Chapter 2
MY TURF
“WHAT DO YOU MEAN, you quit?” I shriek, shooting up from my seat. “You can’t quit! You—”
“I can’t do this anymore,” he replies, his words so weightless that they manage to shut me up to be able to listen to them. “Trust me, it’s time. You’ll be better off without me.”
Elliot turns his head slowly to glance at my dad.
“I’m sorry, Joe.”
I’m sorry, Joe?
What about me?!
There’s no way Elliot’s quitting on me. I’ve known him since before I developed a conscience. I don’t even remember the first day I met him. I was that young. About to turn three, to be exact, when I took my first tennis lesson with him, or so I’ve been told. He can’t just—
“Belén,” he says, interrupting my internal turmoil. “It’s time for us to part ways and for you to find a new coach.”
“This is bullshit, and you know it!” I snap, realizing this is what it must feel like when someone breaks up with you, only worse because everything I’ve worked for is on the line and will be affected by his decision.
“Belén,” Dad warns by saying my name in Spanish. He usually says it with an American English accent, which makes it sound softer. His voice always seems harsher and angrier in his mother tongue.
Robbie takes a sip of his Sportaid, taking in the scene in front of him, and I’m thankful for his silence.
Elliot shuts his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose. I’ve failed him, finally broken him, and now there’s no way to fix this, to fix the way he’s feeling about this. His face is the purest depiction of frustration and disappointment. And still, he says nothing. He doesn’t have to.
He’s done.
“I know I messed up, okay,” I say, attempting to soften my tone and brighten my attitude. “But you have to give me another chance.”
Trying to change his mind might be useless, but my career and personal agenda depend on him staying.
“Please?”
I hate having to beg, even if I know I could do a better job at it. I should be on my knees, but my stupid pride won’t allow me to go that far. A part of me knows he’s made up his mind, and I would only be making a bigger fool of myself for trying.
Elliot regards me in silence. He’s one of the best out there, and there’s no way I’ll start hunting for a new trainer now. Not when I’m running out of time.
This can’t be happening.
“Elliot, why don’t we discuss this tomorrow, after the dust has settled?” Dad says, firm but kind, making it clear he’s got his best interest in mind. “It’s been a long day, and a tough couple of weeks for everyone.”
“I’m sorry, Joe. I really am,” Elliot repeats, rubbing the back of his neck. “But my decision is final. We can meet on Monday to discuss the specifics of the early termination of my contract.”
“Elliot—”
“I think it’s best if I leave,” he cuts me off, lifting a hand in front of him. “Besides, you have a trophy ceremony and a few interviews to get to.” He offers me a hint of a smile.
“I don’t give a damn about any of it!” I retort.
I breathe, slow and deep.
“I’m sorry, Elliot. But—”
“Hold up,” Drew sings with a laugh. “I’m gonna stop you right there, kid.
Unless you want twenty grand deducted from the prize money on top of whatever the fine’s going to be for the verbal and racket abuse.
” He lifts a warning brow at me. “You better show your face out there. You don’t even have to smile, although I highly recommend it. ”
Drew takes the opportunity to flash his new set of pearly whites at me.
His veneers are too white against his dark brown skin, too perfect if you ask me.
I don’t think he needed them. He had a perfectly good set of teeth, but he said he wanted to drink unlimited coffee and keep smoking like he does without worrying about them eventually rotting.
“Drew’s right, sweetheart,” Dad agrees. “You don’t have a choice but to show your face out there.”
How am I going to step back on that court after everything that happened earlier? Now that the adrenaline has mostly drained from my system, the embarrassment hits me hard and deep in my gut.
“Just power through it, and remember to talk to the media afterward,” Drew tosses in. “Or I’ll drag you out there myself.” He sings it like he’s joking, but we both know he’s done it before.
“Keep it short and simple. Apologize if you can and let me handle the rest. I’ll be there for moral support.”
He shoots me one of his playful winks, and I do my best not to roll my eyes.
“Congratulations,” Elliot says with a small but warm, genuine smile, nodding once my way. His mouth is tight as he closes the distance between us to hug me. “You’re going to be okay. It’s been an honor watching you grow into the tennis player you’ve become.”
Then why are you leaving me?
You know why, my brain teases.
I sigh as Elliot shakes everyone’s hand before leaving.
My eyes sting with tears that threaten to start pouring down my face again, but I swallow them back. Robbie sets down his drink and stands up to hug me. I bury my face in his shoulder and let him squeeze the feelings out of me with a tight embrace.
A knock on the locker room door makes me turn my attention toward the sound.
It’s Liam.
“Belén.” He hurries my way the moment he spots me, offering a firm handshake to Drew and Dad as he walks past them.
“Hey, mate.” Liam greets Robbie before throwing his arms around me. His hold is warm and comforting around my shoulders. “You were great out there. I’m so proud of you.”
My cheek finds that magic spot on his chest as I watch my dad raise an eyebrow at me. At us. That boy is a distraction, I can practically hear him saying in my head.
“I hope I’m not late for your racket’s burial service,” he says, making me chuckle.
He gently lifts my chin, tilting it upward to get a better look at my face.
He always lights up my day like a warm beam of sunshine.
“We’re ready for Miss Freeman!” a staff member shouts through the open door. The trophy ceremony comes right after the match, but they’ve already given me a few extra minutes to “recover” from the embarrassing episode.
Liam breaks off the embrace, cups my face, and shoots me a disarming look. He’s so good to me, but I always have to be somewhere else and running away from him when I don’t want to be.
“I need to get to the ceremony,” I say in barely a whisper. “But … are you free tomorrow? Gemma’s coming over too for tape night, and I thought we could hang out and—”
“I’ll bring pizza,” he whispers back, beaming. “And a fresh notebook for you to take notes.”
I reciprocate his smile and walk backward until our hands break apart.
My dad nods once at Liam and places his hands on my shoulders to guide me out into my personalized torture chamber.
As we make our way back to the main court, more judgment-filled stares are directed at me. I’m still learning how to navigate being in the spotlight, listening to the cameras clicking inches away from my face, but my mind is elsewhere, and I can’t find it in me to care.
I lost. In my book, there’s no such thing as “winning” second place. And if there’s anything I hate more than losing, it’s losing against Zoya Kruschenko on my turf.
Shake it off and smile for the cameras, damn it.