CHAPTER 18
My father finds me in my dreams.
A younger version of my father looms over me, the one that stares back at me from the photo on my nightstand. His face is smoother, his hair darker. He looks so much closer to the tennis god he used to be and so much further from the agitated tennis coach that sits in my box.
He seems taller than usual, too. It’s because I’m sitting on the tennis court, racket at my feet. Beck offers me a hand up. “Sorry,” I say, confused. “I don’t know what happened.”
His huge hand engulfs mine, pulling me to my feet. “Don’t worry,” he says easily. “I’ve got you.”
I glance around, realizing we’re at the backyard court in Malibu. What are we practicing for? I can’t remember. Do I have a tournament coming up? I know my father will ream me out for being distracted, so I turn to pick up my racket. I’m surprised to see Beck has beaten me to it.
He picks up my custom Bowman X Wilson collaboration racket.
It looks identical to the one he used when he won his final Wimbledon, except mine’s pink.
I’m not Amy; I’m a Bowman. Even in my confusion, I know that.
“Amy,” Beck says seriously, looking me in the eye.
He holds onto my racket, not handing it back to me. “Remember, I chose you.”
“Chose me?” I hold out my hand, wanting the comfort of my racket. “Chose me for what?”
“Remember,” he emphasizes to me. “I chose you to share my life. I chose you.”
“I chose you, too,” I say desperately, wanting him to hand me the racket, wanting out of this conversation.
Finally, hesitantly, he holds out the racket between us. “Did you?”
And when I reach out for the racket, almost lunging towards him, it’s too late. Everything goes dark.
*
Beck Bowman finds me at dawn. “AMY BOWMAN.” He’s roaring, worse than I’ve ever heard him. His fist bangs on the door, as though trying to break through. “OPEN THE DOOR.”
I turn onto my back, rubbing my eyes tiredly.
“Jesus. Give me a second,” I mutter. I reach for my phone on the nightstand, wondering if I missed practice, when I see Aurelio lying next to me.
He’s tangled up in the sheets, wearing a pair of Nike shorts and nothing else. I’m wearing the matching t-shirt.
I’m in Aurelio’s room. How is my father pounding on the door? Did my dream transition into a nightmare?
“AMY.” Beck’s fury is palpable, even through the locked door. “I know you’re in there. Open the door right now or I’ll wake up this entire floor.”
Knowing he’s good for it, I scramble to my feet, climbing indelicately over Aurelio. He’s stirring, unused to the Beck Bowman alarm clock special.
“AMY!” Beck pounds on the door three more times. The door rattles. “Vince tried to cover for you, but I saw the pictures, I know you’re in ther—”
I yank the door open.
My father stands across from me, heaving in angry breaths, fist in the air. So many thoughts race through my head, so many apologies, so many defenses, so many more lies, but instead I just ask, voice scratchy from the morning, “What pictures?"
Beck stomps into the room, shoving me aside with his shoulder.
It glances off my chin, clacking my teeth together.
I quietly shut the door behind him, though I know it’s too late to hope no one heard him screaming.
“These pictures!” He shoves his phone in my face, open to Instagram.
“Rafe showed me these this morning. He thought I knew about you two.”
I hold the phone with trembling fingers.
It’s a picture of Aurelio and me leaving the gym yesterday evening, right after I promised to stay with him until he left for Rome.
We’re walking hand-in-hand, both our tennis bags over Aurelio’s shoulder.
I must have been trying to cheer Aurelio up, because in the picture, I’m gesturing wildly with my free hand and making a face.
Aurelio’s head is tipped back in laughter.
We look happy.
I hand the phone wordlessly back to my father.
Out of the corner of my eye, I can see that Aurelio is fully out of bed, waiting to see if I need help.
I want to explain to him, to apologize for my father’s antics, but I don’t dare look away from Beck.
His anger has transformed his face, but there’s also a trace of barely-there hurt.
I take the high road, trying to ignore the tell-tale itch on my wrist. “I’m sorry you had to find out this way—”
Beck interrupts me. “Find out what?” He throws his hands out. “That my daughter gave up on being a tennis player and instead chose to be some Italian’s fling?”
Aurelio immediately protests. “She didn’t—”
I hold up my hand to him, and he falls silent. I keep my eyes on my father, words calm. “I haven’t given up on being a tennis player. I’m still one of the best players in the world—”
“You are?” Beck immediately rips into me. “It seems like since you’ve been seeing Aurelio you’ve lost your number one ranking and every Grand Slam final you’ve played in.”
