Chapter 20
A TIME-SENSITIVE TEXT
Am I going through a dehydration episode, or did my dad say Tim McEnroe is going to be my new coach?
“Tim McEnroe is going to be your coach,” Dad repeats, grinning at my stunned face as he rubs his hands with excitement.
“Joe, that’s … great news,” Henry says, shooting a quick glance my way before turning back to my dad. “But isn’t he Theo Dabrowski’s coach?”
That tiny but powerful piece of information stuns me most. So much that I can’t process what it really means: Henry won’t be my coach anymore.
“Tim is done with Theo,” Dad moves to say, which doesn’t come as a surprise. Theo’s got a rather particular personality. “He claims that their time together has come to an end, and he won’t be renewing his contract next spring.”
Sounds familiar …
“I don’t know if I feel comfortable stealing Theo’s coach, Dad. It feels unfair, and I’m not sure it’s the right move. What if Theo wants to keep him, tries to renegotiate his contract, and it turns into some ugly fight over who gets Tim?”
“I know you and Theo are close,” Dad says in a calmer tone, making Henry veer his attention straight at me. His jaw works for a second, and curiosity lines his forehead.
Interesting.
“What’s done is done,” Dad continues. “We need Tim on our side. If we don’t take him for ourselves, somebody else will, and I cannot allow that.”
“Henry’s been an excellent coach,” I reply, knowing perfectly well that I’m putting my dad on the spot with Henry being present in the conversation.
But it’s the truth. We make a great team.
Henry’s position as my coach has always been temporary, but now, after everything that’s happened, I’m not ready to let him go. Not yet.
“And Henry has plans of his own,” Dad interjects.
I turn to look at Henry and I’m sure my eyes scream, “Care to share them with me?”
“Drew told me Theo will be at the cocktail party tomorrow,” Dad carries on with the propaganda, “so why don’t you approach him and see if you can find a way to feel things out regarding where he stands with Tim.
I’m sure it’ll put you at ease. Not that it’ll change anything, because this is happening.
I’ve already got the lawyers working on the paperwork as we speak. ”
Crap.
As much as I know Tim is one of the best out there, the idea of stealing Theo’s coach makes me uncomfortable.
It’s not their fault they don’t know Theo and I had a little fling.
Brief, but intense. But if anyone knows Theo, it’s me.
I’m not about to play games with him, no matter how fun I know they can be.
I won’t let myself get distracted by a guy at a tournament again. Not if I can help it.
I’m here to win.
Theo and I agreed to keep things amicable after ending whatever it was we had going on behind everyone’s backs. Tennis always came first for both of us. Until I met Liam, and my priorities got scrambled.
We knew it was just for fun. And we weren’t oblivious to the fact that our clashing tempers would have ruined things fast if we had tried for something serious.
We’re both explosive, intense, and constantly fueling each other. No wonder Tim McEnroe can’t stand Theo anymore. We did the opposite of grounding each other. It was never meant to last. It was never meant to be anything more.
All I remember is how much fun I had with Theo, and it’s best to keep those memories intact. Fun. Light. Casual. I don’t want any unnecessary catty drama between us. I like things as they are, kept at a distance, simple, and at peace.
Having my dad push me to “talk it up” with Theo makes me laugh under my breath. If he only knew how many times we sneaked out of our rooms at tournaments to make out after hours, he wouldn’t be so quick to push me straight back into Theo’s orbit.
“Henry could keep filling in as your coach while we wait for Tim to become available,” Dad says in an appeasing tone. “That way, he can also focus on his college applications, as we originally planned.”
Enter the plans of his own …
“Whatever you need, Joe,” Henry replies with a tight smile.
“Did you hear back from MIT?” Dad asks.
“MIT?” I echo, whipping my head toward Henry. His face goes stiff.
Are you freaking kidding me?
“Not yet,” Henry says flatly. “Decisions don’t come out until mid-March.”
He looks at me with a face that screams I can explain, and it’s not what you think, but I can’t help feeling deceived. He said he would apply to colleges in New York. That he wouldn’t leave again.
“They’d be stupid not to want you,” Dad says, standing up. He walks over, pats Henry proudly on the back, and smiles. “I have a few meetings, but I’ll join you guys later for dinner.”
He pulls me into a quick hug, pressing a peck to my cheek.
“Felicidades, mi amor. Trata de descansar un rato.”1
“Gracias,” I say, my stomach pitching. “Claro.”2
Dad reaches for the doorknob.
