Page 113 of Game Point
‘Good luck with that.’
Scottie shrugged me off, throwing her long blonde hair behind her shoulder. ‘I’m sure it will all work out in my favour.’
‘Keep dreamin’,’ I mumbled. Scottie shot me a mock scowl. Even upset, she was still annoyingly gorgeous. The elevator opened before us and I followed her inside, pressing the button to my floor after her.
As soon as the doors closed behind us, she turned to me, a devilish look on her face. ‘How’s it going with Oliver?’
I bit down hard on my tongue, instead feigning innocence. ‘How’swhatgoing?’
She rolled her eyes at me. ‘Are you really still playing dumb?’
‘He’s a great coach if that’s what you mean,’ I shrugged innocently. Truthfully I wasn’t sure what we were, we had never returned to the topic of a label.
‘I’m yours, and you’re mine,’ I’d promised him. That was good enough for now. But still I grew nervous when I thought towards the end of the competition.Would he leave? Would this all end?
‘You know it’s going to get out,’ Scottie said. ‘I think for anyone who sees you two together, it’s impossible to ignore. It’s better if you get in front of it, before somebody else controls the story for you.’
I could still remember the headlines about Scottie and Nico six months ago. They’d been cruel, using Scottie’s off-court wild-child past against her, the rabid pack of journalists taking their relationship and twisting it, saying whatever they wanted about the two of them.
The cruel, cold face of Rachel Kendrick was clear in my head.
‘What if …’ I swallowed, trying to push it all away. I closed my eyes, and instead of fear, I found a burning rage that had me curling my hands into tight fists, nails digging into my palms. I shook my head. ‘What if I don’t want to be reduced down to whoever I’m …’ I trailed off, all too aware that I didn’t even have a correct word to summarize ‘us’.
‘Fucking?’ Scottie suggested, a wild smirk on her lips.
‘In a relationship with,’ I corrected, the words sounding weird coming from me. I was never the kind to want or care about a relationship. They got in the way of what I wanted. But with Oliver … with him, I felt more focused than ever. Clearer on my goals, less filled with doubt. And if I struggled, I could go to him, breathe in his aftershave and take a moment.
‘Ooh, we’re pulling out the big words are we?’ Scottie practically yelled, clapping her hands with joy. I could only roll my eyes at her. She continued as the elevator stopped. ‘I suggest if you want to avoid the press being involved, then you’re going to have to take up a life of celibacy.’ The doors opened before us, and I took a few steps forward.
I turned to say my goodbyes when I noticed she was following me out. ‘I thought you were a couple floors up.’
‘I’m not done with you yet. I know how scary it can feel. Especially when it’s somebody important to you. I tried to protect Nico, we kept it a secret until he was ready to become Mr Scottie Sinclair, and even now they take advantage, with the engagement, every time we are spotted together. I’ve stopped trying to keep up with the headlines because honestly, fuck what the press says.’ I laughed at her words. ‘No matter what, only you know what’s important. What’s undeniable.’
I looked down at the patterned hotel carpet, the elevator door closing behind Scottie.
‘We’ve tried to ignore it,’ I admitted quietly.
‘So did we,’ she said, holding her left hand up. ‘And look how it turned out.’
It was impossible to miss the square sapphire rock on her finger.How did she manage to walk around with it on her finger without being weighed down?
I smiled at her. ‘Very sparkly.’
‘That man,’ she sighed, turning her hand to look at the rock. ‘He knew the way to my heart was vintage.’
My heart clenched in my chest, a wave of very slight jealousy crashing into me. They were settled, in love, and horribly co-dependent. And I found myself longing for that. Or maybe not quite what they had, but something adjacent, something that said ‘Dylan and Oliver’.
Maybe it looked like overcooked spaghetti in red sauce, abandoned in the pot in favour of a more edible meal. A spare bedroom that never really got its own bed. And texts and FaceTimes from across the world. That was us. Fun and messy. A friendship where you could each relax with the other, never worried about being judged or not being deemed enough, butalwaysa little teased.
‘We should all get a drink. When this is over,’ Scottie said, her features soft. ‘I think we could make good friends.’
I already knew that our friendship had been growing over the past few months, every off-court run-in with each other growing more pleasant.
‘I know,’ I said, feeling unsteady on my own feet. All those years opposite her on the court, driven mad withjealousy for everything she had. A parent on tour with her, one who was dedicated to her career. Then, the Wimbledon tournament where I’d watched her lift my trophy. It all came crashing down for us both, the illusion of perfection shattered.
‘I think we’re almost there.’ I nodded towards her, feeling a real weight shift from my shoulders as I allowed Scottie Sinclair some real forgiveness.
She smiled softly, her gaze wavering from my own. ‘It’s weird with competitors, I know,’ she acknowledged. ‘But I respect you on court, and … after what you did for me …’
