Chapter 17
seventeen
The walk to the players’ restaurant is devoid of conversation, though I’m sure Matteo has a different reason than I do to stay quiet. I’m the one making things difficult, but I can’t quite figure out the right thing to say.
We sit at a table away from the hustle and bustle of the dinner crowd.
Our waiter, a young kid who probably trains at the junior academy here, takes our order like he’d rather be anywhere else—probably because he waits on top-ranked players daily.
Once he’s been gone for a few minutes and I realize Matteo won’t be starting the conversation, I steeple my hands and set them on the table. “So…we’re not playing very well.”
Matteo shakes his head but doesn’t respond.
I glance away. “I’m sorry I made things weird. I’ve never done this before.”
“Done what? Sleep with your doubles partner?” he asks, and my heart settles a little at the dry amusement in his voice.
“That too.” I look back at him. “But no. I’ve only been with three other people, and I never saw any of them again.”
He’s silent for a beat. Then, “I guess what I’m more interested in knowing is why it has to be like this. What are you afraid is going to happen if we continue?” He clears his throat. “Or are you not interested in me for more than what we did?”
“That’s…that’s not it.”
I’m terrified of lots of things happening if we keep going.
I’m scared of not having any money, of going hungry.
The fear planted itself inside me a long time ago, rooted deeper than almost any other emotion I feel.
I’m scared of not being able to make payments on my family’s house.
Of getting injured and losing my income.
Of not being enough. Of losing someone because I’m not enough.
Matteo leans back, crossing his arms. His beard is longer than I’ve seen it, but still scruffy. I remember what it felt like against my stomach as he kissed down my body, and my blood hums. His damn hat is on backward, holding his thick curls back. I wish I could run my fingers through them again.
I shake the thought from my head and clear my throat. “I think a relationship while we’re trying to win a tournament could get messy. And I have a lot more to lose than you do.”
“Can I tell you what I think?” The way he says it, nothing good can come next.
Our server drops off our food, and as soon as he walks away, Matteo lowers his voice.
“I think you’re scared of being left behind, same as me.
Because everyone who was supposed to be there for you failed you.
So you’re pushing me away before I have a chance to hurt you. ”
I blink. “Sorry, did you get a psych degree while we were apart?” There’s an unintentional bite to the words—a reaction to feeling raw and exposed. I laugh to cover it, but it’s already out there.
“No, I just have a therapist who’s been helping me work through my abandonment issues, and I see some of the same signs in you.”
The anger I was feeling dissipates in a cloud of smoke. He’s doing it again. Giving me a piece of himself so I don’t feel alone.
Clarity comes like a rug being pulled out from beneath me. I’m rotating along an x-axis with no end in sight.
Of course he didn’t talk to me much after I left him Monday morning. He probably took it as a sign that I was done with him. Worst of all, he’s likely scared of leaving things unresolved after how suddenly he lost his mother, and I all but made sure it stayed that way.
“I’m sorry I left without talking to you.”
Matteo bows his head, tossing his salad around. “It’s alright.” He gives me a small smile fraught with dejection. I get an almost undeniable urge to reach across the table and steady his hand, but I have no right.
“It’s not.” I thought I was so good at putting other people’s feelings first. Now I’m not so sure.
“I knew you were a flight risk, Del. I just took my chances.” That almost hurts more than the rest of it. He gave me a shot, and I disappointed him.
As we eat, I imagine what it would be like to be with Matteo.
To get on the court during shared tournaments and know he’s cheering me on from my box.
Getting to sit in his box with Alessio, encouraging him when he gets down.
Offseasons together, mixed doubles, all of it.
He saw my family and he didn’t run. He understands me on a level no one else has, including what tennis means to me. I want it, us, so badly.
But I want my siblings to be okay a little more.
“Do I—” He clears his throat. “Do I have a chance? Sometime in the future? You said a relationship while trying to win a tournament could get messy, but what about after? Once Austin is back?”
“Yes.” No hesitation. There’s no one else I see in my future. “Of course you do. It just can’t be my focus right now. Let’s get through Aussie and see what happens.”
Our waiter returns, brandishing our checks, so Matteo doesn’t have a chance to respond. I scramble to grab one of my cards and lay it next to Matteo’s, letting the kid know we’re paying separately. He eyes us but doesn’t say anything.
“Is that…Does that sound good to you?” I ask Matteo hesitantly when our waiter walks away. “Seeing where things go later? I don’t want it to be weird between us on court. That’s what I care about right now.”
Matteo’s expression is contemplative, his fingers tapping against the table. “I’m okay with that.”
“Should we go back to the pool and spill about our favorite tournament on the tour so we can get back to how things were before?”
He huffs a laugh. “If you want.”
Our server sets the check back down, hands my card back, and does a bad job of whispering to me, “Sorry, but this card was declined. Do you have another that I can try?”
My chest crunches like an empty soda can. The walls of the restaurant are closing in on me. When my ears start ringing, I grip the card tightly, feeling it cut into my fingers.
“I’m…I—are you sure?”
He nods.
Suddenly, I’m eleven again. Dad has found the money stash Chase and I were trying to ration and decimated it.
All we have left is the ramen we’ve been eating for weeks and cereal.
Maybe a couple of bananas, but I try to save those for the twins.
Mom is gone and has been for a few days.
She may even be with Dad. Deep, unrelenting panic settles in as I wonder what I’ll have to do to keep us alive.
If it might be better if I just called CPS and let us be split up.
But then I think about not having little Hazel and Finn and snap out of it.
The waiter clears his throat.
I’m not out of money. I know because I checked my personal accounts not more than a few hours ago. Still, the idea that any card of mine might decline sends me spiraling.
Matteo sets his card back down. “I got it.”
