CHAPTER 18 #2
Beck’s eyes are wild. He turns back towards me, considering. Whatever he sees makes him reach out and grab my wrist, pulling me across the room. “We’re leaving,” he orders. “You’re only doing these things because Aurelio said you should—”
“Let go of me!” I squirm. “I’m staying here. Aurelio has to leave soon!”
Aurelio’s eyes flash with anger. “Get your hands off her!” He reaches between my father and me, trying to separate us.
I don’t even see it happen.
One moment, the three of us are twisted together, full of anger and belief, and the next Aurelio is on the floor, clutching his eye and my father looms high above us both, his free hand fisted in the air, the other still gripping my wrist so hard it hurts.
“Aurelio!” I cry. I twist free of Beck’s grip and hurry to his side. “Are you alright?”
Aurelio lowers his hand from his eye. I can already see it’s raised and pink. “He hit me.” Aurelio’s voice is low, stunned. I’m sure he’s never been in a fight in his whole life.
And now he has a black eye from his girlfriend’s father.
I run a soothing hand through Aurelio’s hair before I stand up, careful and precise. Beck lowers his arm, stunned himself. My father is a fighter, but rarely with his fists.
All the confusion, all the regret, all the daughterly love leaves me in a rush. I’m cold, the ice woman he always wanted. “Leave. Now.”
“Amy,” he says, weakly.
I hold up my hand. “No. We’re done. I mean it.”
He tries to play it off, casual. “Look, I didn’t mean to hit the kid, but he keeps getting involved where he shouldn’t—”
“No,” I say again. My voice doesn’t shake; my arm doesn’t itch.
I look at my father, and I only see Beck Bowman, tennis god.
Gods don’t have time for their children.
“You will no longer be my coach, and you’ve certainly never been my father.
I’ll come collect a few things from Malibu, but then I’m gone.
You won’t be my coach for the U.S. Open or for any tournaments in the future.
” My voice only breaks when I end with, “I don’t ever want to see you again. ”
“Amy.” Now there’s a hint of panic. “I’m sorry, alright? Don’t do anything rash.”
“If you don’t comply,” I say, steel in my voice. “I will call the WTA, and I’ll tell them what happened here. I’ll tell them everything.”
Silence reigns. I stare Beck down, daring him to protest. He doesn’t say anything, but he knows he’s lost. He hates losing.
A tentative knock on the door interrupts us. “Lio? Are you alright? I thought I heard shouting.” It’s Aurelio’s coach, Antonio, who’s staying down the hall.
Aurelio gets to his feet, wincing a bit and touching his swollen eye. “I’m fine, Antonio.”
Antonio smells bullshit. “I’m using my key,” he announces. “I just want to see you.”
I don’t even have the power to protest. I’m too ashamed that the Bowman legacy is one of pain. I’m the reason Aurelio is in pain.
A lump rises in my throat as Antonio takes in the scene.
He first notices Aurelio and his eye. Then my tearstained face and hives.
Finally, he turns to my father. They played together a few decades ago.
The Italian is much smaller than my father, probably over a hundred pounds lighter.
But he knows how to twist the knife. “It looks like you lost this time around, Signore Bowman.” The words are achingly soft, but they land.
Beck takes one last fleeting look at me, then turns and stomps out of the room.
Antonio lets out a relieved sigh. “Come, Lio. Let me see your eye.” Aurelio winces as his coach gently touches the area. I stand off to the side, biting my lip. My wrist itches more than ever. “It will bruise,” Antonio finally decides. “I’m sorry.”
“I’ll tell my family they should see the other guy,” Aurelio jokes, but it’s hollow. He’s exhausted. Worried about his nona, worried about me, angry with my father. He looks a few years older than he did at Wimbledon.
I can’t do anything about his nona, but I can get rid of the other stressor in his life.
I glance at the clock on the nightstand. “Your flight is in a couple hours,” I say. Aurelio and Antonio’s heads both snap towards me as though they forgot I was there. I blink back the tears. “You should head to the airport.”
Antonio also glances at his watch. “I was coming to get you when I heard the shouting. The car will be outside.”
Aurelio nods, but he’s looking at me. I can’t take the sadness in his gaze. “Amy...” he trails off.
I knew this wouldn’t work in the end, didn’t I? There’s only so much darkness Aurelio’s sunshine can take.
I try to smile at Aurelio. “Go. Be with your family. With Nona.”
Antonio rolls Aurelio’s packed suitcases towards the door and throws him a shirt. Aurelio catches it, but his conflicted gaze stays on me. Knowing him, he wants to talk things out, figure out where things went wrong.
I know there’s nothing to say. “Go,” I say fiercely, “I’ll be fine.”
I wait quietly for Aurelio to go to the bathroom, put on his shoes, brush his teeth.
Antonio gathers some ice from the ice machine and puts it in a plastic bag.
Aurelio holds it up to his face, surveying the room to see if he’s left anything.
His gaze lingers an extra beat on the bed; the imprints of Amy and Aurelio still pressed into the mattress.
Finally, there’s nothing left to do, no excuse to stay together. The two of us, awkwardly separated by a worried Antonio, walk out of the hotel room.
And when Antonio and Aurelio walk through the elevator doors, I turn and head down the stairs. I can’t stand another minute in Aurelio’s presence, staring at the bruise my father left on his face.
I can almost imagine that Aurelio calls my name, wanting me to come back, but it’s too late.
I sit in the stairwell and cry.
I don’t think I’m a loser, but I have just lost something.