Chapter 25
twenty-five
When we arrive in Rome the next day, I keep my over-the-ear headphones on until we reach the rental car.
Even then, I don’t speak to Aleks, who, to be fair, hasn’t made much of an effort to talk to me either.
Travel days are always rest days unless we’re on a tight schedule, so the first evening, I reluctantly follow Karolína and Pen across the slick cobblestones of curved Roman streets, the smell of fried artichokes and tobacco in the air.
The couple of times I glance behind me, to where Aleks has remained the entire walk to the restaurant Pen chose, I watch him drop cash into the cases of street artists, his eyes bright.
It makes me wonder if strength and conditioning coaching is what he wants, or if it’s his way of staying in the sport, near his siblings. Which only reminds me of our conversation last night, which only makes me upset.
For the next week, I go through the motions of tour life without any of the joy I’d just begun feeling again.
Hitting sessions with Aleks until the girls arrive, training with him in the gym and on the slippery clay courts at the club beside our hotel, Karolína watching and stepping in so their training is entirely aligned—medicine ball throws for rotational twist turned to perfect backhands, one-legged jumps for power turned to serves and explosive runs to the net.
Film breakdowns in one of our rooms, both of them pointing out areas of improvement.
When I go to the gym on my own in the evenings, Aleks doesn’t try to stop me, but he does watch me hawkishly from across the room.
He’s distant, often not in the best mood, and based on the fact that I watched Natasha exit a practice court with tears streaming down her face, I’m convinced they either haven’t talked to their parents about her quitting, or if they have, it didn’t go well.
On more than one occasion, I contemplate asking about it, but we haven’t exchanged a single word outside of my training, and I’m not sure we’re in a place where he’d want to talk about it with me anyway.
My first match at the Italian Open, eight days after landing in Rome, is practically flawless.
A near perfect 6–0 opening set and 6–2 in the second.
Press and cooldown move quickly enough that I end the evening early, in my hotel room, staring at the piece of paper littered with things I’ve learned about myself this month.
It’s crumpled from when I balled it up and tossed it into one of my bags the morning we flew to Rome. I haven’t added anything to it since we were in Madrid, but just looking at it puts his voice in my head.
That’s true of everything though, and the urge to text him, to make sure he’s okay despite what may be happening with his family, is almost too strong to ignore. I toss my phone away so I’m not tempted and think myself in circles until I fall asleep.
The next morning, after a quiet breakfast with Karolína and Pen and a stretch in my room, I take the elevator down to the hotel gym to get a few sets of warmup in before my hitting session.
Except the elevator stops, doors opening to let Aleks in.
It’s not the first time we’ve been alone since that night, but the small elevator isn’t big enough to handle the tension hanging in the air.
Worse, Aleks decides to pull a button, and we come to a screeching halt, suspended twenty floors up. My jaw drops.
“Nic, come on. We need to talk through this.”
“Are you crazy?”
“If this is the only way to get you to talk to me, so be it. It’s been a week and a half, and I don’t want your training to suffer.”
I cross my arms, turning fully toward him. “Has my training been suffering?”
“Not necessarily, but you’ve been putting in more hours in the gym than I’d like, and I think you’re tired.”
“Oh! Thank you for once again telling me what I’m feeling.”
“That’s not—” A frustrated sigh. “Just tell me what I can say to make this right.”
I take a step toward him. “No. It’s not up to me to help you fix your mistakes. You’ve left my trust in pieces, and I don’t see them coming back together easily. Evidently, you still don’t believe I can make my own decisions since you want me to stop training outside of our sessions.”
He swipes a hand through his hair, exposing a strip of his stomach, and glances at the elevator panel.
So far, nothing has changed on the screen, which is alarming for a hotel that costs as much as this one does.
“Of course I want you to stop training outside of our sessions, Nic! If it’s going to impact the way you show up on court, it’s my job to be worried about that. ”
“Get the elevator running again, Aleks.”
“Or what?”
“‘Or what?’ Act your age,” I snap. The anger that slithers through me is so familiar, and for once, I’m grateful for it. Maybe if I let it take charge, the ache in my chest at being so close to him will dissipate.
This time, he’s the one who steps forward, our shoes toe-to-toe. His silver chain catches the light, reminding me of all the times it dangled over me as we—
No.
