Page 12 of Break Point
“EXCUSE ME?”I drop my half-eaten pizza on the plate and push back my chair.
The room goes silent. Robbie sits next to Gemma, and the sound of him opening the pizza box behind me grates on my last nerve.
I point a finger at Henry.
“He’sgoing to trainme?”
I’m too stunned by his presence to even consider accepting him as my coach. Meanwhile, I’m battling the butterflies churning in my stomach while struggling to keep my rising anger at bay.
“You bet he is.” Dad grins and taps Henry’s back twice. Henry’s face is cold and unyielding. My remark doesn’t provoke a reaction, and it’s driving me to the edge of insanity.
“I’ve already called everyone worth calling today,” Dad says, raising an eyebrow. “No one thinks they’re a good fit for you right now. But don’t worry, I’m sure we’ll find someone. In the meantime, Henry will keep you warmed up on the court since he’s staying with us for a while. We’re so lucky he agreed to do this on such short notice. I’m sure Mom mentioned it when she called you earlier.”
Mom didn’t mention anything about Henry showing up today in her last text. But my face reacts before my mouth does, cluing Dad in on my surprise.
“Henry will be staying here in Manhattan with you guys,” Dadcontinues. “But I expect the three of you to come home to Montclair on the weekends so you and Henry can practice at the country club, like in the good old days.”
Liam gives me a long look after that. I’m sure he has plenty of questions about this impressive-looking guy standing in front of us. He doesn’t seem thrilled about the news thatsaid guywill be moving in and becoming my new coach.
Why would Henry stay with us? Why is he back from Chicago? If Mom had called like she said she would, I wouldn’t be standing here with a question mark on my forehead and my stomach in an impossible knot.
“That won’t be necessary.” I smile at my dad. “I can train on my own. I’m sure it won’t take you more than a few days to find a suitable coach,” I say confidently. “Besides, how can we trust Henry won’t pack up and leave again in a few days for no apparent reason?”
Without saying goodbye.
But I leave that part out because everyone involved knows how things went down, even if my dad’s pretending to have selective amnesia.
I turn my attention lazily toward Henry, offering him a bitter, tight-lipped smile. Once again, he doesn’t react. He’s basically soulless, as I suspected.
“We’re flying to Beijing in two weeks, sweetheart. You can’t train on your own,” Dad says, his pointed stare failing to intimidate me or convince me thatHenryis a good idea. “A fresh set of eyes will do you good.”
Not Henry’s.
“We need to show your sponsors you’re serious about your career,” Dad continues with his spiel. “The China Open will set the tone for what’s to come. Drew’s already hooked on the phone 24/7, trying to get your image cleaned up with the media and the rest of your sponsors.”
Dad crosses his arms at his chest and leans back against the wall.
“If it were up to me, I’d pull you from the tournament and let things cool off, give the press time to forget what happened. But the China Open is a mandatory WTA event, and you need the points. Defaulting would cost you more than press coverage. It’ll hit your ranking.”
Knowing Liam is watching our interactions makes me take a deep breath and think before reacting, a step I usually skip when my dad and Iget into a heated discussion about anything tennis-related. I tend to yell first and think later.
Hiding this fiery side of me is not something that comes easy.
When I glance at Liam, he’s leaning against the kitchen counter with his hands resting inside his pants pockets. I hate that our time together got cut short like this. This isn’t how I envisioned the night ending.
“So Henry’s got what it takes to help me ‘set the tone’ and show my sponsors how serious I am?” I scoff. I know I’m speaking as if Henry isn’t standing here, but he’s not saying anything anyway, and I’m hoping he realizes it’s ridiculous to think he has something to teach me. “We haven’t seen each other in five years. So how does he know what I need to improve my game?”
“You’re over-rotating your backhand,” Henry finally says, cutting me off. I bite the inside of my cheek and purse my lips in annoyance. Because he’s right. Elliot’s been bugging me about it for weeks. “Even if you have a naturally powerful shot, you’re losing stability.”
Sighing, I raise an eyebrow at him, because what the hell does he know anyway?
“Oh, and your footwork is off. But I’ll gladly point that out during practice.” He pulls a small notepad from his back pocket and waves it in front of him. “I took notes, but I’m sure they’ll match yours. Joe tells me you were watching your tapes today?”
He tops it off with an arrogant smile, a carbon copy of the one I gave him a few minutes ago.
Jerk.
“As you can see,” Dad says quickly, “Henry’s already watched yesterday’s tape. So why don’t you two compare notes tonight before you head to training tomorrow? It’ll save you time.”
