Page 169 of Break Point
Scared of winning and hurting or triggering Mom by proving I’m better than she was at my age. Scared of losing and disappointing the people expecting me to take this one home: my team and Rolex.
They’ve reached out to wish me luck, highlighting how much they look forward to making the ambassadorship happen. Drew’s been polishing the details alongside my mom, who’s officially been offered the opportunity to co-star with me in a mother/daughter legacy campaign.
I’ve behaved with the media, in my own way.
I’ve been working my ass off and packing up points, positioning myself in the Top 5.
All I have to do is reach the final … and win.
My breath hitches as my fingers cling to my tumbler for dear life.
I close my eyes and remember to breathe, slow and steady.
“Hey,” Henry says, standing behind the kitchen stool I’m sitting on and pressing a gentle kiss on my pulse point. “One round at a time, remember?”
He just came back from the gym. His shoulder’s coming along, too. He started light lifts this week and Jacques has him easing into movement drills again. They’re talking about getting back on the court for some easy hitting soon. It’s nothing intense, but still. He’s close.
“Are you a vampire?” I tease, lifting a hand to run my fingers through his soft hair, steadying myself against him. “Those tend to have mind-reading abilities and like to linger around necks.”
“You’d know if I were one,” he scoffs, sliding a hand around my waist and lowering his mouth to my neck again, biting slowly and playfully. It makes my breath catch again … for different reasons.
The front door opens without warning, and Mom waltzes in, removing her black designer sunglasses and sticking them on her pristine white shirt’s collar, which is tucked in deep indigo jeans. She’s wearingjeans. But her casual outfit screams expensive, and her perfect blow-out and immaculate makeup frame her stunning, sober face.
She lifts a brow at us.
“Good morning,” she says with two short, loud claps. “Less kissing and more getting ready to leave.”
“Good morning, Addison,” Henry says with blushed cheeks and a tight smile, taking a few steps back and disappearing off into his room, abandoning me. “I’ll … be right back.”
I scoff at the audacity of abandoning me to my mother.
It’s 7:45 a.m., and how she manages to look this well put-together so early in the morning still baffles me. Her being sixty-four days sober must have something to do with it.
“Show me today’s outfit,” she says, dropping her bag on the counter and kissing my cheek like she never stopped doing it. Like this had always been our pre-match routine.
“Sure,” I smile back.
She gives me one of her elegant smiles and places a small Sephora shopping bag in front of me before I can get off the stool.
“I brought you a cute gloss I picked up yesterday at the mall after my meeting,” she throws in casually. “My stylist said it goes with your coloring.”
Mom was paying attention two days ago when I said all I like to wear for matches is tinted sunscreen and a little gloss. She’s been making an effort to reconnect. And I didn’t realize how much I needed this. Neededher.
The used-to-be empty space inside my chest with her name on it isn’t vacant anymore. She stepped right in, on her own, without needing to ask for directions.
“Thank you,” I say, grabbing the gloss, excited to try it for today’smatch. “Come. I’ll show you the outfit. It’s a hot pink dress with a sleeveless mock turtleneck.”
“Excuse me?” Mom raises an eyebrow. She would’ve clutched her pearls if she were wearing any. She’s all about neutrals, but I don’t mind making a statement.
I shoot her with adon’t knock it till you see itkind of look while her mind buffers.
“Okay, okay. Show me.”
“Right this way.”
Dad walks into the apartment as Mom and I head for my bedroom.
“Hey, Dad!” I yell over my shoulder.
