“Inés, are you in here?” Scottie’s polite English accent echoed against the tiled walls.
“No.”
“Come out,” she demanded, tapping her shoe impatiently. Sighing, I caved, unlocking the stall to find her leaning against the counter, her arms crossed.
“I want the name of whatever bastard rigged the draw,” I said, sticking my hands under the tap to wash them. “I swear to God.”
“This won’t be much of a comfort,” Scottie started. “But you did say you needed more PR.”
My gaze slid from my own pitiful reflection towards my friend. “You were right. That is no comfort.”
“And if this is going to get you anything, it’s publicity.”
“Probably because she will have another meltdown on court,” I muttered. “Or she’ll drive her racket into my skull and end my suffering,” I added, but one glance at Scottie and I regretted my words. “Okay, maybe that was unfair. She’s not psychopathic.”
“I know things are...”
“Horrible?”
“Rocky between you,” she continued. “But really, none of it has been in her control. ELITE make their own decisions, you know that, the same with all the other sponsors. And on court she wins fair and square, right?”
I gasped mockingly, a hand pressed to my chest. “¡Cómo te atreves!”Scottie tilted her head in disapproval. “My own friend.”
“I will always have your back,” she said. “But you’ve been beaten before. I don’t understand why she is any different.”
I sighed, drying my hands with some paper towels. “She’s horrible. Remember back in Melbourne how she acted when Dylan was injured on court? Every match she’s shouting at the umpire, challenging every call against her, and when it doesn’t go her way she plays tougher and meaner,” I tried to explain. “When I play you or Dylan or any other woman, they don’t play like she does.”
Scottie started to respond, apprehension crossing her face, when she was cut off by the bathroom door swinging open, both our attention going to Chloe. The plunging neckline of her dress emphasizing the delicate line of her collar, the midi length showing off her heels, bringing her closer to my height.
“Hi, can we... um, talk?” she asked carefully, her gaze on me. Scottie looked to me, her blue eyes searching for permission. I nodded once.
“I’ll leave you alone,” Scottie said, before sliding past Chloe.
The room fell into utter silence as the door swung closed, Chloe’s attention suddenly on the floor.
“I... I’m sorry,” she said, and I got a growing sense of déjà vu. She took a step closer, her arms crossing. “Look, if we have to work together, I want to put this all to bed.”
Could I even trust what she said? If I accepted her apology, if I allowed us to move past this resentment and history, would she turn on me the moment it suited her? Chloe’s reputation wasn’t exactlybuilt on loyalty; it was built on winning. She’d once faked an injury to throw off Anežka Radkova in a semi-final. There was even a rumor she’d taken intel from a coach she’d been flirting with during a rain delay and used it to demolish Mei Yumi’s backhand game.
Chloe hadn’t made friends with anyone except Henrik, certainly none of the women. Even casual conversation outside of matches didn’t exist. Nobody in the locker rooms had a kind word to say about her. But to work together, we had to have some base level of trust.
“Okay,” I resolved, the word feeling closer to taking a running jump off a cliff.
Chloe looked surprised by my acceptance, but only for a moment before her lips flattened back into a line. “Let’s be up front about the shit and get it out in the open, because if you’re going to call me a bitch, I’d rather you did it to my face.”
“Fine,” I agreed. “I think you are a huge bitch.”
“Glad you don’t feel like you have to mince words.”
I shrugged. “I think you are unprofessional on court, and rude off. You show no respect towards the rules or the umpire’s decisions. You make a big show of it.”
She sighed loudly, a hand pressing against her temple. “Which is it, Inés? Apology or no apology. I can’t win.”
I shook my head. I could see her point of view. I felt like we were going round in circles. She’d apologize, I’d get mad, and things would blow up between us again. “I don’t think I can trust you.”
“Why not?” she asked. “If we are playing on the same team, you know I won’t screw you over.”
“I can’t because you kissed me, took my number and never texted. And the next thing I know, you’re with Henrik without even a word to me.” The words tumbled out of me before I could stop myself, like an impulse I had no control over.
