Chapter 30
Rowan
May - French Open
I stare at the message I sent Maggie three weeks ago.
I don’t know where we go from here, Mags, but I need some space to think it all through.
Her reply came a few days later.
Let me know when you’re ready to talk.
I spent my time with Jacob in London, trying to come up with a plan, any plan, to get Maggie back. And yet, every time I reached for my phone to contact her, our last conversation flitted back to mind.
I was going to end it. I was going to end the agreement.
All I’ve wanted this past week is to go out on the practice courts and find her.
I want to tell her how much I love her, how I would shield her from anything that comes our way.
But I know she wouldn’t want that, and the last thing I want to do is mess with her head right before an important tournament.
I’ve been chasing her for the last ten years, and look where that’s gotten me.
Alone at the French Open.
Practice with my coach is…fine. Through the haze of it all, I’ve worked hard and managed to make it to the semi-finals, except, I don’t feel motivated to win this. I don’t even want to be here. I tell Jacob as much when we meet at the hotel bar.
“Mate, you need to snap out of it,” he says, smacking the sticky bar with his palm.
I lift an eyebrow at his outburst and he bites his cheek.
“Sorry, it’s just”—he runs a hand through his thick black hair—“I hate seeing you so down. I know you love her, and I know it’s hard right now, but you two will figure this out. ”
“That’s the thing, I don’t know if we will,” I pout and take a sip of my Coke.
There’s so much energy coming off Jacob, that I think he might stand up and start pacing the bar area. “Right now, what matters is this tournament. Have you really lost sight of that?”
I sigh, looking around the hotel bar, hoping that I can maybe see a glimpse of Maggie. Is she here with Andreea? Is she here alone?
“Rowan,” Jacob says, smacking my arm.
“What?” I ask, dazed.
“Your head is not in the game, man. You need to focus,” Jacob says, tapping the bar with his fingers.
“Are you okay?” I ask, taking in his disheveled appearance and the dark circles under his eyes.
“Me? Fine,” he says, pinning me with his turquoise blue eyes.
I cross my arms and stare at him until, eventually, he relents.
“I haven’t been sleeping well,” he says, eying me wearily.
“I shouldn’t be telling you this since I’m likely going to play you in the finals, but my knee has been bothering me. ”
“Your knee? When did you get injured?” I ask, confused.
Jacob swallows and looks down at his non-alcoholic beer, debating whether or not to tell me what’s on his mind. Eventually, he relents and says, “It’s an old injury. I tore my ACL when I played at Uni. It took me a year to get back to playing.”
“Shit, man. That’s intense. I had no idea,” I say, frowning.
“Yeah, I don’t exactly broadcast it to my competition.” He laughs, giving me a sad smile.
I reach out and grasp his shoulder, squeezing tight. “I’m your friend, I wouldn’t do anything to jeopardize your confidence.”
“I know, mate. It’s why I told you, even though you can use it against me in the finals.” He grins and I shake my head.
“I would never,” I say.
On the day of the semifinals, I stick to my routine—go on a run on the treadmill in the arena’s gym, chat strategy and shots with my coach.
I try to follow Jacob’s advice and get my head in the game.
It’s not easy when I see a flash of blonde hair and blue eyes and it immediately reminds me of Maggie and how she’s not here with me.
The articles haven’t stopped in the last three weeks, as they continued to speculate about our relationship, or lack-there-of. People have noticed we’re not spending time together for the tournament, and a whole new wave of attention is on us, speculating if we’ve broken up.
I catch sight of Jacob’s match on one of the screens in the players’ lounge and smile to myself.
He’s in the lead after winning the first set 6-4 and I watch his next serve.
He shifts from one leg to the other and winces but as soon as he hits the ball, it lands at the edge of the service box and has enough spin to bounce out of bounds.
His opponent, a rising Australian player, has no chance to even touch it with his racquet. A perfect ace.
I grin to myself and make my way to the quiet room. The space is large, with soft and dimmed lights, a mini fridge with waters and smoothies, and a couple of beds and couches for people to relax in.
Laying down on the comfortable mattress, I adjust the pillow under my head and stare up at the ceiling, trying to get my mind to focus for my match. I silence my phone and text my coach to come get me when Jacob’s match ends and then I close my eyes.
As soon as I do, I’m hit with all the anxiety and emotion of the last few weeks. What if my friendship with Maggie is completely ruined now? I don’t think I could be the same without her in my life.
Who would I spend all my time with if not her? Who would I take to Sunday brunch? Take Archie on a run with? Watch movies on the couch with?
The knot in my throat keeps rising until it chokes me. I turn and bury my head in the pillow to muffle my cry.
The last thought I have before sleep pulls me under is, what if she wants nothing to do with me anymore?