Her face when I claimed the final point was etched into my mind, sharp and raw. Defeat wasn’t a look I’d associated with her. She was too strong, too untouchable. Seeing it now, knowingIwas the one guilty of causing it, was unbearable. Even as my own hands throbbed from the grip of the racket and my wrist screamed with every movement, the ache of guilt was worse.
I knew she’d read my injury, calculated her strategy. And I’d let her. I’d baited her into overreaching, driven her into frustration, then turned it against her.
The tactic was sound. Brutal, but sound. Using it now, after everything between us, felt like a betrayal.
But I was the one who made her promise to fight me, to play me like any other opponent. And she’d kept her word. She came at me with everything. And I’d promised to do the same.
I leaned against the edge of the lockers, the metal cool against my forehead, and let out a shaky breath.
“Inés,” a voice called behind me. I turned, my eyes landing on Scottie and Dylan. They’d been in the stands, cheering me on, their excitement still buzzing in the air.
“You did great,” Scottie said, her smile soft, almost tentative.
“Where is she?” I asked, ignoring her words, my gaze flickering to Dylan, who shook her head.
“Leave her alone right now,” Dylan said gently. “She probably needs some time.”
“No.” I pushed myself from the lockers, my legs already moving beneath me. “I need to see her.”
Scottie reached out, grabbing my arm, halting my steps. Her steady eyes searched mine. “I know when I’ve lost against you in the past, I needed space before we talked.”
“Needed to destroy a few rackets, more like,” Dylan muttered dryly from behind her.
Scottie rolled her eyes. “That too.”
“This is a bit more complicated,” I said, my voice cracking under the weight of everything I couldn’t explain.
“We know, you are loved up. It’s very cute,” Dylan interrupted. She paused, her sharp tone melting away. “But watching you two on the court today was... heartbreaking.”
My throat tightened, tears threatening to spill. I’d been so focused, so deep in the mentality that drove me every single day to the edge of what my body could physically take, that I’d risked everything.
Risked her.
Fuck the match. Fuck the final. Fuck the stupid trophy.
None of it mattered if I lost Chloe in the process.
I shook my head, slipping out of Scottie’s grasp and pushing into the hallway. My chest was heaving, tears blurring my vision as I rounded the corner, determined to find her.
Instead, I collided with another body.
Ocean-green eyes stared back at me—not hers but Calvin’s. His hands gripped my arms, steadying me as I stumbled.
“Where is she?” I asked, desperation lacing every word.
“No,” he said firmly, his lips pressing into a hard line. “Not now.”
“Please,” I pleaded, trying to push past him. I was desperate. “Let me see her.”
His grip tightened, his voice low and steady. “Inés, listen to me.”
I tried again, leaning into him with what little strength I had left, but it was useless. And then I heard it, a sound that stopped me cold.
It started with a whacking, a familiar noise to any tennis player.Racket death.And then a scream. Something being thrown or kicked or pushed. A crash. Another yell.
My gaze reconnected with Calvin’s, desperation biting at me again, but before I could say a single word, he spoke again. “Please, give her some time. How would you feel if you had just lost that match?”
I swallowed hard, my heart breaking at the truth in his words.I’d need time too. “You promise she’ll be okay?”
