distance, I knew exactly where she was.

The clench around my heart relaxed as I found her, bathed in the stark illumination of the towering floodlights on the practice court. I watched from behind the fence for a moment as she bounced the ball against the opposite wall of the court, sprinting back and forth as she responded with precise, powerful strokes of her racket.

Her face was focused, teeth gritted together as she swung again and again. Each movement was perfect, her racket gliding through the air to meet every ball, knocking each one with a force I was almost scared to interrupt. Every stroke sizzled with lingering fury, each hit seeming like a personal vendetta.

Pop.

That was for Dylan.

Pop.

Probably Matteo.

Pop.

I’d stood there hoping I wasn’t next.

Finally, she missed, her footwork slipping. I still couldn’t take my eyes from her as she swore, the pain ringing as she leaned forward, raising the racket over her head before mercilessly driving it down, smashing it into the unforgiving court surface.

Again and again, she raised her arm, relentlessly pummelling the racket until it lay in shattered ruins at her feet before her knees hit the grass, collapsing alongside the remaining pieces. I kept silent, standing at the gate, watching her as she sat, slumped, staring at the ground.

She looked up, her tone accusatory. ‘What are you doing here?’

‘Thought I’d hit a few balls around.’ I walked into the light as she attempted a forced smile. It only lasted for a couple of seconds before disappearing. I lowered myself to the ground next to her, resigned to sit in silence until she felt like talking. It had been a lot, watching Dylan tear into her like that, and I didn’t want to leave her alone unless she specifically asked for it. I had also been hoping to get to the bottom of these blood test results that Scottie swore weren’t real.

It was a few moments more before she spoke again, her gaze halfway across the court, the tone of her voice resigned. ‘I can’t do this anymore.’

‘Play tennis?’ I cracked a weak smile, before nodding to the bent racket that laid in pieces in front of her. ‘Not with that racket, no.’

‘I don’t belong in this world anymore, and I’m done pretending that I do. I’m going home.’

‘Home?’ My brows furrowed together. Weeks spent together, and I still wasn’t sure where that truly was for either of us. With all the travelling I do for the sport, I’m never in one place for too long.

‘London. Paris. Wherever,’ she said, her shoulders sagging as if she was weighed down by her next words. ‘I’m done here.’

My chest grew tight. ‘Like hell you are. You can’t quit on me now.’

She looked at me, her lips pressed into a firm line as her spine straightened. ‘Quit on you? This is for you. The entire world sees me as a cheat.’

‘I don’t.’ Shaking my head, I swallowed down all my remaining reservations. ‘I don’t think you’re a cheat.’

The expression on her face twisted into confusion. ‘What about the test?’

‘We’ll have them retest the sample. If you say something isn’t right, I believe you.’ The words sounded a little strange, strangled even as they left my throat. But nonetheless, I knew them to be true.

Scottie Sinclair, despite everything, had my trust.

‘You know this could ruin you? What will everyone think? Nico Kotas snuggled up with Matteo Rossi’s cheat of a daughter.’

‘Don’t speak about yourself like that.’ The words tumbled out of me on a stern command. I hated hearing anyone talk about her that way, hated it more coming from her own mouth. Whatever she had done in the past, it didn’t matter. It didn’t define who she was, nor did it give anyone the right to judge her for it. I’d done that too, assumed the worst before I’d even known her. I still felt bad about our first meeting, the memory of her hand stuck out for me to shake, and me ignoring it like she didn’t even deserve the respect of a simple handshake.

‘It’s what they’ll think,’ Scottie repeated, pushing herself off the ground, before turning to walk away. I’d scrambled to my feet, knee aching as I rushed to stand, and grabbed her elbow gently causing her to still. Part of me felt a wave of relief at the physical connection. It was often hard to know where Scottie’s head was at, but at that moment she didn’t seem so far away. That was until she glanced down at the spot where we were connected, and although it pained me, I released my grip, cutting the tether between us.

‘What Dylan said, it’s what everyone will say. I’ll be a stain on your career, and … I don’t want that.’ Her voice was tinged with a vulnerability I wasn’t used to hearing. It was all over her face, she was … scared. I hated seeing her like that; it drove me wild with my own panic. I tried desperately to read her, but it was as if she were pages of a book written in a secret-coded language and nobody had bothered to show me the cipher. ‘Tell Jon thanks, but I’m done. I’m exhausted pretending that this is working.’

‘So what?’ I snapped back with agitation, my trainers scuffing against the brightly lit court as I paced back and forth. ‘Things get hard, and if you can’t cheat your way out of it, you quit? Is that what the last two years have been about?’ She stiffened, and I realized my words hit their mark. ‘I guess so.’

I ignored the twisting in my gut that told me this was wrong, pushed away the want and will to get on my knees and beg her to stay, if not for herself, then selfishly for me. These weeks, I could see the change in myself, feel it in my body. Having Scottie around lit my world on fire. Whether that was a good or bad, I was past caring, I just wanted her carrying the matches.

