Page 7 of Broken Play
My mouth falls open. "Are you serious? How do you know this information when I'm the one who coaches at ACE?"
"I'm always in the know. Plus, I watch everything I can to figure out how to get inside my opponents' heads. Like when we were fourteen and we played in the semifinals of the Broken Leaf Invitational, and I kept singing that song you hated. That was me, throwing you off your game."
"I remember. But don't worry about me. I'll find out when it is and stay far away from the academy that day. Are you still planning on retiring after this year? You could move here."
"I really want to be like you and break the Top Ten, but I'm tired of wondering what city I'm in." She sighs. "Francisco's home, and we're celebrating his win. And don't ask me how, because, believe me, you don't want to know." She bursts out laughing, reminding me of Paulina and Gabby sitting on the bed, giggling about Trevor. Even when we're grown, we're still giddy about men.
My face warms as I laugh. "Love you. I'll call you next week."
What do I do after we hang up? Yep, I watch the video of my ex thanking Bethany and have another glass of wine.
Why? Why? Why?
Because I'm a glutton for punishment. I learned the hard way that I needed to forgive and forget. Forgive Mom for cheating on Dad. Forgive Dad for not giving her another chance. Forget that I was on my own for much of my life. Forget that the golden boy of tennis is an asshole.
Just as I'm settling into bed, I receive a text from Dad.
Dad: I have something important to tell you. Don't be late for breakfast.
Me: Tell me now.
Dad: It's a surprise.
Me: I don't like surprises.
Dad: Yes, you do. Remember when I flew to Tokyo for the tournament? You were so excited that I surprised you.
Me: Okay, I'll be there bright and early. Love you.
Dad: Love you too.
Sleep evades me, and by morning, my blankets are tangled and scattered across the bed like a tornado ripped through my room. My stomach twists because even though I apparently love good surprises, an unsettling feeling sets in. I hurry to get ready and realize I look as exhausted as I feel—weary and worn from mulling over my past with Bodhi.
I pull my BMW into the circular driveway at the mega-mansion Dad calls home. At first, I go to ring the doorbell, but this is my dad's house. Instead, I walk right in. "It's me."
"I'm in here." Dad's voice booms from the grand living area that's combined with the kitchen. That area alone is bigger than my two-bedroom house.
Dad's dressed in a suit and tie, ready for work. He's a real estate developer. He grabs me in a hug and kisses the top of my head. "I'm so glad you moved to Austin, and I get to hug you all the time. I didn't get to do that much when..." Hisvoice trails off. "Sometimes I don't know if letting you go to the tennis academy was worth it."
"Dad, you were letting me live my dream."
"How does a seven-year-old girl know what her dreams are?"
"I love tennis."
"I know you love it, but you would have never met Bodhi if it weren't for tennis. And you wouldn't have been hurt so bad."
He doesn't know the half of it.
Burying my head in the center of his chest, I cling to my dad, and a few tears slip from my eyes, although I'm not sure what I'm crying about. Then I pull back and say, "Something smells good. Did you cook, or did Tammy?"
He croaks out a laugh. "Me. It's a quiche. Being a good cook attracts the ladies."
I mumble, "Your money attracts the ladies."
"Don't forget my good looks."
He removes the quiche from the oven, slices it, and plates it. I scoop out some fruit salad from a crystal bowl, grab a croissant drizzled with cream cheese icing, and tear off a piece. "Oh my God, this is delicious. Did you make these too?"
