My girl is smart, even when she is beating me.
He stilled. His brows furrowed. “Did you just—”
I groaned, rubbing a hand over my face. “Shut up.”
He watched me for a long moment, his mouth twitching like he wasn’t sure if he should be annoyed or impressed.
Then he opened his arms. “Come here.”
I didn’t hesitate, allowing myself to fall into his soft hug. His arms squeezed around me, and for a second, I was sixteen again. With Calvin, the older brother I needed, the one who helped me fall in love with tennis again.
“You know,” he said, voice quieter as he released me, “watching you win the French felt like the pinnacle of my career.”
“Itisthe only time we’ve won a Grand Slam,” I pointed out flatly.
“But now?” He gave me a squeeze. “That’s the proudest I’ve ever been of you.”
“That’s sweet,” I said, scrunching my nose. “But also, gross. Could you try being less cringe?”
He laughed, but there was something off about it, like the loss still lingered in his throat. “I’ll go back to being your coach.”
“I’d like that,” I said, feeling fractionally better about getting out of here. It felt like I was closing the door on the tournament here. The weight had been there for months, pressing down on my shoulders since May. If I didn’t keep delivering trophies, it felt like all of this might disappear.
First Paris. Then London. Now here.
But Inés had shown me it only disappeared if you stopped fighting, if you gave up. She never did. Even when the odds were against her, she found a way to win. That’s why I loved her.
“Come on,” I said, adjusting my bag. “I need to get back to the hotel.”
I needed to see her.
Calvin raised an eyebrow. “You’re not about to do something stupid, right?”
“Stupid was smashing all those rackets,” I said. “Now I need a hot chocolate fudge brownie and a glass of wine.”
Maybe I’d let her pick the bottle. Let her make it up to me with the taste of wine on her lips.
Calvin smiled, falling into step beside me as we left the room. Two security guards waited outside, ready to lead me through the crowd. I smiled softly at them, even though I hated the reason they were there. I let them go ahead.
The corridor was packed. Tighter than usual. Too many eyes, too many hushed voices.
Sore loser. Bitch. A mess on court.
Let them think whatever they wanted. I knew I’d played the best I could. And none of it mattered, not when I still had to make things right with Inés.
The moment we stepped outside, the New York air hit me, thick, humid, heavy with the city’s summer heat. And then there was the crowd, loud and foreboding. I hadn’t been scared before, the other times fans crowded the exits, but this time there was a different energy. Almost as soon as they spotted me, the shouting turned violent.
The surge came fast. Security pushed forward, trying to clear a path, but the crowd was relentless. Bodies pressed in from all sides. Instant impact. I grabbed for something, someone, my fingers digging into a stranger’s shoulder to stay upright.
The words came first. Sharp and vicious. “This is for cheating!”
The words cut through the chaos like a blade. My head snapped towards the voice, looking into a face twisted with rage, empty eyes burning with something ugly.
Their arm swung. The cup hurtled at me, its contents slamming into my face. The liquid splashed across my skin, a shocking burst of cold. Then the burn came, instant and searing. A sharp, metallic tang invaded my nose and throat, choking me. My vision blurred.
I gasped, hands clawing at my face, but someone grabbed me, yanking me towards the car. The door slammed shut behind me, muffling the roar of the crowd, but the panic inside was as loud.
Everything burned. My skin. My eyes. My face. I twisted against the hands holding me back, desperate to wipe it off, but they wouldn’t let go.