‘You know, I was beginning to think I had you pegged wrong.’ I couldn’t stop myself from twisting it all further, angry that she’d give up like this. She’d throw it all away? Quit and call it a personal service? ‘I thought you were better than this. But here you are, leaving because things got a little tough.’

‘A little tough?’ she scoffed. ‘Do you even realise the shit I go through on a daily basis? From the tabloids, to Dylan, and now you? I’ve not even done anything wrong!’

‘The world already thinks you’re a cheat and now you want them to think you’re a quitter too?’

‘Nico. Just stop,’ she shouted, but like an asshole, I ignored her.

‘Then why are you quitting? Why are you throwing everything away, again? Why are you le—’

‘It wasn’t my fault.’ She cracked open, cutting me off, but what spilled out was unexpected. ‘I didn’t even know it was happening.’

I froze in place. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

‘I didn’t do it.’ Her lips trembled as she spoke. Even in the silence of the night, it felt like the crashing of the nearby waves against the sand was louder than her voice. But she kept staring right at me, those blue eyes piercing, holding my attention as I tried to place the puzzle pieces together.

‘Are you saying they got the test wrong back then, too?’ I asked, trying to make sense of her words. It seemed unlikely they had gotten it wrong twice. Surely, she wouldn’t have just accepted the error. After all, she had personally admitted to cheating. I could almost taste the unease and tension hanging between us, a salty tang that lingered on the tongue.

She shook her head, loose blonde hair swaying with the movement as the moonlight illuminated the worry lines creasing her forehead. My muscles were so taut with frustration, and I was at the end of my patience of waiting for her to tell me the truth.

But instead, I smoothed out the feeling, taking a moment to consider how hard this was for her. Her chest heaved desperately for a full breath of air, her fingers running through her hair, pushing the golden locks out of her face, behind her ears, only for the wind to undo all her work. What a beautiful mess.

I’d took a step forward and closed the gap between us. With her gaze meeting mine, my left hand stretched out, fingertips finding the delicate line of her jaw. Drawing upward, her face leaned into my touch, my fingers sliding below her ear as my thumb stroked at the soft velvet skin of her cheek.

There was a single thought that cemented itself in my brain. A new desperate weakness to understand her.

‘Tell me, please.’ My voice was a trembling plea, an unspoken bargain that no matter what she said, I would believe her. ‘Tell me what happened.’

‘My dad, I mean, Matteo …’ Scottie started, slipping up as her words rushed out. She looked away again, her blue eyes shimmering with tears as she stumbled, trying to find the words. Trying to find the strength.

After Scottie came forward, it was easy to believe he’d turned on her. His legacy, now tarnished. It had been his driving force all those years. Had he really thrown her out? Had they had some kind of argument. Her spine straightened, arms falling to her side momentarily, before her hands met again, her fingers intertwined, like no matter how much she tried, anxiety couldn’t let her stay still. She took a deep breath, her pink lips pressing together before she pulled the bottom one in between her teeth and finally, the secret she had been keeping from the entire world spilled out.

‘He drugged me.’

My thumb stopped mid-stroke, my body frozen as I reeled from the shock of the confession. My eyes searched her face for any sign of humour, waited for her lips to curve into a playful smile and tell me she was joking. But she didn’t. And my heart shattered.

‘For months, I had no idea. My own father.’ Her words were shaky, like she was recalling a nightmare.

A wave of guttural horror sank deep, goosebumps pebbling along my arms. ‘Will you tell me what happened? Please?’

Her gaze held onto mine, as if she needed me to know, to see, that she was still telling the truth. ‘He spiked my protein shakes. I was injured in the French Open, before Wimbledon. It was doubtful I’d recover in time. But they kept me training, and recovery should’ve been harder, but it wasn’t. I didn’t find out he did it until I got home the night after Wimbledon.’

Her arms wrapped around her body as she shivered from the cool breeze, the scent of the salted sea riding it. I could see the weight that had been freed from her as her shoulders pulled back, her expression more relaxed, but still tinged with the worry that I might not believe her.

I replayed her words over and over, trying to understand what she had endured. She’d set herself on fire, her career on fire, her whole damn life on fire, all to get away from him. Questions tore through me, but they were nothing compared to the fiery rage that had reignited in the pit of my stomach. A flame that burned white hot, as an almost primal instinct clawed at me.

‘How did you find out?’ I asked, needing to know. Needing to know everything. She gnawed on her lower lip and I pressed further. ‘Scottie, help me understand.’

She released a heavy breath. ‘I had just got home from a Wimbledon after party, and overheard Jon and Matteo talking about it in the kitchen. More like fighting about it. And I–’

‘Jon was there?’ I saw red. Of course Jon was there. He was her coach then, he had to know. And even if he didn’t, he had a responsibility to look after her, to keep her safe. Instead, she was taken advantage of. And now, with these fake results being leaked to the press, his empty promises to protect her, it was happening all over again. With veins simmering, I was ready to rip apart the people who had failed her.

And Jon’s name was at the top of my list.