40 Scottie
40
Castles Crumbling (feat. Hayley Williams) – Taylor Swift
Anger like this was a real, tangible thing. A beast, living and breathing. Normally, I had a leash on it, controlling it to my own advantage. The strength that sort of rage contained was a useful tool, delivering precise serves and driving me to success when all else had failed.
But that match against Inés, with that umpire, I hadn’t just lost control – I’d let it consume me entirely.
I sat on the wooden locker room bench, a personal one this time since I’d made it to the quarterfinals, surrounded by the entire contents of my training bag. Emptied out, kicked around, and smashed into walls. Two tennis rackets sat in pieces alongside crushed bottles and snacks that had been crushed with angry stomps.
And yet, my blood was still molten lava, anger burning up my veins. My body didn’t feel like my own, still finding my way back through my rage.
The game had been a car crash from the start. I was all for respecting the umpire, but he had some sort of vendetta against me, calling my shots out but ignoring my opponent’s, picking on me for time discrepancies. It would’ve been fine if he was strict, but it was only for me.
He was intent on wasting my time, keeping me out of my focus and ruining my game.
In the end, there was only so much I could take before I snapped, and boy did I. I played everything wrong, footwork turning clumsy, and any sort of strategic thinking completely was thrown out of the window. By the final set of the game, I was practically begging for Inés to knock me out in some freak tennis accident and end my suffering once and for all.
A knock on the door broke me out of my spiralled thinking, and I could barely manage a reply, my voice hoarse from yelling.
‘Yeah?’ The noise was croaked, but it was loud enough for the person on the other side to hear. I expected Jon, expected his disappointed grimace and shoulder pat, paired with a somewhat comforting, ‘there’s always next time, kid’. I’d probably end up snapping all over again.
Instead, Nico appeared, and relief washed over me. Dressed in a white T-shirt and shorts, he was ready for his own afternoon match. I could barely manage to look at him, the softness in his grey eyes overwhelming.
I expected him to pause, to look around and be ashamed of the mess I had made, of what my rage looked like. Instead, I listened to the door click closed behind him, heard his careful footsteps walk across to me, and stayed frozen as he sat down on the bench beside me, his body grazing against the side of mine.
I couldn’t help but melt into him when his strong arm wrapped around my body, the warmth of his body and fresh scent of his shampoo surrounded me and all of a sudden, the dam broke. Instead of my earlier anger and frustration breaking through, I was crying, shattered and falling apart in his arms. He held me, one hand rubbing low on my back, the other stroking soothingly over my hair, letting me ugly sob into him.
‘It’s okay.’ His head leaned onto mine, leaving a single kiss on the top of my hair. ‘You tried your best. You were beautiful out there.’
I sobbed into his clean T-shirt, more than sure that I was leaving embarrassing wet patches into the white material. ‘I was a mess.’
His hand on my lower back stroked, the movement wide as he kept a strong pressure there, the moment calming my heartbeat. ‘You know that wasn’t your fault.’
‘I threw it away. I let him get to me.’
‘It happens to the best of us,’ he comforted, before going a step further. His hand moved to my opposite thigh, wedging over and pulling my body onto his. Our chests pressed together, my head on his shoulder, legs around his waist. I pulled myself as close as I could, feeling his chest rising and falling against mine, deep calming breaths that remind me of the waves softly crashing into the rocky Rhodes shore.
I could still hear it, the noises of the beach that day we sat out there, sharing stories like we were the only two in the world. How was it he always found me? Always knew what to say and do?
‘I’ve done it myself,’ he admitted. ‘The French Open during the semis a couple years back. There was this umpire, and I knew it from the beginning, how he looked at me. Like I was trouble, and they were going to treat me as such. He made every possible call against me, and by the end, I … I lost it completely.’
The memory resurfaced. Diva behaviour on court always made news. I could practically feel the headlines being drawn up as we spoke.
‘Was that the time you broke your racket on court?’ I asked.
‘It was my lucky racket, too,’ he joked. ‘The umpire did me for equipment damage, so I threw it at his head. Goddamn idiot move. Got me disqualified.’