“Oh, I’m the one being immature?”
Peering at him through narrowed eyes, I ask, “What is that supposed to mean?”
“Why the hell did you hire me? What’s the point of having a strength and conditioning coach to help your performance if you’re not going to listen? What’s my role here? Because I don’t feel like your coach. You spend over an hour a day on unsanctioned training.”
I scoff. “‘Unsanctioned training?’ Seriously?”
“What would you call it?”
“I don’t know! It’s not like I’m hitting the squat rack and maxing out my bench press, Aleks. I’m getting in some extra cardio so I’m ready for tough matches. I’m doing the exercises you want, just more often.”
His head tilts. “Why are you mad at me, Nic? What are you really upset about?”
“Are you dense? I told you. You went behind my fucking back and practically told Karolína I can’t be trusted to make my own decisions.”
Aleks shakes his head, and it makes my blood heat. If there is a higher power, this man must have been created and sent purely to make me angry. “No. What’s the real reason?”
“Aleks, you’re pissing me o—”
“What’s the real reason?”
“You made me trust you! After months of being sure you were no better than your sister, you came into my life and took care of me. Made me feel like I was your priority. Made me believe you wanted what was best for me. I don’t trust easily, but you wormed your way in, then went behind my back.
I’ve never let someone in so fast, and you…
” I glance away, breathing heavily. “Restart the elevator before they send a search and rescue team after us, Aleks.”
“No.” His fingers hover near my chin, though he doesn’t touch me. It’s like a dagger to the chest. “If you believed I wanted what was best for you, why is it so hard to believe that me wanting you to sit Strasbourg out might be what’s best for you?”
My gaze clashes with his. Over the course of the argument, we’ve gotten close enough that the smell I cling to in the shirts he left envelops me.
“I’m not having this discussion again. Get out of my face.
” I set my hands on his chest, but my shove is barely more than a tap.
My body’s final betrayal where Aleks is concerned.
His hand grabs both of mine where they sit, the other slipping into my hair, pulling my lips to his. It’s chaste, and when I try to deepen it, Aleks turns, resting his temple against mine, his ragged breaths beside my ear.
“What are you doing?” I ask, feeling cheated.
“We’re not doing that until you stop being mad at me.”
“Aleks, I’m not sure a day will go by that I won’t be mad at you.”
His nose below my ear sends a shock through my body, a bolt of warmth in the pit of my stomach. “Is that a promise?” he whispers.
“Wh—what?” I shift closer, desperate for more.
“I want you to promise to be mad at me every single day. I’ll take mad over indifferent every day for the rest of my life,” he says against the skin of my neck, the place he knows drives me crazy.
I hardly hear him, the need to be touched so dire, a moan breaks free of my throat.
He inhales once, then kisses my hair before backing away. His pupils are blown, a groove between his brows as he offers me a pained smile. “Don’t worry. I’ve missed you too.”
Rapid Italian through the speaker above us startles me away from him. I lean against the far wall, too stupefied to do more than stare.
“Sorry?” Aleks answers innocently. “We don’t speak Italian.”
“Do you need help? Has there been an emergency?” the man asks with a heavy accent and little patience.
Aleks takes me in, his grin turning wicked as he adjusts himself in his pants. “Don’t believe so. You good?” he asks me. At my scowl, he says, “We’re all good.”
“Do you see a knob?” The operator is done with our shit. “The one that has been pulled up? Can you press it?”
“Oh, my bad. These elevators are a foreign concept to me.”
The operator mutters something about Americans while Aleks rights the knob he pulled. The elevator jumps to life, and the man clicks off.
I finally catch my breath as the doors open to reveal the hallway to the gym. Aleks steps out, but I’m no longer in the mood for a lift.
“Aleks,” I croak despairingly, shoving my body in the way of the elevator doors.
I’m tired of not knowing how he is. I can be mad at him and be worried. “Is everything alright? With Natasha and your parents?”
His expression shifts, darker. “Not yet. But it will be.”
“Are…are you okay?” The elevator doors start to close before jolting open.
“Yeah, solnyshko.” His lips tug upward. “I’m okay.”
I nod, step back, and allow the doors to close between us. After clicking my floor number, I droop against the wall, wishing for the self-control I seem to have in spades in every other facet of my life.