Chapter 46
Chloe
Darling—Halsey
I fucking lost.
Those three words kept rattling around my thick skull. I’d replayed every single moment, every serve, every return, in the
hours since the match, but I still hadn’t made peace with it.
Smashing every racket in my bag and nearly tearing my kit in half had helped. A little. But every reminder dragged me back
under. The TV replaying the match. Other players coming to offer me condolences. It all made me want to tear my hair out.
Who was that idiot on court? The fool who played right into her opponent’s trap.
Before, I could blame the anger. The rage. The way it ate me up and spat me out. But today? I played the best I could, and
it hadn’t been enough. That was harder to accept.
Calvin’s expression when I walked off court had said it all: frustration etched into the faint lines of his face, sadness
in his eyes. But he stuck around for the aftermath, making sure I didn’t have to face anyone while I seethed with disappointment.
He even confiscated my phone so I wouldn’t doomscroll my misery.
Calvin always did this, picking up the pieces when I fell apart. He’d probably earn a sainthood for putting up with me. I didn’t know if I resented him for it or if I was grateful beyond words to have somebody to see the ugliest side of me. Maybe both.
With a knock on the door, he appeared in the doorway. “Are you ready to leave?”
I’d been stashed away in a meeting room, nowhere near the locker room. Nowhere near her.
“Yeah.” I nodded, resigned. I’d been holding out hope the ground might swallow me whole, but no such luck.
“Security’s got the car waiting out front,” Calvin said as I grabbed my bag and straightened my hoodie. “Should be a swift
exit.”
I nodded silently, stepping closer and expecting him to move out of the way, but he didn’t budge.
“I’m sorry for today,” Calvin said, his hand rubbing at the back of his head. “I feel like I failed you.”
I looked up at him, trying to understand. “What? Why on earth would you think that?”
We’d been here before. Losses, bad ones. But never had he said that. My own stupidity had landed me here, and now I had to
watch it weigh on him too?
“Maybe this deal with Inés was a mistake,” he said. “Maybe I should’ve focused on strategy instead of . . . I really thought
if we helped you control your rage, we had another shot. I thought keeping you calm would make you unstoppable.”
I exhaled sharply. “I played my best, and it wasn’t enough. That’s not on you.”
His mouth pressed into a thin line. “It was my idea.”
“You didn’t cause any of this. And the deal with Inés . . . it wasn’t a mistake. Even if it led here, I’d still do it again.
She won. Fair and square.”
Calvin looked at me strangely, his gaze lingering. “That’s unlike you.”
“That’s what she taught me.” The words came before I could stop them, making my throat tighten. My heart winced like it was
still bruised by the loss but not broken. “How to lose, how to feel like shit over it and how to walk away in love with that
very person.”
My girl is smart, even when she is beating me.
He stilled. His brows furrowed. “Did you just—”
I groaned, rubbing a hand over my face. “Shut up.”
He watched me for a long moment, his mouth twitching like he wasn’t sure if he should be annoyed or impressed.
Then he opened his arms. “Come here.”
I didn’t hesitate, allowing myself to fall into his soft hug. His arms squeezed around me, and for a second, I was sixteen
again. With Calvin, the older brother I needed, the one who helped me fall in love with tennis again.
“You know,” he said, voice quieter as he released me, “watching you win the French felt like the pinnacle of my career.”
“It is the only time we’ve won a Grand Slam,” I pointed out flatly.
“But now?” He gave me a squeeze. “That’s the proudest I’ve ever been of you.”
“That’s sweet,” I said, scrunching my nose. “But also, gross. Could you try being less cringe?”
He laughed, but there was something off about it, like the loss still lingered in his throat. “I’ll go back to being your
coach.”
“I’d like that,” I said, feeling fractionally better about getting out of here. It felt like I was closing the door on the
tournament here. The weight had been there for months, pressing down on my shoulders since May. If I didn’t keep delivering
trophies, it felt like all of this might disappear.
First Paris. Then London. Now here.
But Inés had shown me it only disappeared if you stopped fighting, if you gave up. She never did. Even when the odds were
against her, she found a way to win. That’s why I loved her.
“Come on,” I said, adjusting my bag. “I need to get back to the hotel.”
I needed to see her.
Calvin raised an eyebrow. “You’re not about to do something stupid, right?”
“Stupid was smashing all those rackets,” I said. “Now I need a hot chocolate fudge brownie and a glass of wine.”
Maybe I’d let her pick the bottle. Let her make it up to me with the taste of wine on her lips.
Calvin smiled, falling into step beside me as we left the room. Two security guards waited outside, ready to lead me through
the crowd. I smiled softly at them, even though I hated the reason they were there. I let them go ahead.
The corridor was packed. Tighter than usual. Too many eyes, too many hushed voices.
Sore loser. Bitch. A mess on court.
Let them think whatever they wanted. I knew I’d played the best I could. And none of it mattered, not when I still had to
make things right with Inés.
The moment we stepped outside, the New York air hit me, thick, humid, heavy with the city’s summer heat. And then there was
the crowd, loud and foreboding. I hadn’t been scared before, the other times fans crowded the exits, but this time there was
a different energy. Almost as soon as they spotted me, the shouting turned violent.
The surge came fast. Security pushed forward, trying to clear a path, but the crowd was relentless. Bodies pressed in from
all sides. Instant impact. I grabbed for something, someone, my fingers digging into a stranger’s shoulder to stay upright.
The words came first. Sharp and vicious. “This is for cheating!”
The words cut through the chaos like a blade. My head snapped towards the voice, looking into a face twisted with rage, empty
eyes burning with something ugly.
Their arm swung. The cup hurtled at me, its contents slamming into my face. The liquid splashed across my skin, a shocking
burst of cold. Then the burn came, instant and searing. A sharp, metallic tang invaded my nose and throat, choking me. My
vision blurred.
I gasped, hands clawing at my face, but someone grabbed me, yanking me towards the car. The door slammed shut behind me, muffling the roar of the crowd, but the panic inside was as loud.
Everything burned. My skin. My eyes. My face. I twisted against the hands holding me back, desperate to wipe it off, but they
wouldn’t let go.
Someone cursed under their breath. “Don’t touch it. We don’t know what it is.”