Miles drew a deep breath and let it out on a sigh, and those dark eyes looked away. “Me too.”
God only knows what might have been said and regretted in the moments that followed, had footsteps not scuffed to a halt outside the door. Before I could wonder who it might be, the door opened with a faint beep, sending Miles and I snatching at pillows and sheets in a desperate bid for privacy. Tomas walked in, only to avert his eyes with a, “whoa, sorry!” And keeping a hand up like a shield, he headed straight back out, letting the door close heavily behind him.
“Shit!” I hissed. “Forgot I gave him the other key, sorry.”
Miles had frozen into a wary statue, clinging to a pillow. “Is he safe?”
“Yeah. I haven’t told him anything, but he was a closet tennis gay himself, so you’re in good hands. But I’ll make sure.”
He thawed a little, though it was hard to tell whether his lingering tension stemmed from Tomas or from what had come before. “Okay, good.” The pillow was unceremoniously pushed aside. “I’d better go.”
Miles dressed and departed at speed, a quick kiss all the goodbye I received before he was out the door and gone.
I found Tomas in his own room soon after. He answered the door with an expression I couldn’t read, and gestured for me to enter with a jerk of his head. “I’m sorry,” he said once the door had closed. “I wanted to fetch a couple of racquets for the stringer, but I should have knocked. I thought you were out at dinner.”
“Well, since I told you that’s where I was, that’s my fault,” I said, standing somewhat awkwardly in the middle of his room, feeling like a child expecting a reprimand. “So, uh, I’m sorry too. You know, for lying and sneaking around.”
That earned a soft smile. “I thought something was up, but this being our first swing together, I didn’t say anything. I might have if I’d thought your someone was asomeone,or that that someone wasMiles Callahan.”
We were alone, yet still I hushed him quietly. “Look, it’s a long story but yeah, this is a thing. He’s, uh, not out though, as you probably know, so . . .”
“You know I won’t say a word, but . . .” He gave a little grimace, which I was fast learning was his standard precursor to being insufferably right about something. “Look, I know why you didn’t tell me, but if I’m going to be your coach, and if getting and keeping your head in the game is our main focus—”
I braced for the obvious piece of advice I knew was coming.
“—then you need to be honest with me as much as you can. I can’t help you if I don’t know what I’m working with.”
I blinked. “Oh.”
“Oh?”
“I . . . thought you were going to tell me I should break things off with him. That I need to focus. And that being involved with him is a bad idea, which I do know, by the way.”
Tomas shrugged. “Tennis can’t be everything. Keeping a healthy mindset about the game means having a life off the court. I’m not going to say you’ve made an easy choice, but that probably just means it wasn’t really a choice, was it?”
“No. He was just there and now he’s—”everything. I shook my head, holding in that last word like a stopper plugging my chest.
“Got it,” Tomas said, clapping a hand on my shoulder. “Just remember, I’m not here to tell you what to do, I’m here to advise and to help you achieve your goals. If you tell me you want to increase your serve accuracy, we work on that. If you tell me you want to improve your fitness, we work on that. If you tell me you’re involved with a top-five player and need to stop that fucking with your head, especially when you have to play him, then we work on that.”
I shut my eyes on sudden tears, and let out a long sigh like a deflating balloon. “Thanks. I . . . think I needed to hear that.”
“Hey.” He squeezed my shoulder. “This is exactly what I’m here for.”
Twenty
I DROPPED MY bags in yet another hotel room – my third since I’d left home for the whirlwind North American swing. Tomas and Macca were unloading their suitcases from the trolley in the hallway, Tomas with his door wedged open across the way. “Much easier having rooms together this time,” he said as he fetched his tennis bag from the pile.
“I dunno, the extra walking was good exercise,” Macca said, reappearing from his own room next door. He flicked a knowing grin at me, all freckles and good humour. “And Mat got to have a little privacy.”
He’d been let in on the secret in Canada, his initial response a whistle followed by a grimace, which seemed to appropriately encapsulate the situation. Neither he nor Tomas had asked how it had happened, and though I knew it was safest not to talk about it, part of me was disappointed not to have an excuse to do so all the same.
“Speaking of,” I said, the message on my lock screen having been burning a hole in my pocket since we landed. “I’m going to,uh . . .” I cleared my throat and gestured along the hallway. “Not sure how long we’ve got, so just book a court and let me know, yeah?”
Macca had dragged the massage table from the bottom of the luggage trolley, and setting it down just inside my door, looked at his watch. “We’ve only been here fifteen minutes! And it’s barely lunchtime!”
“Hey! Got to take opportunities when they’re there, right?” I said, reddening. “Just like on court.”
“Especially since they might meet in the third round,” Tomas grumbled.
