Page 25 of Break Point
Henry leans over the center console to give Tony directions to the Tribeca courts, then throws himself back into his seat. He glances at me with a cocky smile I’ve never seen on his face before and asks, “What’s going on in that head of yours? Any other complaints I should know about?”
I shake my head twice and look away.
“Good girl.”
Son of a …
This place is a mess, or at least it is compared to the NTC. It’s not dirty, but it’s old and neglected. The court lines are at least visible, and the nets look like they were recently replaced, but there’s a moldy, humid smell that clings to my nostrils.
Hopefully, they’ll let us borrow one of the outdoor courts.
“Hey, man!” Henry shouts to a young guy who looks to be in his mid-twenties and is heading our way. He’s tall and slim, with a white cap and straight, dirty blond hair peeking out at the sides.
“Henry?” he says, breaking into a smile and picking up his pace. “It’sbeen a minute!” He reaches us and greets Henry with a loud handshake, a tight hug, and a few pats on the back. “What happened to your face, bro?”
“Ah, it’s nothing.” Henry frowns and slides a finger over the new scar on his right eyebrow. “A friend’s dog did it back in Chicago.”
A dog? I’m not buying it, and his friend’s reaction suggests he isn’t either, but he doesn’t seem interested enough to press further. It’s annoying how that scar does nothing to mess up Henry’s perfect face. Part of me wishes it did. It’d make looking at him easier.
“Anyway, Jasper, this is?—”
“Belén Freeman,” he says with a grin, extending his hand. “After last Sunday, anyone who didn’t know her sure does now. Besides, you never shut up about her growing up.”
“Ah.” Henry clears his throat. “Right, well … same Belén.”
My face doesn’t twitch. Not even a blink. But inside, I’m combusting like a human pressure cooker because what the hell does that mean?
He never shut up about me growing up? Like, in what way?
I risk a glance at Henry, who looks like he wants the floor to open up and swallow him whole. Good. Let it.
I shake Jasper’s hand and say, “Nice to meet you, Jasper.”
“Nice to meet you too, Belén,” he replies with a grin. “And congratulations on your Grand Slam debut this year. Your win at Roland Garros was impressive. That approach shot near the end of the third set, right before you took the fourth game, had me on my feet and howling.” Jasper chuckles, crossing his arms. “That’s some great tennis you play. You have one powerful serve, young lady. I saw you hitting a hundred and fourteen miles per hour on a couple of serves there and?—”
“Easy on the praise, man,” Henry interrupts. “We’ve got a list of things to work on, and her serve is one of them. I don’t need her getting cocky on me.”
“Wait, what?” Jasper asks, looking puzzled. “You’re coaching her?”
“I am,” Henry concedes with a small, tight smile. I can’t tell if he’s excited or annoyed about it. “That is, if we don’t claw our eyes out by the end of today’s training session. Right, Bells?”
He shoots me a smirk, only adding to my confusion.
I’m going nuts with his hot-and-cold energy. One second he’s smiling,the next he’s totally checked out, like on the drive from the NTC. And now he’s cracking jokes and smirking at me?
I’m not emotionally equipped to keep up with him, and not knowing who he is anymore isn’t helping. I feel torn. Part of me is still crushed, hurt, and furious, while the other part feels a glimmer of hope whenever I catch glimpses of the old Henry. I want my friend back. But what if the Henry I used to know, the one who left a hole in my chest, is gone? This is a new Henry, and I can’t decide if I like him or not.
“I’m sorry for meddling,” Jasper chuckles, narrowing his eyes in confusion, “but isn’t Elliot Davis your coach?”
“Used to be,” I reply without a hint of a smile.
I’m deeply hurt that Elliot gave up on me, and the way he did it was absolutely devastating. It left me feeling like the biggest failure and a complete disappointment.
“Well, my buddy Henry here,” Jasper says, pulling Henry in for a side hug, “is going to be a better coach than Elliot ever was, you’ll see. He’s all about power shots and a real nerd when it comes to body positioning. Jacques trained him well. Too bad he chickened out of the tour at the last minute.”
Henry snorts and shakes his head a few times.
“What?” I ask, searching for Henry’s gaze, but he’s deliberately avoiding eye contact. “Jacques, who? And were you really coming on the tour this year?”