An angry blush rises to my cheeks. “I didn’t even know Aurelio when I lost in Australia,” I say hotly. “So maybe the common denominator in all those losses was you.”
Beck’s angry surprise settles, becoming cold and smug. “So, not Australia, huh? But every tournament after that?” He circles me, rubbing his chin. My spine stiffens, but I feel the hives forming on my chest, my neck. “So, you’ve been lying to me for, what? Months?”
I throw my hands out. “Maybe because this is how I knew you’d react!”
“No!” Beck snaps. “You lied because you knew you were wrong.”
The words hit their intended mark. I tremble. I can see in my peripheral that Aurelio is moving closer to me. “Wrong?” I ask, crossing my arms over my chest. “Wrong about what?”
Beck leans towards me, coming in for the kill.
“You knew that a relationship would be a distraction. You knew that a relationship would cloud your mind. You knew that a relationship would take up your extra time, extra time that could go towards training.” I set my mouth, trying not to let the words in, but they latch into my mind, barbed and unrelenting.
“But you did it anyway because, deep down, you know you don’t have what it takes to be a champion, Amy. ”
“That’s not true,” I say, my voice shaking. “I didn’t choose Aurelio to sabotage my life. I chose him because he makes my life better.”
I can’t resist the urge anymore, itching the hives on my right forearm. The relief is shameful.
Aurelio stands beside me now. His face is set, made from Italian marble. “Enough,” he tells my father. “You’ve made your point. You’re hurting her.”
“Hurting her?” Becks says in disbelief. “I’m the one who’s been lied to. I’m the one who’s lost my dream, the Bowman legacy.”
I shake my head. “What do you think I’m going to do? Quit tennis and get my MRS degree?”
“It’s what all women do.” Beck spits the words out with disgust. “They quit early to have babies or get married or spend more time with family.”
I feel sick at the blatant misogyny. It’s been there, festering within him, but I always ignored it. Now, all the anger and indignation I’ve felt towards him bubbles up, burning hot. “You did the same thing!” I shout, pointing at him. “Everyone does it. You quit when I came to live with you.”
He matches my volume. “You’re right, Amy, I did! And it’s the worst mistake I ever made!”
The words hit me so hard I take a step back. I know they’re the truth.
My father says real losers cry, and I’ve always hated to show him I’m a loser, but tears fill my eyes.
Aurelio puts an arm around my shoulders, pulling me towards him in a protective embrace. “You should go.” I’ve never heard him sound so cold, all the lovely Italian warmth bled from his accent. My father does love to make things bleed.
I press my face into Aurelio’s shoulder, taking a few deep breaths to slow my tears. “Go?” I hear my father say. “I’m not going anywhere without my daughter. You’re the reason things aren’t the same between us.”
There it is again, a twinge of hurt in his voice. I know there’s a small part of him that cares about Amy his daughter more than Amy the tennis player.
A very, very small part.
I take another deep breath and then step from Aurelio’s embrace, looking at my father with a tearstained face. “Things haven’t been right between us for a while, Dad.” I thrust out my arm between us, dotted with angry stress hives. “I’ve been having these for over a year, since before Suzy left.”
Beck glances at my arm, confused. “Okay, we’ll manage them. You can ask Vince, if he’ll come back after I fired him—”
“Fired him?” My body goes cold. “You fired Vince?”
Beck narrows his eyes. “Of course I did. He was covering for you. I don’t know how many lies he told me over these past few months, but I can’t have that from someone working for me—”
“He works for me!” I explode. “Not you.” I put my hands over my eyes, trying to think.
There’s a moment of dead space, where we all wonder what’s next.
I know this is my last chance to get the life I need, the life I deserve, and keep my father.
I drop my hands. “Dad,” I say evenly. “I want to keep playing tennis, and I want to win a Grand Slam. That hasn’t changed.
But other things have to. Vince will continue to work as my physio, if he’s willing.
I’ll keep dating Aurelio, if he’s willing.
” I give Aurelio a ghost of a smile, which he returns with relief.
I turn back to my father. “And I’m moving out. I need my own place.”
The words sound reasonable. The words sound doable.
My father is in disbelief. He stomps over to Aurelio, jamming his finger in his face. “Dad, stop—” I try to intervene.
“You!” Beck fumes. “Did you put these ideas in her head? Did you tell her that our relationship needed to change?”
“I didn’t have to tell her!” Aurelio says, exasperated. He leans back from the accusatory finger in his face. “I didn’t have to tell her anything!”