“Why isn’t Mom coming?” I toss in before he can leave. If this day is heading downhill, we might as well go full speed. “And why didn’t you tell me about it?”
Dad stops, letting the heavy door slam shut. He keeps his back to me and says, “She wasn’t feeling well and thought twenty-plus hours of flight time would only make it worse.”
After a brief silence, he glances over his shoulder with a tight, apologetic smile. But he’s not the one who needs to explain or apologize. Yet he always does and covers for her.
“Nasty hangover?” I scoff, shaking my head in disappointment.
Even now that I know what a hangover feels like, I don’t feel sorry for her. Mom knows exactly what drinking does to her, yet she keeps putting herself through it on an almost daily basis.
“Bells,” Henry whispers, his fingers lightly brushing my arm. I shake them off instinctively. I don’t want to be touched or coddled. Not right now. I’m too pissed for that.
“She said she was sorry, Belén,” Dad sighs.
Not to me.
Dad knows better than to approach me. He knows it would only turn this into a bigger deal than it needs to be, so he’ll avoid a confrontation with me like the plague, especially during a Grand Slam.
I need to stay focused and hold on to whatever zen I have left.
But he’s still trying, uselessly, to excuse Mom’s behavior. And I can’t let that slide.
“She’ll call you tomorrow to wish you a happy birthday.”
“How thoughtful.” I snort. “Appreciate you adding it to her to-do list.”
“Belén,” Dad snaps. I can tell I’m getting on his nerves, but the fact that he doesn’t see how much Mom’s absence hurts me is beyond comprehension.
Or maybe he does see it. Maybe it’s that he loves her too much to hold her accountable or to admit out loud that she has a problem. Which is paradoxical if you ask me.
“You know how much she loves you.”
“Do I?” I huff out a sarcastic sigh as I meet his heavy, apologetic gaze. But he has nothing left to say. I can tell.
“I have people waiting for me downstairs,” he offers, hooking a thumb toward the door like it’s the best he can do. “But we can—”
“I understand,” I cut in. I don’t. “I’ll see you later for dinner.”
Enough. I’m done talking about this.
The door opens and shuts in the distance as I head toward my bathroom. When I glance over my shoulder, Dad is gone, but Henry is hot on my heels.
“Bells!”
I ignore him and walk straight into the bathroom to splash cold water on my face, pretending that fixes everything. In the mirror, I catch Henry’s reflection. He leans against the doorframe, and for once, he’s not hiding how worried he is.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
“I don’t,” I reply, yanking a towel from the rack. I dry my face roughly and toss the towel onto the marble countertop. Pressing my palms against the cold stone, I let my head hang as I try to settle myself.
Henry steps behind me and wraps his arms around me, resting his chin on the top of my head. For a moment, I let myself sink into his hold. He always knows how to steady me. But the second my nagging thoughts catch up, I wrench myself free.
Not only am I heartbroken that Mom isn’t coming—and why—but I’m pissed about Henry wanting to leave for Massachusetts. On top of that, I’m beyond annoyed that Evan King is probably seconds away from firing off texts to Henry to “catch up” and “meet up” at the party tomorrow.
And the worst part? I hate feeling this way.
I can’t help but wonder how much Henry is keeping from me. What his life in Chicago really looked like. How he got that scar on his brow. Anything related to his parents. I tell him everything. And in return? I get virtually nothing. At least nothing deep or too personal.
Seriously, I don’t need this drama right now. Or ever.
Instead of getting into an exhausting argument with Henry, I draw a bath. As the water fills the tub, I step out of the bathroom and grab a fresh set of pajamas from the closet. It’s barely 1:00 p.m., but I plan to turn in for the rest of the day.
Seething, I head back to the bathroom, and Henry’s still there, studying me.
“Henry, could you …?” Leave.
I clear my throat and gesture toward the steaming tub and wait for him to take the hint.
“Why do you keep shutting me out?” His voice is quiet but firm. “I know you’ll feel better if we talk things through.”
“Excuse me?” I say over my shoulder, appalled, as I set my pajamas on the wooden bench. “I shut you out?”
He can’t be serious …
“Yes,” he says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. Like he’s not the one who’s mastered the art of keeping me at arm’s length. “You push me away whenever you’re upset, and I hate seeing you like this when I know I can make you feel better.”
He’s not wrong. He always manages to make me feel better. But this time, he’s part of the reason I’m upset. I need space. And he needs to leave.