I remembered the video and felt his rage through the screen. It was easy to think he was being hateful and unprofessional, and maybe it was. But when you poured so much intensity into the practice, when you turned your body into a tool, walking the precipice of physical abuse, it was hard to stay rational in the face of unfairness.
When you feel like the opportunity is being stolen from you, it’s twice as hard as when you screw it up yourself. Usually, because it feels like weakness.
‘At least I waited until I was alone to lose my shit,’ I hummed, every moment with him leaving me a little lighter.
He laughed softly. The feeling of it against my chest had me closing my eyes, revelling in his joy. ‘You sure did a number here. I’m quite impressed.’
‘I swear if people knew how good it felt to destroy a racket, the entire anger management industry would collapse in on itself.’
‘Maybe we should consider taking a few classes.’ His tone turned light and playful. ‘It might save a few innocent rackets from total destruction.’
‘Nah.’ Slowly, my own lips began to curl with his words. ‘They had it comin’.’
I pulled back from his shoulder and sat up to properly look at him. His face was clear of any judgement, any pity either hidden or non-existent. Instead, his eyes were filled with concern as they scanned over my face. I was sure my red-rimmed eyes, and puffy face, were quite the look.
He asked, ‘Are you okay?’ The immediate grimace on my face was a clear answer. ‘I mean, you know you’re going to be okay?’
I shifted my head back and forth, still trying to decide that for myself. ‘We do still have a doubles competition to win.’
At least we had that. Normally, this would be it for me. I’d be done and out until the next competition. But because we were here together, I had a second opportunity. I could win with him by my side, and now I realized I couldn’t think of a sweeter ending to this story.
A smile grew wide on his lips. ‘Atta girl.’
‘And you a singles,’ I reminded. I could’ve sworn the smile faltered for a moment, something in his eyes flickering, but his hands moved to the side of my face, cupping and pulling me into him for a kiss as if to distract me. Which, it did, my body giving into the moment, enjoying the momentary freedom from the heavy feeling that was still to loosen its grip.
‘What time is your match?’ I asked, resting my forehead against him.
He groaned, scrunching his face up. ‘Soon. An hour.’
‘Jon will be hunting you down for warmups,’ I warned, eliciting another noise of complaint from him. I smiled, kissing him once again as a comfort, before shifting my weight.
‘No,’ he said, his hands keeping me on him. ‘One more minute.’
I raised an eyebrow at his words, forcing my lips to stay pressed together in a disapproving line. I was ready to put up a small fake fight, but I was too weak against him and instantly I relented to his request, my lips meeting his again.
We stayed like that for a moment, wrapped up in each other, losing ourselves a little. It was so easy to be with him. He hadn’t come here to make me feel worse; he’d come because he supported me, to be here for me. I’d been running from what used to be my life for years. Who’d have known that he’d be the person to help bring me back. I wanted to stay tangled up in his arms, in his bed, for as long as he’d have me.
‘You gotta go,’ I reminded him, finding the physical strength to pull myself away from him. He narrowed his eyes at me, pursing his lip to one side as if he was considering bowing out of the competition entirely to stay here five minutes longer.
‘Fine,’ he agreed, his tone grumpy. ‘But tonight, keep it free.’
My eyebrows pressed up. ‘Why?’
‘I think after today, we deserve some time off.’
I paused at the idea, considering my options. Another late night analysing every misstep I took on court, every time I should’ve kept my calm at the umpire, every bad call he made.
Or a hanging out with Nico Kotas.
‘I’m in,’ I said, watching his smile grow. I slid from his lap and raised a single finger. ‘On one condition.’
His head fell back in fake annoyance. ‘What’s that?’
‘You gotta win.’
His smile turned into a sly smirk. ‘Maybe you ought to stick around, be my good luck charm, and make sure I do.’
‘Me?’ I let out a sharp laugh. ‘After today, you really think I’m lucky?’
He kissed me once, just a quick peck, but it was enough to leave me breathless. ‘Wear my hat and prove me right.’