Clean Point

25 Scottie

25

How Not To Drown (feat. Robert Smith) – CHVRCHES

Nico served first, the shot powerful and clean as his racket sliced through the air with precision. Inés returned it with a swift forehand, and the rally began. My heart raced as we glided around the court, taking up and defending our space. Nico was at the back on the baseline, while I was closer to the net, ready to intercept any shots that came my way.

We all defended for a few volleys, managing to return the ball before Henrik had an opportunity to unleash his lethal backhand. Reacting on instinct, I ran, meeting the ball with millimetres to spare, and sent it back over the net with a perfectly executed volley. Inés ran, finding the ball easily before returning.

Nico’s calculating eyes locked onto the ball’s trajectory, and with a swift leap, he smashed it with an overhead slam that left Henrik rooted to the spot. The ball rocketed past him and landed in the corner of the court, well out of Inés’s reach.

The game was ours, and so was the match.

We’d been playing all afternoon, and while they had won their fair share of games, we had beat them in straight sets. It was clear to anyone on or off the court what a great team we were making.

I grinned over at Nico, only to watch him as he lifted his hat, bicep of his bare arm tightening as he moved to wipe the brow of his forehead after hours in the Greek sun. Apparently, halfway through today’s practice, it had gotten too hot for a top.

I bit my lip as my gaze trailed down his powerful arm, the dark ink of the tattoos that wrapped around his limb only heightening the experience. Silently, and on behalf of humanity, I cried a hallelujah to the tennis Gods for what the sport had done to that man’s forearms.

‘Good save there, Sinclair.’ He nodded, and it took a moment for his words to sink in, my brain switching gears from topless Nico to whatever he had said.

‘Not so bad yourself, Kotas.’ I smiled nervously, forcing myself to maintain eye contact. ‘Maybe next time you won’t get caught short on Henrik’s backhand.’

His eyebrows pushed up. ‘I wouldn’t get caught short if my partner was in the right place.’

‘I was in the right place.’ I pressed forward to argue, but Inés got there first.

‘If I hear you guys picking apart your game piece by piece, I will be forced to shove this racket up your asses.’ She spun the racket in her hands, looking rather threatening.

Nico hummed. ‘Like, collectively, or one at a time?’

‘Not the point, Nico.’ She gave him a blank stare. ‘You guys are impossible to beat. Stop arguing so much and it will be fine.’

The nervous ball that had been building in the pit of my stomach for weeks returned. We were due to leave our little bubble soon and fly back to London. The week after, Wimbledon would begin. It was my first competition in two years, and I wasn’t sure I was ready.

What if I let everyone down? What if I took one wrong step and these weeks, all of our hard work, had been for nothing? Before, it had been me and the expectations that I had to fight for. But now, I had a teammate who relied on me to not misstep. How could I handle it if it all went wrong, and it was my fault?

I turned to Nico, deflated. ‘I wasn’t in the wrong place, but I should’ve gotten the shot after. I missed it.’

‘You did, but I got to it, so it’s all good.’ His tone was soothing, the easy look on his face telling me to calm down. ‘You saved my ass countless times. It’s what teammates do.’

Teammates. Six weeks together and that was all we were. But teammates didn’t think the things I had been thinking about him.

I let out a deep breath, but it did very little to loosen the knot. Turning, I made my way to the side of the court to take a moment for myself, trying to pull myself back from the edge of the dark thoughts that had begun to shadow at the edges.

Grabbing my water bottle and taking a long sip, I watched as Inés and Henrik still stood in the middle of the court, picking apart their own game.

‘Whatcha doing?’ Nico nudged into my side, the momentarily warm press of his sweaty body overwhelming.

I twisted, looking up at him as I recapped my bottle. ‘What do you mean?’

He sat down on the bench as he dug his towel out of his bag, swinging it over his neck. ‘You know you didn’t do anything wrong, right?’

I turned back to the court, watching Jon as he joined the conversation with Inés. I recognized the expression on his face, the movement as he used his hands to count all the things he was listing off. It was a typical Jon talk down, a post training download of every misstep and mistake we made.

‘I shouldn’t be making mistakes like that,’ I admitted. I had to do better. I could do better. If I’d played like that before, with … with him, I’d be back out there, doing drills over and over until holding the racket was more from sheer will instead of capability, blisters ripping on my palm. Because that’s what it took to be a winner. I sat down, slumping beside Nico, my back leaning against the metal net of the tall fence.

‘That’s why there’s two of us out there. We have each other’s backs,’ Nico said, his head tilted.

The last point continued to repeat in my head, over and over. Catching the moment I made the wrong decision, misread my opponent. It couldn’t happen again. Henrik was good, but a better player would’ve exploited the weakness in a heartbeat.

