Chapter 17
Chloe
Talk Too Much—Reneé Rapp
My cheeks burned for an hour after my interaction with Inés in the changing rooms. It was even worse when she came through
wrapped in only a towel.
There had been nowhere to look. Down, and my gaze would rake up her long legs, taking in every inch, remembering how her thigh
felt under my fingers. Up, and there was where her towel tucked in at the front, dipping down, revealing a tease of skin I’d
never seen.
Back at the beach house after-party, I took a long sip of my beer, trying to wash the memory away, feeling that embarrassing
flush across my skin growing again.
“You look worried.” Calvin appeared beside me, his own beer held in his hands.
I shook my head as if to jiggle the thoughts of Inés out of my brain. “I’m fine.”
He nodded once, leaning against the wall beside me, getting comfortable. “So, I thought we had an agreement.”
I sighed heavily, sending him a sidelong glance. “It was for charity! It seemed like fun, and you specifically said to go
have fun.”
“I also asked you to stay out of the media.”
I remembered the headlines, the posts on social media of us dancing in the kitchen. Whoops. “It was nothing. At least nobody is mad at me anymore.”
“Fine,” he relented, washing away his annoyance with a drink from his beer bottle. “But it would be nicer if you followed
the advice I give you.”
“I do,” I said, defending myself, but a quick glance at him and I amended my statement. “Most of the time.” Calvin’s eyebrows
raised even further. “Some of the time.”
“Well, I have some more for you.”
I shook my empty bottle as I asked, “Am I going to need another beer for this?”
“Maybe.”
I peeled myself away from the wall and nodded towards the kitchen. “Come on.”
We battled through the thick crowd, filled with fellow tennis players who had been taking part in the event and some people
the group knew in the area.
I kept expecting to stumble upon Inés somewhere talking to another girl, that flirty smile across her face. One I’d wanted
to trace with my own lips, my tongue. But as I passed through each room, taking the long route to the kitchen, I felt my stomach
twist further, missing the sight of her.
What if she was already busy? Upstairs. Another girl. Once, I’d been that very girl.
I pushed away the intrusive thought as we reached the kitchen. Reminding myself who she was. What she meant. As quickly as
I could, I grabbed two cold bottles from the fridge.
Calvin and I settled on a bench at the end of the garden, the ocean to our backs as we looked at the house.
“Okay, hit me,” I said.
“Inés.” Her name was sharp on his tongue, and for a second, panic wrapped around my throat. Had he read my mind? “I think she’d be good on our team,” he added. “As a hitting partner, that is.”
“Have you forgotten she’s my competition?”
He waved my concerns away. “She’s slowing, she’s on her way out competitively, but you seem to work well together. Inés pulled
the best player out of you.”
“That’s not fair,” I snapped. “She’s had injuries, she’s fighting back.”
Calvin shot me a confused look. “You destroy her on the court. You’re faster, younger.”
“She’s still a brilliant player. Don’t count her out. A year ago, I was nothing. Things change.”
It was only when I finished speaking that I realized how much I might have revealed. Whenever Calvin and I sat down to discuss
a player, I’d always been brash, cocky, the one who told him they wouldn’t be an issue.
But for the first time, I wanted to have met my match, somebody who made it difficult. And I wanted it to be her.
“Okay, sorry, didn’t realize I’d hit a nerve,” Calvin said, his hands raised defensively. “I think if you start working with
her, she could bring a strong challenge outside of the tournaments. There’s a lot you could learn from her game. She was legendary
for the control she had over the pace, the tactics she used.”
“You think she’d actually want to work with me?” I asked. “She hates me.”
The words hurt to admit. I knew I’d played my part in causing the rift between us, and as much progress as it felt like we’d
made, I was still unsure it would last over state lines.
“She doesn’t hate you.” He nudged his shoulder into mine, trying to be reassuring. “And even if she does, so what? You’re professionals. And
on court, she managed to calm you down.”
“So?”
“I’ve never once been able to get you to snap out of your rage. I think if you trained together, she could help you figure
out how to refocus that intensity. And I’ve been doing my research. Do you know that ELITE dropped her for you?”
