Page 52 of Game Point
‘You can try,’ Oliver teased, smiling again. ‘But we are still going to spend the entire time planning out the next three months.’
‘Three months?’
Oliver nodded once. ‘That will get you to Melbourne.’
He was planning for the Australian Open. My heart fell straight into my stomach, a wave of nausea overcoming me at the very idea of standing in that stadium andlosing again. My reluctance must have been clear on my face because Oliver inched closer, the proximity of his body to mine only heightening my panic.
‘Come on, your home slam! I know what that means to you, what it means for any of us. To win there …’ He trailed off, and I knew he was reliving his own Wimbledon, only months ago. Despite everything, he was right. Thehome slam is something entirely different. The crowd is louder, the atmosphere is electric. Your entire country has your back for two full weeks and the support is enough to carry you through the first few rounds alone. The further you get, the crazier the competition becomes.
But the higher the reward, the harder the fall. A fall I’d survived before, but could I really survive another?
‘Oliver …’ I trailed off, pulling my bottom lip in between my teeth. I couldn’t even bear to look at him, his eyes full of an overwhelming hope. ‘I can’t.’
‘You can,’ he pressed, as the seatbelt alarm went off a final time, the plane prepared and in position for take-off. ‘We’ve got a good couple of months to make sure you do.’
‘I’m tired,’ I whined, hoping he would understand and accept what I was telling him already. I felt awful as the plane took off. This was why he was here, why he had trapped himself on this insane flight, for me.
The plane levelled, a second buzz of the seatbelt sign reminding us not to get out of our seats just yet. I made the grave mistake of looking back over at Oliver, who instantly re-started his pitch.
‘We will do it right,’ he said. ‘Together. We can schedule rest time; it won’t be intensive.’
I closed my eyes, trying not to grow frustrated with him. ‘It’s training for a Grand Slam. Of course it’s intensive. I’mexhausted.I’m done. Finished.’ I tried my best to keep my voice low. ‘I can’t do it anymore.’
He grinned, still undeterred. ‘This is why I thought I’d trap you on a flight with me. Plenty of time to convince you otherwise.’
I gripped the armrest in annoyance, wishing this could be over. ‘Is it too late to turn back and kick you off this flight?’
‘Yes,’ Oliver laughed. ‘There’s absolutely no going back now.’
‘Damn,’ I swore, letting out a slow, heavy sigh, the pain in my ribcage still reminding me of my injury. I looked over Oliver’s clothing, a light, blue linen shirt and a pair of long shorts, a pair of trainers on his feet that were tucked under the seat in front of him. He wasn’t exactly dressed for a very long flight, not compared to my comfy clothing.
‘How long have you been planning this?’ I pointed a finger, indicating around the plane.
He hummed. ‘Since last night.’
‘That last minute?’
‘After the final, I was so angry at you. I thought about leaving, catching the first flight back home but …’ he paused. ‘Honestly, after leaving England, I wasn’t sure where that was anymore. If I had one.’ Oliver looked to me. ‘So, I stayed, kept working with Jon. I tried drinking with Nico and Scottie. But the pair of them together are very annoying.’
It was still true. I’d spent enough time with the two of them to know how sickening they were together. Sickening, very cute and deeply in love. Gross.
Oliver continued, ‘And apparently, they are also terrible influences because it was them that brought up getting on the same plane as you and annoying you for the entire incredibly long flight. A plan that is going excellently, apparently.’
The brightness of his brilliant smile dimmed. ‘When I woke up, I wasn’t angry anymore. The storm had passed.’He fell silent, the lump in his throat bobbing as he swallowed. ‘But something told me I wasn’t done yet. Not with you. I thought we could come up with a plan.’
I inhaled at the idea, the physical and emotional pain matching as I tucked his words away, somewhere deep where the idea of them couldn’t hurt me anymore. Instead, I dug up something else I’d been saving until I was able to see him in person.
‘I’m sorry,’ I apologized, ‘for everything I said.’
‘Or didn’t say,’ he added.
‘Areyouthe one making this apology or is it me?’
‘You might need to work on your delivery,’ Oliver teased.
I sighed, ignoring the stab in my ribs. I wanted to get this right, despite his need to interrupt me. ‘I’m sorry. For not listening. I regret it more than I can say.’
He paused, thinking through his response. ‘Thank you. I’m sorry for the ultimatum.’