‘All the same, I shouldn’t be doing something stupid. It could cost us the game.’

‘What about the mistakes I made?’ he argued. ‘Do you want to see me beating myself up over them?’

‘No, of course not.’

‘And do you know why you won’t catch me doing that?’ My focus pulled to him, those grey eyes on me. ‘Because it’s not worthwhile. A million things can go wrong between the start of the match and the final bounce of the ball, and about ninety-nine percent of them are out of your control. The mistakes you made, out of your control. Just don’t get …’ Something in his voice changed, the firm line of his jawline stiffening. ‘Don’t get distracted.’

The word hung in the air between us, like a secret code between us. Distracted.

Did he feel it too? I’d seen how he looked at me, it was getting hard to pretend I hadn’t. It was even harder to pretend I didn’t do my own fair share of looking. See: my eyes fixed on his instead of trailing down the hard line of biceps that had been teasing me. But he’d given it a name, and I couldn’t argue with it, not with everything that was already on the line.

Distraction. We were walking on a knife edge, trying to keep ourselves upright before the hardest three weeks of our lives. Anything new, any move unconsidered, could put that balance at risk.

‘Yeah.’ The word croaked out of me as I nodded my head, looking away from Nico, and instead down at the gritted ground of the court, rubbing the sole of my trainer into the grass. I shook my head. ‘Of course. You’re right. We’ve got to focus.’

I knew what this would take. For us to get anywhere, to win, I had to stop with the flirting and the staring and the constant thinking about how hard the muscle of his thick thighs must be, how they would feel under my hands.

All of that had to wait. Or better yet, disappear entirely. That would be easier. Cleaner.

‘This next bit, it’s all about confidence,’ he began again, the tone changing as the tight air loosened around us. ‘Trust me, if something went wrong, Jon would be over here kicking your ass about it. But he wasn’t. He was busy chewing Inés out for her mistakes because they were avoidable.’

I looked across to where they had been standing, finding that they had dispersed, Jon finished with his complaining for the day. Then, catching me off guard, Nico’s hand slipped against mine. The contact almost had me flinching until I released it was supposed to be harmless, but my heart pounded all the same.

That tightrope came into view. A balancing act between staying the course, keeping our focus, and falling into whatever had been building between us. But he spoke again, and I would’ve taken a pair of scissors to the rope if it meant I could keep feeling how he’d made me feel.

‘There is not a single shred of doubt in my body over being your partner, Scottie. I trust you implicitly.’ A caress of his shoulder against mine threatened to be overwhelming. I was quickly learning that anything that seemed simple about Nico was in fact the opposite. Instead, he was layered and nuanced, and I was beginning to grow addicted to every scrap of closeness I could gain from him.

‘Whether we win or lose, we do it together,’ he finished, and I could see it in my mind’s eye. The result of our work, standing Centre Court on a summer’s day in London. Standing with him. That was beginning to feel like it would be enough of a reward.

All I could do was nod because words were beyond my capability as I watched the bob of his throat before tracing the curve of his comforting smile. When we arrived six weeks ago, I wasn’t even sure he could smile. He was just grumpy. All the time. Now, all he seemed to do was smile.

‘Together,’ I echoed, trying to return his smile. With one last squeeze, his hand slipped from mine, and he stood up and helped me to my feet. Looking around, we found the court empty, everyone else having disappeared.

‘We better head inside before they send out a search party for us,’ he said, but there was still a reluctance in my bones, telling me I wasn’t quite done.

‘You go ahead. I’ll save Jon a job and clean up here.’

‘I can help.’

‘No, it’s fine. You should probably hit the shower.’ I winked, trying not to protest too hard. He narrowed his eyes in mock disdain before lifting an arm and taking a strong whiff. And judging by the twist of disgust that appeared across his features, he didn’t disagree.

‘Okay, maybe you’re right,’ he conceded, before reaching for the hat atop his head. I tried not to feel the well of emotion opening up inside of me, the soft twist of my gut, the begging of every nerve end to touch him as he stepped close, and placed the hat on my head, adjusting it so it sat snugly.

He took a step back, analysing his work. ‘It looks better on you, anyway,’ he admitted. The squeeze of my heart was a cruel and beautiful thing. A reminder that he was forbidden. At least, that’s what I had to keep telling myself.

‘See you inside.’ Nico slung his bag over his shoulder and left me alone. It took me a moment to collect myself. My fingertips ran over the stitching on the edge of the cap, trying not to read into his actions, but failing. I shook my head and set up the ball machine, then grabbed my racket, and redid what I had messed up during practice until I got it perfectly.

Each ball I hit, I put something of myself into it, this ballooning feeling that’s grown too big for my chest. I needed to vent it before it overtook me, before it knocked me from my balance.

Before I did something stupid.