Page 109 of Carrie Soto Is Back

“Gracias, papá.”

“Bowe wants to talk to you,” he says. “He’s taking the phone from me—he’s literally taking it out of my hands.”

“Hi,” Bowe says. His voice is warm, and I wish he were here with me instead of thousands of miles away.

“Hi,” I say. “How are your ribs?”

“Fine,” Bowe says. “Better. Your father and I are a real pair over here.”

“Thank you for what you’re doing. I don’t think I could stand to behereif you weren’tthere.”

“Don’t mention it, honestly,” he says. “But, hey, listen, I wanted to ask you something.”

“Okay…” I’m worried he’s going to ask me if I want him to visit or how things will be between us when I get back. And I don’t want to have to think about that right now.

“Have you given any thought to the Self 1, Self 2 thing?” he asks.

“What?”

“All that strategy you and your dad were talking about…”

“Yeah?”

“Look, you’re a better player than almost anyone on the court. And I don’t just mean over the course of your career. I mean right now.”

“I hope that’s true. I don’t know. I need it to be true—let’s say that.”

I stand at the window and watch a Thames riverboat tour float by. My father and I did that tour once, when I was barely a teenager and we were here for my first Junior Wimbledon. I fell asleep, and later he told me all the history about the Tower of London that I’d missed. “Next time, stay awake,” my dad said. “You are getting to see the world,pichona.It’s an opportunity so few people have.” Even then, I didn’t know how to tell him that I was too tired, that sightseeing was a luxury that I didn’t have, never wanted. What we were doing took all of me; there wasn’t anything left over.

“It is true—you’re the best out there. But that’s the problem,” Bowe says. “You need toknow itinstead of needing toprove it.You need to quiet Self 1 and let Self 2 do its thing.”

“Okay,” I say. “Okay.”

“I know you don’t want to take advice from me—” Bowe begins. But I stop him.

“Yes, I do,” I say. “I do want to take advice from you.” I sit down at the window and grab a piece of hotel stationery and a pen to make notes for myself. He is right. I do need to calm down, to listen to my instincts. I need to get the voice in my head to shut up. “Go ahead,” I say. “Tell me more. I’m listening.”

—

It is the morning of my first match, facing Cami Dryer. I’ve gone for a run and I’m just getting out of the shower when there is a knock at my door.

I wrap myself in my robe and answer. I’m expecting room servicewith my breakfast, but when I open the door, it’s Gwen. I take it all in—her in front of me in a green velvet suit and a big, bright smile on her face.

“Hi,” she says.

The sight of her makes my shoulders relax. Before I know what I’m doing, I throw myself into her arms.

She squeezes me tight and then lets go. “All right. That’s enough of that, until you get dressed.”

I pull her into my suite.

“You’re here,” I say. “I had no idea you were coming.”

“Ali and I both flew in to surprise you. She’s back at the hotel.”

“Wow,” I say.

“You know I love London. And I love you. And so here I am.”

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