“I... um...” What was an overspill of words only three seconds ago was now void of any obvious sentience. “Calvin wanted me to talk to you.”
“Your brother,” she said flatly.
I winced. “Yes, but in a coach capacity.”
“Does that get annoying?” Her question caught me off guard. My surprise must have been written all over my face as she added, clarifying, “Distinguishing between brother and coach?”
My entire childhood, Calvin was there, a step ahead. Before me, he was the Murphy star tennis player. Dad’s favorite project.
And then he’d chosen college, putting off turning pro. Dad turned his resolute attention towards me instead. I bloomed. I got faster, stronger, and started winning serious tournaments, capturing more and more attention.
I looked set to rise above my brother, and my parents made sure college was never a choice for me. They didn’t need another child with split ambitions. After what happened to my mom, they were determined to keep me isolated from the competition, allow me to stay focused. We were a tennis family through and through, and if my brother refused to turn pro, then the mantle would fall to me.
But then I fell apart just as Calvin graduated, cracking under the immense pressure to keep delivering wins. I had a meltdown at a junior competition, stress and anxiety driving me to the point where I felt like everyone was out to ruin me.
I’d fought with my coach, the team. All of them helpless as I spiraled, crying between sets, a towel hung over my head.
I’d stormed from the court after one loss, not even stopping to shake my competitor’s hand. I’d felt like the world was over.
My parents tried their best, but it was Calvin who understood me, who put me back together. And listened to me when I insisted that quitting tennis wasn’t the answer.
“Not often,” I answered honestly. “There are moments when we disagree and butt heads, but for the most part, we can keep it separate.”
Inés hummed in agreement, a strange look falling across her features. I only smiled softly, adding, “And it’s nice to work with my best friend.”
We fell into silence for a moment, and I lost track of what we had even been talking about before she had asked the question. The panic at the proximity of her was overwhelming.
Thankfully, Inés turned towards me, an eyebrow arched. “So, he wanted you to talk to me about...”
I let out a heavy breath, the weight of what I had to pitch to her hanging on my shoulders. “Remember how you asked me not to laugh?”
“And then you laughed,” she replied.
“Again, I made a joke. I did not laugh.” I took a moment to look at her, my eyes catching on her lips. “Anyway, I’m going to ask you not to get angry.”
Her eyes searched my face for clues. She must have come up empty, agreeing, “Okay.”
I sucked in a deep breath, then blurted it all out. “Calvin thinks it would be a good idea to hire you as a hitting partner for the upcoming leg of tournaments. You’d train with me, he’d coach you. We’d payfor your travel and accommodation. You’d be doing everything you’re currently doing, but you’d be doing it with me.”
“You want to hire me?” Her tone was emotionless, dry. Exactly like when she was on court, Inés Costa gave nothing away.
I nodded once, my voice croaking, “My agent is reaching out to yours tomorrow.”
“No.” The word cut through me like a knife.
“Inés,” I pressed. “Think about it.”
With everything that Calvin had said, told me about her situation, she had to see that this was the best way to go forward. The easiest way to get her through the next expensive weeks until the US Open.
“No.”
“You aren’t interested in free accommodation?” I asked. “Training? Travel? None of that appeals to you?”
I waited for her response, but it didn’t come. Her attention lingered on the splint around her wrist, uninjured hand rubbing it softly, as if she was weighing up the consequences of aiding her rival.
I sighed, taking a shot. “I know about ELITE.”
“So?” She said the word with such disgust. “Do you think that makes me desperate enough to work with my opposition? To helpyouget better?”
