“You always pick the most disgusting shots,” Scottie said, a grim look across her face.
“Just because I don’t care about fancy tequila,” Dylan said, smiling. “Plus, I like when the bottle comes with a little sombrero.”
Nico finished his beer. “Reminder, don’t let Dylan do the booze run.”
“Fine,” Dylan answered as Oliver held up a hand to her, helping her safely down. “You guys can all sort the house out yourselves next time.”
She and Oliver had been traveling, taking some well-deserved time away from the court. Now, back in the United States, she’d be joining us on the upcoming hard-court tour: Washington, Toronto and Cincinnati.
Or as I liked to call it: the yellow brick road towards the US Open.
And with my current form, I was barely holding on to my ranking in the top 200. I couldn’t rely on a wild card entry, so without the crucial points I could win at the upcoming tournaments, my entry into the competition at Queens could be at risk.
With that reminder, my attention returned to my friends, my hand gripping my phone.
“Hey!” I said, the buzz of alcohol overtaking my nerves. “Can we take a photo?”
Scottie looked up from the prosecco she was pouring, slight confusion wrinkling her forehead. “Of course.”
They both moved around the counter, Scottie passing us each a full glass as we huddled together, smiles crinkling our cheeks as I captured the moment. Having my friends by my side felt so good, despite my ulterior motives for taking the selfie.
“Do you mind if I put it on Instagram?” I asked nervously, lowering the phone, before reluctantly adding, “And tag you guys?”
Dylan didn’t even think twice as she took a sip from her glass. “Sure.”
But Scottie paused, her blonde hair cascading down her back as she leaned on the counter, not moving from my side. “You never take photos. Is something up?”
My stomach dropped at the idea of telling them the truth. No sponsors, except a sketchy supplement, the kind usually pushed by B-list celebrities.
“ELITE dropped me,” I managed, “and Selene... she thought...” I trailed off.
Scottie’s confusion flattened into realization. “That’s okay, I understand.”
I swallowed, trying to get rid of the guilt, but it felt sticky and heavy.
“Are you okay?” Dylan asked, settling onto a stool. “I know the last couple of years have been kind of a bitch.”
“Oh yeah, totally fine.” The lie was told on instinct, months of telling myself the same.It will all work out. Keep your head down. Keep playing. “Obviously, things haven’t been going amazing this year, but I’m hopeful for the next run. It would be nice if I could get a few more deals, and then I can really focus on my playing.”
“I get it.” Scottie smiled. “And I’m more than happy to help. There are a few deals I’m not interested in. I can talk to my agent, tell them to recommend you instead.”
“You’d do that for your competition?” I asked.
“I’d do it for a friend,” Scottie said.
My hand met hers, squeezing tightly once in thanks. The queasy feeling didn’t subside as I stared down at my phone, the image and tag all typed up.
Beach time with the absolute legends @TheRealScottieSinclair and @DylanElizabethBailey
My finger hovered over the post button, somehow unable to bring myself to actually do it. Was this really what my career had come to? Having to make up for my shitty performances on court by asking my friends to share pictures of our handful of rest days? Having them offer me brand deals they didn’t want?
“Hey! We’re here!” My attention was pulled away as a chorus of happy shouting broke out in the vast hallway.
I stopped in the doorway, catching sight of Henrik putting down a suitcase. A smile grew across my face.All my good friends, under one roof.
I closed the gap between us, pulling him into a massive hug. When I was recovering from my surgery, he’d kept me company, always on the other end of the phone, taking all the time he could to visit me while I healed.
And working with me, as my mixed doubles partner, to bring me back to the court. Unfortunately, that was the only redeeming factor of my career in recent years.
