Page 13 of Break Point
Shit.
“Ah, sure. I …yeah,” I stumble with my words, bobbing my head. I glance at Liam, and that gives me away.
“You haven’t watched them, have you?” Dad grumbles.
I shake my head once and cross my arms in front of me.
“Nope.”
“Ay no,mijita en serio.”?1 Dad scrubs a hand down his disappointed face. “¿Ves porque no quiero que tengas novio?”?2
“He’s not my boyfriend! We’re—” I snap my mouth shut, but it’s too late. My dad has already pinned the blame on Liam, and now he’s walking away with a snort, frustration etched across his face.
But is Liam my boyfriend? I still don’t know what we are, but we’re not nothing. I want us to be something, and today certainly felt like we were heading in that direction.
Liam says goodbye to Robbie, Gemma, and Dad. He approaches Henry, extending his hand. “I’m Liam, by the way. Not the boyfriend,” he says with a painfully sarcastic chuckle. “Nice to meet you, mate.” He jerks his chin at me and shuffles away with a dry, “Good luck, Belén.”
“Liam, wait!” I grab my phone from the table and hurry after him, but he’s already waiting for the elevator down the hall. “Liam!”
“Are you for real, Belén?” he says over his shoulder, stepping into the elevator. I follow him, not caring that I’m barefoot. “Don’t you dare say you denied it to protect yourself from your father.”
“Well, I don’t know what we are, Liam. I thought we were just hanging out. We’ve never talked about … us. I’ve never had a boyfriend before, so I don’t really know how this boyfriend-girlfriend thing works.”
“We’ve known each other for eight months, Belén. And I’ve been patient and discreet,” he says, stepping out of the elevator into the lobby, shaking his head. “Just like you asked me to be.”
“Liam, wait!” I follow him out. “I want to talk to you. I’ll follow you barefoot around New York if I have to. But Gemma will kill me if I ruin my pedicure.” My weak attempt to lighten the mood falls flat. He stops and turns to meet my gaze, and I offer a genuinely warm smile that still doesn’t seem to work on him.
“Am I wasting my time here, Belén?”
“Of course not. It’s just that?—”
I don’t even know how to finish that sentence. I care about Liam. I really do. And I love spending time with him when we can. But that’s the problem. We can never find the time to be together, to getto know each other, and to take things to the next level. The attraction is there, though, palpable and undeniable.
His hesitation is mostly my fault. It’s hard for me to open up to him, to show him my feelings and what I’m made of, because, if I’m honest, I don’t know where to begin. I wonder if he’ll still like what he sees if I step out of the shadows and reveal myself to him.
All I know is I’m angry most of the time, even if you can’t tell by looking at me. Any little thing can set me off, and I’ll take every chance I get to act out. Every single day. Every single time.
Sometimes, it’s hard to like myself, so how am I supposed to be liked by someoneelse? Someone like Liam, who couldn’t be kinder or more caring. He texts me before every game to wish me luck and sends me flowers after every tournament, no matter what city or time zone I’m in. Whether I win or lose, he somehow manages to get a fresh bouquet to me.
I’m an idiot.
My easy and playful interaction with Liam today reminded me of the butterflies I felt when I met him. It was my birthday, and we were in Melbourne at aCoop Craft Brewery eventduring the Australian Open. I remember feeling relaxed and excited about winning that day. I was moving on to the next round.
Everything seemed perfect. Then Liam swooped in and captivated me. He made me laugh and asked for my number. It was the most perfect day ever. I didn’t think he’d call or text, but he did. All the time. But with us always busy traveling, getting past screen time has been hard.
As much as I’ve tried to hide that awful part of me, it’s impossible. He got a glimpse of the real me a few days after we met, when I lost in the quarterfinals and walked into the press conference with a terrible attitude. I still wince at the memory of that day.
The problem is I always get so upset about being angry to the point that I forget what was bugging me in the first place. Then I crawl into my mental cave and shut the world out for a few days as the unyielding shame kicks in. I’m aware of my mistakes, but I rarely have the nerve to admit them. Instead, I pretend to be confident about my actions, only to end up scaring people away. And deep down, I don’t want to feel alone. But I do.
I know I need to work on that, but tennis and training always come first. There’s never any time or energy left to work on myself, especiallywhen the people closest to me have learned to deal with or accept me for “who I am.” It makes me feel like I can’t change. And if I did, what would that look like? Where would that leaveme?
I’ve used the shame surrounding my outbursts as the perfect excuse to push Liam away.
But he always comes back, and I’m always glad and relieved when he does. Then I vow to change my ways and work on myself, but I never do.
I’m stuck in the whirlwind of my own vicious cycle.
But today was going so well.
