I collapse into a chair. Mum doesn’t seem bothered that her only child is falling to pieces in front of her. She’s fiddling with her phone, prodding the screen with a stiff finger. Suddenly, Toni Braxton’s voice fills the room.
‘Before Alanis, there was Queen Toni,’ she says, pushing a box of tissues across the table.
Chapter 51
JACK
QATAR
Georgie’s late. I’m not mad about it, it’s just unusual. She knows how tight our weekend schedules are even better than I do. I use the opportunity to slump on my driver room couch and check my phone. Disappointment spears through me when the only new message is from my agent. I’m such an idiot for hoping. Minnie won’t have messaged. Not now, not ever. Why would she? I was an arsehole. I couldn’t fight for her when it mattered. I didn’t know how.
I rake my fingers through my hair and rub my eyes. I haven’t been sleeping much and I can feel the effects all over. In the first practice session earlier, my concentration wandered for a second and I lost the air on my front wing, almost wobbling into the barrier.
Having trouble sleeping makes no sense because we weren’t together every single night, but I’m finding it impossible to sleep alone. When I drift off, I think of Minnie, and when I wake up, I immediately reach for her, and the whole nightmare comes back fresh.
The door swings open and I wipe away a tear before Georgie can see. Without making eye contact, she shoves a protein shake in my chest so roughly she winds me, but weirdly it makes mefeel a little better. This is familiar territory. This I know how to handle.
She’s been in a hump since she found out about me and Minnie. It’s none of her damn business. If she wants to stomp around and act all petty, that’s on her. There are only nine days left of this season and I have every intention of gritting my teeth and bearing her until the winter break. I’m not in the mood for anI told you soor a lecture on what she thinks I did or didn’t do. Even getting dressed and leaving my hotel are feats at the moment so I’m sticking to the necessities.
I frown into the dense liquid. What the hell’s in this thing? ‘Why’s it…beige?’
‘New flavour.’
‘It’s curdled.’
‘Anything else, Mr Hollywood?’
Jesus.
Saying I’m not looking forward to this massage is undercooking it – I’d rather do a Paddock Club appearance starkers. I tried to get out of it and lied that my calves aren’t tight but she’s having none of it, so now I’m lying on a bed at the whim of an angry Georgie, that one disgusting sip of protein shake stirring my insides. It was only slightly worse than the hard-boiled eggs and stale rye she forced me to eat for breakfast.
‘Any areas of tightness.’ Her usual question, delivered with the expressiveness of Andy Murray.
‘No.’
She knows I’m lying and goes straight for my Achilles tendon. I grit my teeth to keep from twitching. Pain is in my mind. It’s a construct. I can out-think?—
FUCK!
Her thumbs slide through – not around, not on top of,through– my gastrocnemius muscle. White hot fire’s burning down the centre of my calf. I swallow an almighty grunt andthrow all my energy into not booting her in the face. Eventually, she makes it to my knee, and I can breathe for few seconds while she resets. Too soon, she starts again with excruciating slowness – but this time, using her forearm.
‘How’s the pressure.’
‘Fine,’ I respond, way too high. If I show weakness, she’ll press harder.
Sweat’s dripping into my eyes as she pummels me like I’m the one who told her she’s not cut out for performance coaching because she’s a woman. She knows exactly what she’s doing; she’s more attuned to my body than I am. In a twisted way, it feels good. This is the most present I’ve been all wee— Her thumbs reach the lateral head of the muscle, nails digging into the gap, and I let out a bleat.
‘There a problem?’ she asks.
‘N—’
‘Flex your foot.’
She rests the front of my calf on her shoulder, and runs her knotted hands down the back. I think I’m going to puke. I’ve had many sports massages in my life and I know what it’s supposed to feel like, and blinding pain mixed with pinched skin isn’t it. When her claws make an appearance at the base, that’s it.
‘Ahh! Enough!’ I hurtle off the bed and grab the wall to stop myself collapsing. My whole leg’s gone numb. ‘Enough.’
Her eyebrows smush together. ‘What?—’
