Page 172 of Break Point
It stops now.
It’s only been a few weeks since Zoya beat me at the Rogers Cup. The wound’s still fresh, and my ego’s still bruised.
I’ve had to talk it through with everyone in my team to believe I can do this today. Even if a huge part of me still thinks I’m not emotionally equipped to deal with an unfavorable outcome.
I want this too much.
Ineedthis too much.
There’s more at stake than a trophy or a juicy check.
And that’s the problem. That’s the liability.
I don’t know how I’d carry on if I lost.
My hands are shaking. And as I stare at them, willing the tremble to stop, the locker room door creaks open.
Mom steps in. Calm. Elegant.
“Mom,” I breathe out, feeling a weight lift off my shoulders.
She’s here.
I meet her halfway and stun her with an unexpected hug. She stiffens for a second, probably still registering that I’m the one initiating it. I haven’t exactly been the warmest when it comes to physical touch. I’ve been taking my time, waiting until I feel ready to explore the parts of our relationship that still need work.
But right now, I’m so happy and relieved to see her that it feels right.
“Oh, sweetheart,” she coos, squeezing me tighter as I bury my face in the crook of her neck.
The simple term of endearment, as conventional as it might be, feels real.
Earned.
“Don’t cry.”
“I didn’t see you in the box,” I say. “I thought you’d left.”
“Not a chance,” she says, rocking me gently. “Never again.”
She pulls back, just enough to look at me.
“Come sit. We don’t have much time before the match starts.”
We sit on the bench, and she reaches into her bag, pulling out a small black velvet jewelry box.
“I brought you the earrings I wore when I won my first US Open,” she says, placing them in my hand.
I flip open the lid. Two diamond studs catch the harsh locker room light, scattering thin, rainbow-colored rays across the inside of the box.
“They’re beautiful.” I glance at her. “Are you sure?”
“Wear them,” she says with a soft nod. “They’re yours now.”
I swallow and nod. “Thank you.”
She takes the box and gently swaps out my simple gold studs for the diamonds.
A soft knock at the door breaks the moment.
