Chapter 39
Chloe
Too Much—girl in red
“How does it feel to win today? In front of a home crowd?” a journalist asked, standing up from the crowd of press. It hadn’t
even been half an hour since I crawled away from the quarter-final match. It had gone long, a battle of wills between Dylan
and I.
But in the end, it was me who won the third set.
I managed a smile, despite the exhaustion, all too aware of the cameras pointed at me. “It’s better than I could have dreamed.
The audience here is fantastic, they keep the energy alive on the court.”
Calvin caught my gaze, standing off to the side, out of view. It was easy to spot the security guard behind him, waiting to
escort me out to the car.
When will this insanity end?
“Save me,” I mouthed to him, covering my words from view. In answer, he held up five fingers as if to ask for a little more time. It
took all my resolve to not sigh heavily into the mic.
“What were you thinking during that crucial moment in the second set?” another journalist asked. “When Bailey was ahead in
the scoring?”
That was an easy answer, one I couldn’t admit.
“I thought of her.”
Every time that red mist began to creep into my vision, fear and panic descending, I thought of her words, how she played, the beauty behind each backstroke.
I’d learned to take that feeling and use it to my advantage instead of melting down in front of the crowd.
It felt better. I felt stronger. Maybe I could really do this.
“Don’t fuck it up,” I said instead, slumping towards the mic. I needed to eat and crash for the night, the recovery getting
harder and harder the longer we went into the tournament.
The crowd chuckled at my answer as Dani picked yet another journalist. A woman stood this time, asking simply, “How are you
feeling heading into the next round?”
“I feel good. I think my performances have been strong and I hope to continue that.” A stock answer, but nonetheless true.
I had been on my best behavior, even when things didn’t go my way.
Sometimes, I’d focus my frustration into my serve, into the rallies, and use it to my advantage. Sometimes, when it was really
boiling over, I’d look to the crowd and find her watching me.
Even a single glance could calm my unwinding emotions. And if she wasn’t there, I’d focus on her bracelet, run my fingers
along the beads, counting each one until I felt focused.
“What are your thoughts on the competition left in the draw?” another asked. “Anyone you’d like to not face going ahead?”
“I mean, if they could all withdraw and clear the path to the final, that would be great,” I dared to joke, trying to lighten
the mood a little. “There are so many strong players left. Thompson, Petrovi?, Costa . . .” I caught myself off guard with
the absentminded mention of her name, pride swelling as I thought back on her performances this tournament. “To name a few.”
There was a rumbling around the press room, a few phones pinging at once. I felt a little uncomfortable, everyone else around
me suddenly enthralled with their phones, my own still in my locker.
What was I missing?
But when their attention returned to me, it felt a little like sitting in front of a shiver of sharks. And then there was a flurry of hands in the air, each more eager for the next question than they had been for the last fifteen minutes.
Dani pointed to another reporter, an older man who stood as he cleared his throat. “With the recently announced withdrawal
of Thompson from the competition, it will be Inés Costa you play in the semis.” He continued speaking, but I didn’t hear any
of it. My focus split clean down the middle.
“Sorry,” I interrupted, leaning forward. “Did you say Thompson has withdrawn?”
I’d known playing Inés was a possibility. We’d been drawn into different sections, but once the tournament reached this stage,
paths inevitably crossed. Inés was supposed to play another match before the semi-finals, though.
The reporter’s brow furrowed slightly as he repeated, “Yes, withdrawn. There has been plenty of talk about your friendship with Costa. Do you think that will affect how you play against each other in such a crucial match?”
Friendship. The word stuck in my throat. I forced it down, keeping my face calm. “I think we are both seasoned professionals. It should
make for an exciting match.”
The reality was undeniable: we were going to face each other. The last time had been Wimbledon, only a few months ago, but
that felt like a different life. Back then, she wasn’t the woman who now left the scent of her perfume on my pillow, or the
one whose laugh I could pick out in a packed room.
Back then, she hadn’t been naked in my bed, her head buried between my thighs, her touch a fire I could still feel.
It was official: me versus Inés.
We might have grown closer since our last showdown, might have forgiven, or at least buried, the worst of what we’d said and
done to each other. But could she forgive me if I knocked her out? Could I forgive her if she did the same?
I remembered what she’d said during one of our worst fights in the Hamptons: When I beat you, I want it to matter. I want the fucking points.
Now she’d have her chance.
“Time for one last question,” Dani said, scanning the room before picking an older blonde woman. My heart sank at the sight
of her.
“Rachel Kendrick, The Daily Tea,” she said quickly, holding her phone out towards me. “What do you make of the speculation online of you being suspected
of using a banned substance?”
The floor felt like it was falling out from underneath me, my stomach lurching.
I shook my head, my fingers curling into a tight fist. “There’s absolutely no evidence of that. I have never, ever knowingly
used anything like that to get ahead.”
“Knowingly?” She raised an eyebrow. “So, there’s a chance? There are reports that you’ve taken undeclared medications.”
“Absolutely not,” I said bitterly. “I’ve worked incredibly hard for everything I’ve achieved. My team and I are focused and
any success is only because of their efforts.”
Where did this speculation come from? Was it somebody I knew making this up?
“Can that really be true? Given the similar reports of discord in your team? The recent departure of two members in such a
short period of time?”
I stood up from the table, sick of listening to this bullshit. It was bad enough that it was online, but I refused to sit
and take it in a conference. I should be riding high from the win, should be preparing to fight Inés, because that was going
to take every bit of strength I had.
“I’m not going to answer anything that’s to do with speculation online,” I said. I couldn’t help but think of everything being
reported. How it had grown past the point of control. “It’s unprofessional to be engaging with the troll behavior I’ve had
to watch grow, and even harder for my loved ones to suffer it.”
I stormed out of the press room, dodging Calvin and the waiting guard. Instead, I found myself pacing the corridor outside the players’ lounge, scanning for her.
I needed to see Inés. I wanted to see her. But what would I even say?
Congratulations? Good luck? Please can we pretend like this isn’t happening so I can kiss you like everything isn’t about
to blow up?
And the accusations of doping? Why did everything feel like it was spinning out of control?
I couldn’t bear the idea of losing. I wanted this more than I wanted my next breath. I had been dreaming of this trophy since
I was a girl; my parents used to take me along to this tournament. The four of us would crowd around the TV and watch the
final.
This was everything I’d dreamed of.
Now the woman I loved stood in my way.
But at the same time, I knew how much all this meant to her. The thought made me feel sick, my nerves too messy to untangle,
my focus slipping through my fingers. I exhaled slowly, pressing a hand to my stomach in an attempt to steady myself. But
the truth was clear: I needed to see her.
And then my dad turned the corner.
“We need to talk.”