Chapter 7 #2
Aleksandr seems to read this in my face.
He sighs with a nod, like I’m a more advanced case than he thought.
“You have to find a way to balance things out, solnyshko.” If he notices my confused expression, he chooses to ignore it.
“Killing yourself won’t get you anywhere. Let me help you find that balance.”
“I…What about Anya?”
He smiles wider. “I’m a professional. We’ll keep her out of it. No talking about her with you, and no talking about you with her.”
“But she’s your sister. You’ll have to spend more time with her and her team than with me and mine. I’m not sure how you plan to juggle multiple players.”
“Not multiple players. Just you, if you’ll have me. Anya has another performance coach, so even if I have to send her a plan here and there, she’ll be the one to implement it. I’ll be working with you in a more professional capacity, traveling with you to your tournaments.”
“You’ll still be rooting for her. What will you do when we play against each other? During warmups, will you be by my side? Will you sit in my box?”
“Of course I will.” His head cocks. “I know trust and loyalty are important to you, and I’m committed to showing you I can give you that too. We can do a trial run for the next few tournaments, through the French Open, and see how you feel.”
The most important argument I have sits on my tongue.
I’m not one to shy away from confrontation, certainly not with Aleksandr, but for some reason, the thought of learning why he said what he did about me last year gives me pause.
Soldiering on, I ask, “Did you mean it when you told Anya that I looked like I was out of shape after I lost to her at Wimbledon?”
Aleksandr blinks. “What?”
“In her presser after she beat me, she said, and I quote, ‘My brother pointed out that she seemed out of shape, so maybe if she works on that’ when asked if I would beat her later in the season.”
He stares at me for half a minute before something in his face shifts.
“That was…No. That’s not what happened. If I remember correctly, I told her I thought your training could be more efficient because you’re a strong athlete but sometimes Nora had you focusing on the wrong things.
” At my incredulous stare, he continues, “Nic, I’d never say that about you.
It’s wrong. You’re very in shape, and you have been for as long as I’ve watched you.
Anya is young and immature, and I’m sure she said it to get a rise out of you. ”
“So you didn’t see the presser? You didn’t know she said that?”
“Honest to god, this is the first I’m hearing of it.
If I had known, I would have set the record straight with you.
” He places a hand on his chest, eyes holding fast on mine.
“And before you ask if that’s going to be an issue while we’re working together, no.
I can’t control my sister and her behavior outside of tennis, but I can, in the future, make sure you hear any concerns I have about your training from me. ”
I sigh. I have no other reasons to say no.
I need someone to watch my matches, find where I’m struggling, and help me patch the holes in my game that Karolína can’t.
Do I want it to be him? No. But if he’s experienced this, maybe he knows how to fight off the darkness.
How to get me what I’ve been trying to find for years.
It’s worth a shot at least.
“A trial run, then. But no more going behind my back to my coach.”
The smile on his face could light the entire Morozov facility for weeks, the hint of a dimple carving itself in his right cheek. If I allowed myself to linger on his features for too long, I’d be halfway to admitting (only ever to myself) how unfortunately attractive it all makes him.
“First order of business is getting you to stop beating on this bag and delivering you to the hotel so you can rest.” He reaches out a hand to help me up, and after staring at it for a moment, I slip my hand into his and stand.
It’s not as uncomfortable as I expected, his calluses melding with mine.
I don’t feel the urge to rip myself from his grasp.
Still, as soon as I’m standing, I drop it, putting my things into my bag.
“Already telling me what to do?”
“Oh, did you believe you’d be the one calling the shots?”
Inexplicably, his words startle a small laugh out of me. He appears as surprised as I am about it, but his face lights further, if possible. And though I don’t match it, some of my anxieties are assuaged knowing I’ll have help for clay.
We amble to the hotel, side by side, more comfortably than the last time. The silence is nice, but Aleksandr is…Aleksandr, and when we near the entrance, he says, “I have a question.”
“Okay.”
“Who are you without tennis?”
My nose scrunches. “What?”
“Who are you if tennis isn’t a factor? What sorts of things do you like to do outside of tennis? What do you dislike?” He pulls open the door, and a gust of cool air hits me, smelling of lavender and warm cookies.
I blink at him.
“I’m going to take your silence to mean you don’t know.” He ushers me into the lobby and toward the row of elevators.
“Mou éphayes ta aftiá,” I mutter.
“What?”
Sighing, I press the up arrow. An elevator opens immediately, and we step inside. I click the button for my floor. “It means you ate my ears. It’s something my yiayia used to say when my cousins wouldn’t shut up.”
He hums. “I like that. But since you’re either unwilling to cooperate right now or you don’t have an answer”—he pulls a small notebook out of his sweatpants pocket, flipping past what looks like sketches and ripping out a blank sheet from the middle—“I have a request. Homework of sorts.”
Aleksandr thrusts the paper toward me. “I want you to do one new thing a day, unrelated to tennis, whether that’s trying a new food or watching a new show.”
Accepting the paper reluctantly, I answer, “I don’t watch TV.” Besides the reality swill Delilah likes to watch.
“Exactly. Nic, you don’t do anything besides workout, play tennis, and watch film of yourself and your opponents. Your entire identity is inextricably tied to the game, and I suspect it has been for most of your life.” The elevator slows, opening on my floor, and we walk to my room.
“I didn’t realize I signed on a sports psychologist too.” Glaring at him as we come to a stop at my room, I fold my arms over my chest. “And I do other things. I went to a museum with the girls. And when we’re home, we have game nights and movie nights.”
“Great. What’s your favorite movie?”
My mind comes up blank, and he grins, nodding at the sheet of paper. “So we’ll keep track of the new thing you do each day. And hopefully, in a couple of tournaments, you’ll know a few things about yourself that have nothing to do with tennis.”
I pull my key card out of my bag. “If I’d have realized you were going to cause this much trouble, I never would have agreed to this.”
“It grows on you. Promise.” He winks.
As I swipe my card, he holds out his phone. I type my number in and step inside my dark room, letting the door shut behind me without a word. He chuckles, the sound quieting as he moves back toward the elevator bank.
Tossing my bag to the floor, I flick on the desk light and write the date followed by:
Today, I agreed to work with the world’s most annoying performance coach.
I take a picture and send it to the number that just texted me.
There.
Aleksandr
That’s not unrelated to tennis, but I’ll accept it for today.
What did you learn about yourself because of that?
I scowl at my phone, then grab the pen and write below it:
I learned that I should not have agreed to work with him.
1 image.
Aleksandr
Now we’re getting somewhere! I’ll think up ideas for things you can do this season. Come October, you’re going to understand yourself better than ever.
We agreed to a trial run, Aleksandr. Who knows if you’ll still be around after clay?
Aleksandr
I see you’ve outsmarted me.
And call me Aleks. Only strangers call me Aleksandr.
By the way, you have beautiful penmanship. I like that in a woman.