Page 26 of Break Point
“Not now,” Henry says, his tone rough and commanding. “I’ll tell you about this later.”
When Henry left five years ago, I was playing in the U14 tennis division while he was still competing in the U18 division of the ITF Junior Circuit. But he was already starting to dip his toes into ITF Futures and ATP Challenger events. That’s when the real traveling began for him. But you don’t get to play in too many pro events when you’re young; the system is designed to prevent athletes from “burning out” too soon.
We were happy, Henry and I. We’d mapped out a clear path to the pros, and everything was going great for us.
But then he left, and I started traveling too, though we never ran into each other at tournaments. There are so many, it’s hard to coincide. And even if we had, there’s always so much going on at these events, and mydad usually herds me back to the hotel as soon as the matches and interviews are over to make sure I rest and avoid distractions.
This is the first year I’ve been allowed to attend select events and sponsor cocktail parties. Drew’s all about optics. He insists it’s great for my image to be seen there, and some appearances are even mandatory.
My first real event was the Coop Craft Brewery party in Melbourne at the Australian Open, and that’s where I met Liam.
Naturally, my father wanted to kick Drew’s ass for that.
That feels like forever ago now, but the question that’s been eating at me lately is why Henry bailed on the tour this year.
This was supposed to be his debut. I knew he kept playing after he left, but it was impossible not to keep track. I constantly checked the rankings and point charts to see how he was doing.
Eventually, I stopped looking for his name on the lists. Doing it only made me sick to my stomach, a painful reminder that he was no longer part of my life.
For the longest time, I was desperate to know about Henry, but I couldn’t bring myself to ask my parents anymore. My mom had already labeled me as “obsessed,” and my dad would evade my questions, claiming he didn’t know anything about him.
As the years flew by, I grew increasingly bitter, and for the sake of my peace of mind, I decided to wipe him from my thoughts. Henry didn’t deserve another second of my concern or attention. So I finally forced myself to forget about him.
“Anyway,” Jasper says, probably trying to lighten the mood after putting his foot in his mouth, “what brings you over to the finest courts in the Tri-state area?”
“We’re here to train, of course,” Henry replies, giving me a curt nod. “If you’ll have us.”
“So, are you more of an indoor or outdoor court kind of girl?” Jasper wiggles his brows expectantly.
“Outdoor,” Henry and I blurt out at the same time. No way he enjoyed that swampy indoor funk either.
“All-righty then,” Jasper says, beaming at us. “Follow me.”
As Jasper leads us out, Henry waves a hand over his scrunched-upnose, and a snort-laugh escapes me. He nudges my arm with his and raises a finger to his lips, giving a silentshhhalong with a bright smile.
I shrug and nudge him back.
“Ow!” he says, and the simplicity and sense of familiarity of this moment melts my heart. Jasper looks over his shoulder, smiling, blissfully unaware of what we’re laughing about.
For a fleeting second, it feels like us again.
Gathering my courage, I whisper, “Henry, can we talk?”
This feels like the perfect opportunity to give my condolences.
Henry parts his mouth to reply, but Jasper turns around and cuts in. “Okay, guys. You’ll be on court two since a group of kids will be arriving any moment now.” He glances at his watch. “They’ll be on courts three and four.”
“Perfect,” Henry replies quickly, as if grateful for the interruption. “Thanks, man.”
“No problem.” Jasper claps once and gestures with his thumb over his shoulder. “I’ll be in my office if you need anything, but I’ll send someone with a bucket of balls.”
Jasper leaves after I thank him. I set my tumbler on the floor to remove my hoodie. The sun is blazing above us, and the temperature is quickly rising.
“We’ll talk later. I promise,” Henry whispers, his tone apologetic as he drops my bag onto a wooden bench that’s in desperate need of a paint job. “It’s getting late, and we need to train for at least two hours here so we can hit the gym back at your place before lunch.”
“Henry, I just wanted to?—”
“You will address me as Coach or Coach Henry when we’re training,” he cuts me off with a smirk.
