I let out a small sigh. “I deserve this,” I say, my voice softer as I confess to my friend. “I deserve to have good sex and enjoy myself with someone I trust. Don’t I? I’m thirty years old and I’ve never had that. The relationship with Gabriel isn’t like the kind of relationship I would seek out, but I trust him. And I want this.”
“You do deserve that,” Alyssa says. “And I know that you can handle yourself.”
“Thank you,” I tell her. “I appreciate that.”
“Speaking of you being able to handle yourself, I want to ask you about your father,” she adds.
My shoulders slump. “Still no word from him. So I guess there’s nothing much to say.”
“That’s clearly not true.”
“I’m processing it in the gym,” I tell her honestly. “With all the things I’m trying to not think about, I’ve maintained an excellent training schedule.”
She laughs. “I understand that. You remember the kinds of deals I was inking for my athletes back when I thought Rachel and Ramon were going to break up with me?”
“That’s when your agency made you a partner.”
“After all this, you’ll almost definitely win a Grand Slam. But you can’t spend the rest of your life avoiding him. Maybe it’s time that you reached out to your father again? Or if not, start dealing with the reality that those conversations might not come anytime soon.”
“Or ever,” I add.
“I didn’t want to say it quite so pointedly.”
I close my eyes and let her advice sink in. She’s right, of course. But tension inches up my spine and the back of my neck, and the thought of facing my father and seeing the rejection on his face lands like a sucker punch.
My hands tighten into fists. The defensiveness I usually feel gives way to anger. I’m mad that he would treat me like this.
I might not want Gabriel to call him an asshole, but I can. The man is acting like an asshole.
“I’ll consider it,” I tell her. “Thanks for thinking of me.”
“Of course. Anyway, how could I not think of you? You’re all over my work schedule lately. There’s barely any time to prepare my proposal for Marco.”
“You’re going to approach him about working together?”
“I’m strangely fascinated by him,” she says. “I keep watching his old drumming videos. There’s something captivating about his performances. And I have no doubt that I could improve his PR over his current situation.” She smiles. “Not that I mind messy PR situations, of course.”
“In your professional opinion, is sleeping with my fake husband good or bad for the PR?”
“Good,” she says. “Until it’s bad.”
When we hang up, I set my phone on the table and head straight upstairs to the gym. It’s shortly over a week until the opening tournament of the season, and not long after that I’ll be with Gabriel again. Alyssa is right that training won’t solve my problems, but it doesn’t have to.
All I have to do is win.
Gabriel appreciates my dedication to my passion. He’s locked himself up with his guitar across the country, so it feels a little like we’re in this together. Of course, he still won’t share any of the new music with me. Claims he’s not ready to share it with anyone, which I guess is pretty standard for an artist.
It impresses me that he takes his art seriously, but also stings a little. I realize I want to be special, someone he would share the music with.
His old albums have become standard rotation when I’m training. The hard rock edges still sound like noise, but I can hear the music in the songs, and they’ve got the steady intensity I need when I’m working out.
And his voice cast spells. I don’t know how else to describe it. It’s like gravel and honey or the sweet purr of the motorcycle engine. It doesn’t make any fucking sense. I have no clue how he makes it sound so damn gorgeous when he’s practically screaming his lyrics, but somehow, he does.
And I hear that voice in my head every day when we text.
Gabriel: I’m just waking up, so that means you’ve probably put a full day in at the gym out there in Siberia. Right?
Me: I managed to put a full day in before lunch, thanks very much
