I took a deep breath, trying to steady the excitement and nerves swirling in my chest. “Dad… do you really think I have a shot at qualifying for the Olympics? Can I actually climb the ranks in time?”
He gave me a measured look, softening at my intensity. “Alex… you have the ability, no doubt. But I’m not going to push you. This is your decision. I’ll support you either way.”
I nodded, feeling the weight of responsibility, but also a thrill I hadn’t felt in years. “Then… after the US Open. I want to give this everything I’ve got.”
His face broke into a small, proud smile. “If that’s what you want, I’ll set everything in place now. We’ll plan your schedule, find the right races, and get a solid training partner for you, or maybe find you a team to adopt you. You won’t be doing this alone.”
I smirked, trying to mask the mix of nerves and excitement. “Let’s just hope I’m not making the wrong decisions. This will haunt me until my grave.”
Dad laughed softly, shaking his head. “If anyone can make it work, it’s you, Alex. Now go finish your tennis prep, you’ll need every ounce of focus there before diving back into triathlon.”
I nodded, feeling a rush of determination and anticipation all at once. One sport to finish, one dream waiting… and for the first time in a long time, I felt like I could actually chase both without losing myself in the process.
CHAPTER 15
OLIVIA
It was one of those slow, golden afternoons where even the courts seemed to exhale. No whistles, no coaches barking corrections, no players sprinting like their lives depended on it.
I’d decided to meet up with the girls, my unofficial sanity squad on tour. For once, none of us was dressed like athletes.
Marta had swapped her usual hyper-competitive aura for denim shorts and a loose tee, looking like she’d accidentally wandered in from a summer festival. Which was hilarious, considering this was the same Marta Rybnik, the woman who could intimidate a line judge just by adjusting her ponytail, the two-time Madrid finalist who trained like the world ended every Tuesday. Seeing her dressed like a normal human felt almost illegal.
Elena, meanwhile, showed up in her classic “I literally rolled out of bed and still look better than everyone” outfit. That was just Elena Roberts for you, world No. 12, serial breaker of hearts, and somehow still the only person on tour who could nap through a warm-up and then play like she’d been summoned by tennis gods. Her brand of chaos had its own gravitational pull.
And me? Trainers and a hoodie, because comfort is my rebellion. In a room full of high-performance disasters disguised as people, I was the only one who dressed like she was here for the snacks.
We’d agreed to meet at the training grounds out of pure muscle memory. Even on a day off, our feet apparently couldn’t be trusted to take us anywhere else. Now we were just aimlessly drifting down the familiar paths, hands free, no racquets digging into our shoulders, no schedules snapping at our heels.
“You don’t look like you’re getting ready, Olivia,” Elena said, nudging me with a half-grin. “Wimbledon can’t be the peak, right?”
I shrugged, smiling. “I’ve been trying. You know how it is, train, play, repeat. But it’s nice to have you guys around. Makes it feel less… intense.”
Marta laughed. “Intense? That’s your life in a nutshell! But hey, bonding like this? Totally allowed. Even mandatory.”
We found a quiet corner café near the training complex. Elena immediately grabbed the window seat, and Marta started scanning through the menu.
“So, spill,” Marta said, leaning in conspiratorially. “What’s the latest tennis gossip? Anything wild from the tour?”
“Oh I know! Liv, care to explain maybe… a certain someone?” Elena teased.
“A certain someone?”
“Oh, don’t play innocent,” she teased. “Everybody here saw those pictures. You and Alex at lunch, she's actuallysmilingfor once. That never happens.”
Marta gasped dramatically, clutching her protein shake. “Wait, Alex? As in Alexandra Cadiz? The Queen Broody Alex? Smiling?”
“Smiling,” Elena confirmed, delighted. “And not just once. Multiple times. You don’t get that out of her unless…” She let the sentence hang, her grin daring me to fill it in.
I shook my head, laughing nervously. “You guys are hilarious. Alex smiles plenty, you just don’t catch it on camera.”
Marta snorted. “Not likethat. Even I noticed it, and I wasn’t looking.”
I tried to wave it off, cheeks warming despite myself. “It’s nothing. Just good timing and photographers desperate for headlines.”
Elena leaned back, smirk still plastered on her face. “Mm-hm. Sure. But if Alex starts grinning again tomorrow and you just happen to be around, I’m calling it.”
Marta perked up instantly. “You know Alex is basically married to her sport, right? No scandals, no dating history, no late-night pictures coming out of clubs. Just training, tournaments, repeat.”
