Chapter 41
Inés
Anywhere u go—Tove Lo
The dawn light was calming, the rooftop court wrapped in a rare early-morning stillness, only broken by the sharp thwack of the ball meeting my racket strings and the quick scuff of our trainers skidding across the hard court. Now and then a
grunt or gasp escaped as we pushed through the bone-deep ache in our bodies, each sound cutting through the quiet like a reminder
of our fight to keep going.
We’d escaped after a restless night to the court to practice and burn off the nervous energy I could feel between us. Tomorrow’s
match hung over us like an axe.
Chloe returned the ball with a swift backhand, the movement somewhat hesitant. I pulled back my arm, hitting it easily back
over the net.
Things between us had been strange since the news broke. When she got back from her match she was reserved, keeping to herself.
And it was hard to argue I’d been any other way.
We were going to play each other in the semi-final. And being against her again in a professional setting was something I
found myself vastly unprepared for.
I’d thought about it before, wondered how we’d both handle it, but almost every time the question arose, I pushed it aside,
the answer too painful to ponder.
I’d played friends before, and it was a job to keep the lines clear between the relationship on and off court. This sport was personal: there was no way around that.
It was one thing to be friends with somebody after a loss, never mind a brutal one, but an entirely different thing to walk
off and climb into bed with them.
A dull thunk of a mishit sounded from Chloe’s side, a noise that was usually music to my ears, and the ball slammed into the net.
Another point to me.
“What’s wrong with you?” I snapped, the irritation bubbling over before I could stop it.
Chloe recoiled, her brows knitting together. “What do you mean?”
I jabbed a finger at the ball at my feet. “You should’ve made that shot. I’ve seen you nail it a hundred times. It’s like
you gave up halfway.”
Her shoulders sagged, a weariness settling over her like a heavy coat. “I’m tired.”
But that answer wasn’t good enough. Her energy had been off since yesterday, quiet and distant in a way that unsettled me.
An old insecurity reared its ugly head, whispering poisonous thoughts I couldn’t ignore. Did she let me win the point? Was that pity?
“Are you going easy on me?” The words slipped out, sharp and accusing, and the moment they did, regret clawed at my throat.
But I had to know.
Her eyes flashed, narrow and fierce. “Excuse me?”
I swallowed hard, forcing the question out again. “I asked if you’re throwing the match. Do you feel bad for me or something?”
Chloe closed her eyes, dragging a hand across her face as though she could physically rub the frustration away. “Inés, I played
a long match yesterday.”
“And then you asked me to come out here and hit!” I shot back, my voice rising as I gestured to the empty court around us.
Her tone cracked, raw and almost breaking on the edge of a yell. “Because I needed to get my frustration out, okay?”
“Because you’re playing me?”
“Of course because of that!” Her voice cracked as she threw her racket to the ground with a loud clatter. Her hands flew to
her face, pressing hard against her cheeks as if she could contain whatever was breaking loose. “We . . . fuck. I don’t want
to play you in such an important match.”
The words hit me like a punch to the chest. My heart splintered at the sight of her unraveling. This wasn’t the Chloe I knew.
She didn’t cry. She didn’t crumble. She raged, fought, clawed her way forward.
Her eyes shimmered with tears as she looked at me, raw and exposed in a way I’d never seen before.
Without thinking, I crossed the court and pulled her into my arms. Chloe melted into me, her head pressing against my shoulder
as though it was the only place she could fall apart.
“There’s so much going on,” she sobbed, her voice muffled against me. “And I’m terrified. Scared I’m going to fuck it all
up. I don’t want to ruin this.” Her fingers dug into my back, holding on like I was the only thing tethering her to solid
ground.
“You won’t,” I murmured, stroking her hair, but she kept going, her words pouring out between jagged breaths.
“Playing me . . . that’s what made you hate me.”
The confession stopped me cold. My breath hitched, her pain cutting deeper than I expected. I held her tighter, as if I could
somehow prove her wrong.
“Chloe,” I whispered, my voice trembling under the weight of the moment. “I never hated you. I never did. I was frustrated
and mad, sure, but never hate,” I insisted, desperate to soothe her, to chase away the sadness written across her face.
My fingers gently brushed her hair back, tucking it behind her ears. My heart ached at the sight of her red-rimmed eyes, the
tear-streaked lines down her cheeks.
“I don’t want this either,” I admitted softly. I might have been better at compartmentalizing, but playing against her wasn’t any easier for me. “But you can’t argue with the draw. This is the job. If each of us wants to win, this is what has to happen. At least we both got this far.”