I felt sick. No wonder she’d been so mad the first few days.
“I didn’t.”
“She’s out of sponsors, and I bet she’s growing desperate. Playing at this level is far from cheap.” I had to take another
sip of my beer to get rid of the bitter taste in my mouth. What the cost of my success had been. It would be silly to assume
there was room for all of us, every player with a dream. But growing closer to her, I couldn’t help but feel the impact of
my own career on hers. “We could offer her travel and accommodation. She could use some of our team, like the physio. And
in return, you would train against her. Learn her methods, listen to her when she teaches you how to keep your cool.”
If she was running low on funds, that might be enough to entice her onto my team, a mutual benefit of working together. Inés
was good, even if she wasn’t where she used to be, but I could see the potential bubbling underneath, a force not to be underestimated.
Maybe a partnership with me could bring out her best again, bring out the best in both of us.
“She’s never going to go for it,” I said. “And even if she does, she’ll think I’m trying to sabotage her.”
“You’re trying to win, but so is she. And that’s all that should matter,” Calvin reasoned. “If she’s smart, she’ll see that
this could be the best option for her. We just need her to stick around until after the US Open.”
“Has Dad reached out to her team already?” My dad had always acted as my manager, taking charge in preparing almost everything
about my life in tennis.
“He’s reaching out in the morning,” he answered. “I wanted to mention it to you before he does, so there’s still time to stop
this if it isn’t what you want.”
“But you think it’s for the best?”
Calvin took a moment, an astonished smile growing across his lips.
“I couldn’t believe it earlier today, when she calmed you down,” he stated, turning to face me, his eyes alight.
“You bounced back and came back stronger. I hate pointing it out, but when you react like that on court, normally you play like shit after.”
“Gee, thanks.”
“It’s true. It’s frustrating as hell to watch, and nothing we do in training has helped.”
I sighed, knowing he was right. My rage was something I clearly needed help with. I got so caught up, so frustrated, and I
started to think that everyone was against me, rooting for my failure. My mom had raised me with stories of her time on the
court, of being set up by other players, of being bullied in the locker rooms. But how it manifested for me was embarrassing
and, as Inés had rightfully pointed out, unprofessional.
I fell quiet, looking back at the house. This entire week, the ups and downs, the progress and friendships I’d been slowly
building with everyone here, it wouldn’t have happened without me taking a step out of my comfort zone.
Without Calvin telling me to take time off, and Henrik being here to hold my hand. And now I was facing losing Henrik as my
safety net. But that was something I didn’t want or need anymore. Maybe I needed to step out on my own.
“I don’t want to keep living like that,” I said, turning to face Calvin.
He looked a little proud. “I know.”
I swallowed, before admitting, “Me and Henrik, we aren’t together anymore.”
Calvin looked surprised. “Really? Are you okay?”
I nodded my head reassuringly; it was not even an extra effort to keep my voice level. “Totally fine, promise. It was a good
ending. But I want more freedom. I want to live my life a little more.”
“I want that for you too.” His words released a heavy weight from my chest. “They worry too much, after everything. But it’s
not you that concerns them—it’s this world. The other players, the press.”
“I know. It’s hard to get Dad to understand that it’s not like a knife fight anymore.
” Mom’s stories of locker-room bitch talks, of finding her racket strings cut, and more rang in my ears.
Dad made sure I remembered everything they’d put her through.
But years into my own career and I knew this wasn’t representative of my own experience here, with these other women.
Scottie had been kind to me from the moment I’d walked into the house. Even Dylan, who had that sharp exterior, had been friendly.
Inés, she’d been different. But even with that history, we’d found a way to work together.
“I’ll think about it, okay?” I said, pushing myself up, growing impatient. “Let Dad reach out to her agent. If she hates the
idea, then fine. But maybe if the agent likes it, she can help convince Inés.”
Calvin drained his beer. “You’re that sure she’ll need convincing?”
I stifled a bitter laugh. “You don’t know Inés Costa.”