Clay season. My least favorite stretch of the calendar. The surface felt foreign under my shoes, every rally dragging on forever, every bounce higher, heavier, slower. It wasn’t that I couldn’t play on it; I’d made quarterfinals, even semis, but it drained me in ways other surfaces never did.
And now, in the thick of Roland Garros, the red dust clinging to my socks and the Paris crowd humming around me, it felt like every step was a reminder of how much I wanted this stretch to be over already.
Maddie flopped down beside me. “You do realize,” she said, “you can hate clay all you want, but you’re still world number one. Which means…” She drew the words out like a drumroll. “Congratulations, Liv. You’re officially qualified for the Olympics.”
The towel was half-hanging from my hand. “Just like that?”
“Direct qualification. Perks of sitting on top of the rankings.” Maddie grinned. “You’re going to be an Olympian. Let that sink in.”
The word hit differently. Olympian. It carried a weight even Grand Slams didn’t.
Maddie nudged me. “Imagine it, though. You, in the Union Jack kit, walking into the stadium with the delegation. And...” her smirk turned mischievous. “If Alex manages to qualify too, the two of you strutting around as an Olympian couple. Literal power couple energy.”
I rolled my eyes and shoved her lightly with my elbow.
Maddie’s grin lingered as she stretched her legs out in front of her. Then, after a beat, she tilted her head. “Alright, jokes aside… how are things going between you and Alex?”
I hesitated, staring at the clay dust clinging to my laces. “I don’t know. Something’s… different. Distant, almost.”
Maddie hummed knowingly. “I think you’re both just… stretched thin. You’re in the middle of a tournament, she’s jumping between training blocks, media, and travel. Your schedules barely line up right now.”
I shook my head. “But it feels different. Like something… deeper. Like there’s something she isn’t saying, something she’s holding back from me.”
Maddie studied me, then asked carefully, “Do you think maybe you should ask what’s really bugging her, why she feels distant? Sometimes people need a nudge to let you in.”
I chewed on my lip, then shook my head. “The last thing either of us needs is another distraction. She’s got her season to focus on, and I’ve got mine. If something’s really wrong, I have to trust she’ll tell me when she’s ready.” I forced a small laugh. “Knowing me, I’m probably just overthinking it anyway.”
Maddie didn’t argue, but the look she gave me said she wasn’t entirely convinced.
After training that afternoon, we headed back to the players’ lounge, where the TVs were tuned into thetriathlon feed. I kicked off my shoes, ready to spot Alex on the start line, nerves and excitement tangling in my chest. But as the camera panned across the athletes, her name never appeared on the graphic.
“Wait, where is she?” Maddie frowned.
The commentators answered before I could.“We’ve just had confirmation that Alexandra Cadiz pulled out late last night. She’ll rest up and reset for her next race on the calendar.”
My stomach sank. Rest up? Reset? It sounded clinical, detached, so unlike her. I kept staring at the screen, the buzz of the race starting without her suddenly feeling hollow.
The second we were back in my hotel room, I fired off a message.
Normally, Alex replied within minutes. Half an hour at most if she was caught up. This time, nothing. I refreshed my phone, checked the signal, and stared at the screen until the hour mark passed. Still silence.
Panic curled in my gut. I glanced over at Maddie, who was flipping absently through channels, keeping one eye on me. “Mads… do you have Bobby’s number? I need to call him. Maybe he knows what’s going on with Alex.”
She didn’t even hesitate. “Yeah, of course.” A few taps later, she handed me her phone with the number pulled up. “Go on. Call.”
My hands felt clumsy as I punched it in, pressing the phone to my ear. One ring. Two. Then a click.
“Hello?” Bobby’s voice came through, steady but a little rough around the edges.
“Bobby, it’s me. Is Alex okay? She hasn’t answered and I...” The words tumbled out before I could stop them.
Bobby’s exhale was slow, steady. Calm. “She’s alright, Liv. I promise. She just… pushed herself too hard. Went out biking after training, and her phone slipped and didn’t survive the fall.
Relief slammed into me so hard I sank back against the headboard, eyes closing. “So she’s not… she’s not hurt badly?”
“Just precaution.” Bobby’s voice softened. “But Liv… she’s drained. I mean, really drained. The training, the races, all the travel, the Olympics looming… It’s a lot, even for her.”
My throat tightened. “Right. Okay. Thank you for telling me.”