She let out a long, heavy sigh and tilted her head back, gazing at the expanse of dawn sky. The rising sun softened her features,
and for a moment, I forgot everything else, lost in how achingly beautiful she was.
I wanted to pull her close again, to hold her until she believed me when I said everything would be alright.
“You’ve got to treat me like any other player, Chloe.” I held her gaze firmly, determination lacing my words. “Play to win.
Use everything you’ve got to dominate. Spill fucking blood on that court if that’s what it takes to make the final, no matter
who’s on the other side of that net, because I’ll be doing the exact same.”
The weight in my chest pressed harder with each word. I wasn’t only saying it to her; I was reminding myself too.
“I’ll still be here, no matter what happens. If we need space afterwards, fine. This competition feels like everything now,
and that’s okay. But it’s one of four in the year. One of many more in our careers.”
She looked at me like I was the only person in the world she could see. The only player she’d ever consider showing a shred
of weakness to. And part of me, the competitor, hated that. It revolted at the idea. But this wasn’t pity.
This was devotion. This was love.
Chloe surged forward, closing the small space between us, her lips meeting mine in a kiss that stole my breath. My fingers
wove through her hair, her warmth grounding me, even as the world seemed to shift beneath my feet.
How could a kiss make everything feel better when, only seconds ago, it felt like everything was falling apart?
She pulled away, resting her forehead against mine, as I murmured, “The loser will get over it. And who knows? The winner might crash out in the final.”
Chloe laughed softly, the sound vibrating through her body and into mine.
Her lips found mine again, each touch of her mouth unraveling my anxieties. When she finally pulled back, she smiled faintly.
I reached for her hand, squeezing it lightly.
For a brief moment, the tension between us lifted, replaced by something lighter, easier, and I couldn’t help but feel a sense
of relief.
But then, as if a shadow fell over her, Chloe’s smile faltered. “I need to tell you something,” she said, her voice quieter
now, her gaze flickering away from mine.
I frowned. “What is it?”
She hesitated, staring at the ground as if the words were caught somewhere in her throat. When she looked back at me, her
lips pressed into a thin line, braced. “Calvin. Dad. They think . . . someone on your team might be leaking the stories.”
Her words hit like a cold wind, my stomach sinking. “The rumors online?” She nodded, and I let out a frustrated sigh. “Half
of them aren’t true.”
“I know,” she replied quickly, “but sometimes they’re . . . too close. Like someone took the truth and twisted it enough to
sell a headline.”
I rubbed the back of my neck, my mind racing. “I don’t know who would do that,” I admitted. My thoughts darted through every
person I’d worked with recently, every conversation I’d had. My team wasn’t big, not since I’d started hitting with Chloe.
“Selene mentioned some offers to sell stories about our partnership, but I told her to shut it down. Maybe if newspapers had
approached her, they tried other people too. But I’ve never said anything about us.”
“I know,” she said softly. “I don’t want you to think Calvin doesn’t trust you, but . . .”
“It’s a distraction,” I finished for her. “And lies.”
She nodded, relief flickering across her face. “It’s getting worse now I’m being accused of really serious things. Sponsors are noticing and they care.”
Of course they did. I didn’t need her to explain how damaging bad press could be. A player’s image could make or break endorsement
deals. Hell, I’d learned that the hard way myself.
“I have an idea,” I said. “It feels dumb, but we could send everyone we’ve worked with a different rumor, like something small
but juicy enough that it could be worth something to sell.”
“That makes sense,” Chloe said. “I wonder what random pieces of gossip we could invent about ourselves.”
I reached out, brushing a stray strand of hair from her face, letting my hand linger. “Now . . . are we actually going to
hit a few more balls, or can we please call it?” I smiled, trying to lighten the tension.
We quickly gathered our things up, the world outside our bubble feeling closer and closer. Whatever mess we had found ourselves
in, I knew that we’d find a way to work through it together.
We walked side by side, her hand in mine, neither of us pulling away. As if we had to hold on to each other for reassurance
that we were going to survive this.
As we stepped out of the gate, I turned to her. “We’ll figure this out,” I said firmly. “And no matter what anyone says, no
matter what they write, none of that shit changes who we are on the court.”
She looked at me for a long moment, then nodded. “Deal.”
As we walked away, I squeezed her hand, just once.
Tomorrow could wait. Today, we were still a team. But soon it would be me against her.
And little did either of us realize how it was all about to come crumbling down.