“It’s true. It’s frustrating as hell to watch, and nothing we do in training has helped.”
I sighed, knowing he was right. My rage was something I clearly needed help with. I got so caught up, so frustrated, and I started to think that everyone was against me, rooting for my failure. My mom had raised me with stories of her time on the court, of being set up by other players, of being bullied in the locker rooms. But how it manifested for me was embarrassing and, as Inés had rightfully pointed out, unprofessional.
I fell quiet, looking back at the house. This entire week, the ups and downs, the progress and friendships I’d been slowly building with everyone here, it wouldn’t have happened without me taking a step out of my comfort zone.
Without Calvin telling me to take time off, and Henrik being here to hold my hand. And now I was facing losing Henrik as my safety net. But that was something I didn’t want or need anymore. Maybe I needed to step out on my own.
“I don’t want to keep living like that,” I said, turning to face Calvin.
He looked a little proud. “I know.”
I swallowed, before admitting, “Me and Henrik, we aren’t together anymore.”
Calvin looked surprised. “Really? Are you okay?”
I nodded my head reassuringly; it was not even an extra effort to keep my voice level. “Totally fine, promise. It was a good ending. But I want more freedom. I want to live my life a little more.”
“I want that for you too.” His words released a heavy weight from my chest. “They worry too much, after everything. But it’s not you that concerns them—it’s this world. The other players, the press.”
“I know. It’s hard to get Dad to understand that it’s not like a knife fight anymore.” Mom’s stories of locker-room bitch talks, of findingher racket strings cut, and more rang in my ears. Dad made sure I remembered everything they’d put her through. But years into my own career and I knew this wasn’t representative of my own experience here, with these other women.
Scottie had been kind to me from the moment I’d walked into the house. Even Dylan, who had that sharp exterior, had been friendly. Inés, she’d been different. But even with that history, we’d found a way to work together.
“I’ll think about it, okay?” I said, pushing myself up, growing impatient. “Let Dad reach out to her agent. If she hates the idea, then fine. But maybe if the agent likes it, she can help convince Inés.”
Calvin drained his beer. “You’re that sure she’ll need convincing?”
I stifled a bitter laugh. “You don’t know Inés Costa.”
18
Chloe
You Don’t Want Me Like That—Rachel Bochner & Xana
I’d spent the better part of an hour looking for any sign of Inés. At first, I’d tried not to make it too obvious that I was looking for her. But after I’d searched every single ground-floor room, including awkwardly standing outside the bathroom, stalking the occupants, I gave up and cut to the chase.
The music had eased from its ear-blistering volume and instead had become a muffled background noise as I knocked on her closed bedroom door.
“Who is it?” Her voice rang out from the other side.
“It’s me,” I said too quickly, before realizing how identifiable “me” was. I’d almost forgotten my own name. “Chloe.”
“Come in.”
I pushed the door, my eyes trying to figure out what exactly I was seeing.
“Hey, I’ve been looking for you everywhere. Are you—” I started. “What’s happening?”
This, in my wildest imagination, had not been what I expected.
“I need you not to laugh.”
“Okay,” I agreed.
“I’m stuck.” Her top was pulled up over her head, the materialonly giving me sight of one eye. Her arms were stuck overhead, her right held at a strange angle.
“How?” was all I could manage without breaking my promise.
