Someone at the back called out, “Alright then—biggest takeaway from today’s match?”
I shrugged, letting a corner of my mouth lift. “That I thought this was supposed to be a press conference about me winning a tennis final, not a career change,” I said dryly, earning a wave of chuckles. “But sure, my serve worked, my shoulder held up, and I’ll sleep for about twelve hours tonight.”
The moderator thanked everyone, wrapping things up. I stepped off the platform, and my team was already sliding in around me like muscle memory, forming that quiet, unobtrusive shield they always did when things felt… pointed.
Bobby fell into step on my right, flipping his notebook shut. “I’ll get confirmation from the Philippine Sports Committee,” he said, his voice clipped in that efficient, manager way. “If it’s true you’ve been considered, we need to know.”
He continued shaking his head. “Those media people, half the time, they know things before we do. Makes you wonder where they get their sources from.”
I kept walking, letting my game face soften now that we were out of the spotlight. “If it’s real, I’ll need to speak to my dad first. He’s still my triathlon coach, and I’m not signing myself up for anything without running it through him.”
We reached the suite, and Bobby was already pacing, phone glued to his ear, rattling off names of contacts he trusted, Philippine Federation officials, old mates, even a sports journalist or two, trying to pin down whether the Olympic talk had any truth to it. His voice had that clipped, all-business tone, the one that meant he’d keep dialing until someone gave him a straight answer.
Meanwhile, my own phone wouldn’t stop lighting up with messages. I knew exactly what they all said; congratulations for the win, confetti emojis, and the inevitable“So... is it true?”about the triathlon thing. Yada yada yada. I didn’t reply to any of them. Instead, I scrolled straight to Mom’s number.
She answered on the second ring. “Honey! Just watched your match, brilliant job, sweetheart.”
“Thanks, Mom,” I said, leaning back against the armrest. “Where’s Dad?”
“He’s in Chicago with Chris and Mike for a race. Why?”
I hesitated, tapping my knee. “Because apparently, the Philippine Olympic Committee might be considering me for the Olympic triathlon next year. First I’ve heard of it.”
There was a pause, long enough for me to picture her switching the phone to her other hand. “Oh.. that explains the messages I’ve been getting.”
“So you’ve heard it too?”
“Well, not from anyone official. Just a few of your dad’s old triathlon mates hinting at it.”
I groaned softly. “I need to talk to him before this blows up.”
“You should,” Mom said firmly. “And make it soon. I think they’re in the middle of prep right now, if he hears about this from someone else before you call, he’s going to have words.”
“Alright mom, I’ll ring him now.”
I hung up with Mom and immediately scrolled for Dad’s number. It barely rang twice before his voice came through, warm but rushed. “Alex, Congratulations, Honey! Is everything okay?”
“Yeah,” I said, leaning back into the sofa. “Just… you might be hearing some chatter about the Philippines considering me for their Olympic triathlon team next year.”
A low chuckle rumbled through the line. “I’ve already had three people ask me if it’s true. I told them, 'If it is, my daughter clearly forgot to tell me.'”
“Honestly, it’s the first I’ve heard of it, too,” I admitted.
He hummed. “Well, that’s a conversation we should have properly. And not over a shaky phone line.”
I leaned back against the wall, staring at the ceiling like it owed me answers. Honestly, the phone call already felt too small for the weight of what we were circling around.
“Then I should just come to Chicago,” I said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “I can watch the first leg, support the team, check in with everyone… and we can talk face-to-face.”
“You sure?” he said, voice softer, gentler than before. “It’d mean a lot to the team. And to me.” His voice softened, the busy background noise fading as if he’d stepped away from the group.
“Yeah,” I replied. “I’ve got a gap before the US Open anyway. Might as well spend it somewhere that isn’t just physio rooms and practice courts.”
A chuckle. “Alright then. Flights to Chicago aren’t going to book themselves.”
I smiled, pushing off the wall. “See you soon, Dad.”
The line clicked off, and I stood there for a second, phone still in my hand, like the hallway needed time to catch up to whatever just rearranged itself inside me.