“No, no. I can pay for myself,” I say, and I hear the harsh tone, the words bitter on my tongue. I can afford dinner.
When it was only the four of us, I found a way.
I played tennis on empty, exhausted and starving after practice despite Austin sometimes bringing me an extra lunch and snacks.
When Mrs. Elliott brought over a casserole every once in a while, I made sure to stretch it properly so we stayed fed for days.
I felt the weight of failure so heavy on my back that I hardly ate any of it myself, especially when paired with the guilt of knowing I’d eaten more than my siblings thanks to the Wards.
“I know you can,” Matteo answers softly. “You’ll get me back next time, okay?” He nods to the kid, who walks away with wide eyes, suddenly interested now that the dynamic at our table has shifted.
That same feeling of failure seeps into my bones as I open my banking app and find the checking account associated with the card.
It’s one I rarely use, tied to an account I set aside for Chase and the twins for food, amenities, car payments, and all the other stuff I don’t always have time to pay myself.
I must have grabbed it instead of my personal one.
Didn’t I check this one the other day? We haven’t had anything due since then. There shouldn’t be anything I’m missing. And yet, there it is, account wiped, cash withdrawal after cash withdrawal.
“Del, it’s all good. I don’t want you to stress about dinner when it was my idea. You’ll get me back,” he reiterates.
“I’m not stressed,” I snap. It’s a blatant lie, and the disbelief in his pinched brows tells me he knows it.
My body flushes with embarrassment. Having Matteo see my family was hard.
Having him see this, the despair of so much money gone without my knowledge and it coming out during this dinner with him; the humiliation sears behind my eyes, and I have to bite the insides of my cheeks to keep the emotions at bay.
I need to call Chase. “Excuse me,” I stand, my chair toppling over.
“Tesoro, ple—”
“I’ll be right back. Promise.”
I’m dialing as I dash past tables of people who look vaguely familiar, wiping at my eyes preemptively. When I get out of the restaurant, I lean back against the clouded glass wall and slowly slide down until my butt hits the ground.
“Hello?”
“Chase? Are you free?” I regret asking immediately. “I just need a second.”
He speaks to someone he’s with. There’s movement, and then the voices on the other side of the call quiet. “What’s up?”
“Have you been withdrawing money from the linked account?” Usually if he’s making big purchases, he asks me first. Like the car repairs and the house payment.
“Oh, yeah.” Something in his voice makes me uncomfortable, but I can’t figure out why. “Sorry about that. I forgot to ask. It’s for tuition and books and stuff for next semester.”
Ire spears through me, more so than usual when dealing with Chase. Once again, he’s making it harder for me to help him. “Why didn’t you tell me we were overdrawn on that account? My card was declined.”
“Sorry. I figured you would deposit more soon.”
I bite back the words “how would I know to deposit more when I don’t know you need it?” and sigh.
“I’m sorry for not telling you. I’ll do better. I promise.” His words feel less combative than usual. Genuinely apologetic.
Still, all I can hear is “It would be nice to feel like an equal instead of an obligation.” I haven’t wrapped my mind around the idea of them getting jobs yet, but a part of me wonders if it would help Chase understand the sacrifice it takes to live the way I have. Help him get it together.
But I trust that he’s trying in school, and I want him to find what he’s passionate about without the stress of work.
I peer out over the grass courts downstairs, lights still on for a few stragglers practicing after dark. “I need to know what you’re doing with the money. Call me or text me when you need to make big purchases.”
He makes a noise that sounds an awful lot like a scoff but says, “Yeah. Of course.”
“Okay,” I respond uneasily.
“Thanks. I have to go. Talk to you later.”
“Talk to you later.” The call disconnects before I can tell him I love him.
Matteo comes out, eyes searching before he finds me on the ground. There’s clear concern on his face, but he doesn’t crowd me, just helps me up and sets a hand on my waist.
“It’s Chase. Says he needed it for school stuff.”
Something like skepticism skips across Matteo’s features, and it’s mirrored in my brain. Why would Chase need to take the money out in cash to make the payments? Why not pay directly from the account?
“Is that common? Him taking money for school without asking?”
I shake my head. “Uh, no. This was a one-time thing. He forgot to tell me.” The words scratch somewhere in my brain, similar to the ones I thought when we picked him up at the bar. A one-time thing.
Matteo’s jaw clenches, his thumb adding a little more pressure to the divot of my waist. It sends warmth pooling between my legs until he says, “We’re all good here. I paid.”
The happiness that burrowed in me at Matteo’s touch is shoved to the side.
I step a few feet to my right, pushing my hair behind both ears and glancing away from him.
This panic reinforces the fact that I shouldn’t be doing this right now, as badly as we both may want to.
We need to get back to how things were before, quickly, because we only have ten days until we’re wheels up on the way to different cities in Australia.
Matteo reads me like a book, his hands slipping into the pockets of his pants. “Let’s get you home. We have a big match Friday, and I need to memorize your serving signals so I don’t mess things up.”
The joke breaks the tension, and I smile at him thankfully. “Once you get them down, I’ll make some up for mid-match.”
Matteo chuckles, leading me out of the building and toward the locker rooms so we can pick up our bags. “Give me an example.”
I ponder for a second, then snap my fingers. “Like when I yell ‘lemon,’ that means you move up to the net too. And if I yell ‘guava,’ we swap sides.”
“Are they all going to be fruits? Because that might get confusing.”
“I’m open to suggestions, but I think we both know I’m more experienced in this arena.”
He gives me that fond smile, and I’m more than grateful he knew I needed this teasing to feel like we were okay. Already, the dread is subsiding.
I know there are things to work on, both with the Chase situation and with our doubles, but I feel better.