Chapter 45
Inés
Rue—girl in red
Success should feel good. A rush of excitement, Champagne bubbles fizzing on my tongue and a stomach full of butterflies.
But winning the semi-final against Chloe? It felt like tearing the wings off every last one of them.
After we shook hands at the net, she left the court quickly, her head down and her movements clipped. I wanted to follow,
or to call for her to stay, but the noise of the crowd surged around me, my attention pulled in several different directions
as an interviewer appeared, a camera pointed at me. They were so thrilled, so relieved that I’d clawed my way to a final after years of heartbreak and setbacks.
But their joy tasted bitter. Because I knew what I’d put at risk with this victory.
Her.
Chloe was all I could think about as I charged through the tunnel, looking around the cool-down area.
I didn’t stop. I tore through the locker room, pushing open stall doors, even glancing into the showers.
“Chloe?” Her name fell from my lips like a plea, echoing back at me, unanswered.
Her face when I claimed the final point was etched into my mind, sharp and raw.
Defeat wasn’t a look I’d associated with her.
She was too strong, too untouchable. Seeing it now, knowing I was the one guilty of causing it, was unbearable.
Even as my own hands throbbed from the grip of the racket and my wrist
screamed with every movement, the ache of guilt was worse.
I knew she’d read my injury, calculated her strategy. And I’d let her. I’d baited her into overreaching, driven her into frustration,
then turned it against her.
The tactic was sound. Brutal, but sound. Using it now, after everything between us, felt like a betrayal.
But I was the one who made her promise to fight me, to play me like any other opponent. And she’d kept her word. She came
at me with everything. And I’d promised to do the same.
I leaned against the edge of the lockers, the metal cool against my forehead, and let out a shaky breath.
“Inés,” a voice called behind me. I turned, my eyes landing on Scottie and Dylan. They’d been in the stands, cheering me on,
their excitement still buzzing in the air.
“You did great,” Scottie said, her smile soft, almost tentative.
“Where is she?” I asked, ignoring her words, my gaze flickering to Dylan, who shook her head.
“Leave her alone right now,” Dylan said gently. “She probably needs some time.”
“No.” I pushed myself from the lockers, my legs already moving beneath me. “I need to see her.”
Scottie reached out, grabbing my arm, halting my steps. Her steady eyes searched mine. “I know when I’ve lost against you
in the past, I needed space before we talked.”
“Needed to destroy a few rackets, more like,” Dylan muttered dryly from behind her.
Scottie rolled her eyes. “That too.”
“This is a bit more complicated,” I said, my voice cracking under the weight of everything I couldn’t explain.
“We know, you are loved up. It’s very cute,” Dylan interrupted. She paused, her sharp tone melting away. “But watching you
two on the court today was . . . heartbreaking.”
My throat tightened, tears threatening to spill. I’d been so focused, so deep in the mentality that drove me every single
day to the edge of what my body could physically take, that I’d risked everything.
Risked her.
Fuck the match. Fuck the final. Fuck the stupid trophy.
None of it mattered if I lost Chloe in the process.
I shook my head, slipping out of Scottie’s grasp and pushing into the hallway. My chest was heaving, tears blurring my vision
as I rounded the corner, determined to find her.
Instead, I collided with another body.
Ocean-green eyes stared back at me—not hers but Calvin’s. His hands gripped my arms, steadying me as I stumbled.
“Where is she?” I asked, desperation lacing every word.
“No,” he said firmly, his lips pressing into a hard line. “Not now.”
“Please,” I pleaded, trying to push past him. I was desperate. “Let me see her.”
His grip tightened, his voice low and steady. “Inés, listen to me.”
I tried again, leaning into him with what little strength I had left, but it was useless. And then I heard it, a sound that
stopped me cold.
It started with a whacking, a familiar noise to any tennis player. Racket death. And then a scream. Something being thrown or kicked or pushed. A crash. Another yell.
My gaze reconnected with Calvin’s, desperation biting at me again, but before I could say a single word, he spoke again. “Please,
give her some time. How would you feel if you had just lost that match?”
I swallowed hard, my heart breaking at the truth in his words. I’d need time too. “You promise she’ll be okay?”
“Of course she will be. Chloe is strong,” Calvin said, his voice softening. “And I’m pretty sure whatever you two have, it’s strong enough to survive this.”
I didn’t want to listen to him, didn’t want to admit that he could be right.
I stepped back as his hands released me and Scottie stepped forward, giving me a supportive squeeze.
“Please look after her,” I said, my voice cracking. “Tell her . . .” Those three words died on my tongue again, and I swallowed
them away. “Tell her . . . tell her I’m here for her.”
Scottie’s hand slipped into mine, grounding me as she gently led me away. Dylan followed, quiet for once, as they guided me
back to the locker room.
I stepped into the shower, letting the hot water pound against my skin, washing away the sweat and grime of the match. And
when the tears came, they poured out unchecked, mixing with the scalding water as I let myself break apart.