23 Scottie
23
Dream Girl Evil – Florence + The Machine
The early morning air was a cool breeze as I sat on the rocky shore, waves quietly drifting against the beach as the sun peeked out from under the horizon. I hadn’t slept all night. Instead, I scrolled through social media, going through every tweet that mentioned my name since the article came out. It didn’t look pretty. It was still an unconfirmed rumour, but that was enough to send the internet alight again with further rumours, even past articles being rehashed and shared.
Year-old photos of me leaving clubs and bars. Selfies from parties with people I’d regretted knowing. Yachts that had sunk to the bottom of the Med.
I made Jon aware of the leak, and within seconds he’d called the lawyers. When he’d told me what he’d discovered, the discrepancies with the test results, what had happened became clear to me.
The tight band around my stomach tightened as I looked down at the screen, seeing his named contact. All this time, I’d never deleted his phone number. I never understood why, but somehow I knew I’d need it one day.
With a deep inhale, I pressed the number and lifted the phone to my ear. Dread beat on me like a drum with every unanswered ring. My fingers pressed to the sandy floor for support. Any planned script went out the window at the sound of my father’s voice.
‘Hello?’ he answered, still sounding groggy. It was still early back in the UK, but a 5 a.m. wake-up time was his usual. ‘Hello? Anyone there?’
I moved to speak, but no words came out. My voice was missing in action. Gone. My hand felt slippery around the phone, and I was almost sure I was going to drop it or hang up.
‘Scottie … is that you?’ The sound of my name on his lips stung enough to snap me back into my body.
I closed my eyes and replied, ‘It’s been a while.’
‘Two years.’ The sleepy tone disappeared from his voice, as if I had grabbed his full attention. I was desperate to ask him how he was, the memory of the father I’d grown up with just within grasp. But he wasn’t that person.
I cut straight to the point, summing back up all the courage that had previously abandoned me. ‘The test. Did you leak it?’
The silence on the other end of the phone almost felt like an answer.
‘You call after all this time, and this is what you ask?’
I pushed away the implied guilt. He didn’t deserve any of my time. I wouldn’t have even called him if I didn’t desperately need to know the truth. Like an uncomfortable sunburn that had kept me awake all night, and hearing the truth from him would be the aloe vera.
Keeping my tone firm, my fingers curled into the sand as if I was trying to root myself to the ground and pull yet more strength from it. ‘This is the only thing I want to talk about.’
‘And here I thought you’d want to chat,’ he murmured. ‘Catch up with your old man.’
‘Can you just answer the damn question?’ I snapped, losing my patience. It felt good to shout. We’d never fought before. He ordered, I followed. No arguments. And why would I? I had trusted him. He was my father, after all. He’d never do anything to hurt me. Until he did.
‘Take a moment and think about what you’re doing.’ He paused. ‘Training with Nico Kotas? Did you think I could let that happen?’
I almost wanted to smile, knowing that I had managed to do exactly what I’d wanted. Get under his skin. ‘I don’t think you have much choice in the matter.’
‘You’d be surprised at the strings I can pull.’
I swallowed down my discomfort. The very idea that he still felt he could control me made my skin itch. ‘So it was you.’
He fell silent for a moment, his hesitation hanging heavily as if he couldn’t decide. ‘Stop training with him. Come back to London and we can talk. This can all go away.’
‘No.’ I didn’t need to think about my answer. ‘I’d stop playing before I went back to you.’
Go back to him. To that cage.
‘Then stop playing.’
I inhaled sharply, shaking my head before looking out at the sea, watching the waves wash away at the shore.
For two years, I had done that. I paid the price for his mistake and quit. And that … that had been just fine. I had done things I’d never done, lived in a way I’d always dreamed of. I’d escaped.
But now, with my feet back on the court, I remembered the strength in my arms, the speed of my serve. I had found the power he had taken away. And I wasn’t going to give that up.
‘No.’
‘You’ll regret it, Scottie, playing without me,’ he warned.
‘You’re wrong.’ I didn’t believe him, not after everything that had gone down between us. I’d happily walk away again if it meant keeping my life away from his. ‘Tell me how you found out about the test. Then I want you to leave me alone.’
Another grumble rang through the phone, one that sounded like it was on the edge of a laugh. Like a parent who has reached the end of their tether with their bratty child. ‘Not everyone in that villa is your friend. Remember that.’
And then he hung up the call. Leaving me alone again on the beach with nothing but suspicions.