Chapter 42
Inés
Midnight Love—girl in red
We moved around each other in the locker room, a careful dance of avoidance. Both of us pretended that the match we were about
to play was just another, not the one that could change everything.
I’d woken up to her warm body pressed against mine, her breath soft against my neck. In the short weeks we’d been sharing
a bed, I’d grown far too accustomed to her heat, to the way her presence filled the empty spaces.
We were still waiting for the story to break. Together, we’d sent different lies to each member of my team. Simple stories
ranging from each of us pulling out of the competition to planning dramatic team changes.
“Have you got a hairbrush?” Chloe asked from behind me. She was wearing an ombre purple dress, the ELITE logo displayed proudly
across the middle. “I forgot mine.”
“Sure.” I pulled one from my bag and handed it over. “You look pretty enough already.”
“Thanks.” Her eyes trailing over me. “It’s my secret weapon: to distract you.”
I chuckled, but the tension between us lingered, the kind that couldn’t be brushed off with light banter, no matter how much
we tried.
I placed everything I wouldn’t need for the match back into my locker. My movements felt automatic, robotic, like my mind wasn’t fully there, not when every glance, every word, felt heavier than it should.
The locker room felt too quiet now that there were only a few players left in the competition. Two had already played, and
soon it would be our turn.
I brushed my outfit down, a sage tank and skirt combo, trying to eliminate any wrinkles. It felt like I was killing time,
trying to avoid the inevitable. But I could hear the clock ticking down, every single tick as brutal as a paper cut.
“Are you ready?” I asked, despite not feeling near ready myself.
“As I’ll ever be.” Her gaze caught on mine, the mix of emotion clear. I suspected I looked the same, reluctant and unsteady.
But I knew as soon as the tip of a trainer hit the hard surface of the court, we’d snap out of this.
We would be in direct competition again.
Had we ever truly not been?
Chloe’s fingers pushed off her bracelet from her wrist and held it out towards me. I did the same. How long ago that guesthouse
felt now, shelter from the storm. We were merely a beginning back then, no idea of what lay ahead.
I couldn’t bear the distance between us any longer, and leaned across and pressed my lips to hers. She kissed me back, our
hands slipping together in silent exchange.
Pulling away, I leaned forward, pressing my forehead against hers. “No matter what happens, we leave it all out there.”
Chloe’s lips curved into a soft smile. “Deal,” she whispered, her voice steady despite the storm of emotions I knew she felt
too. “For the next few hours, it’s tennis,” she said, her voice growing firmer. “But after . . .”
“After,” I echoed, the promise heavy, “we can go back to being us.”
Chloe closed the gap again, a soft quick press before she was gone. Inches that might as well be miles.
“Maybe there is something to this luck thing.” I twirled the bracelet around my finger. “I’ve gotten very lucky in this competition.”
“I tried to tell you,” she replied, a forced smile on her lips. “But you never listen.”
How could I tell her that I was beginning to suspect that it wasn’t a bracelet strung on a stormy day? But the person who’d
brought it all together.
I slipped it over my hand, feeling as if it was an anchor more than a good luck charm, keeping us grounded. Like it was a
physical manifestation of everything we had promised each other.
Chloe pushed her bracelet over her knuckles, and I was looking at the door when I heard a sharp snap. Time seemed to stand
still as the elastic string split, the beads exploded outwards, flying through the air and scattering across the locker-room
floor like tiny fragments of shrapnel.
For a second, neither of us moved. The silence was deafening, punctuated only by the faint clatter of a final bead skittering
to a stop.
Our eyes met, hers wide with shock, as all hell broke out.