Page 108 of Break Point
“I’ll see you girls around.” With a final nod, he turns and walks off.
Gemma’s holding me against her chest in the back seat of the black sedan as we drive to the hotel. I can’t stop crying. I came undone the moment I stepped into the car, and I don’t know why.
She’s asked what’s wrong a few times, but it only makes the sobs come harder. Vlad, as usual, pretends he’s alone in the car, though I’ve caught him glancing at the rearview mirror with narrowed eyes. His way of showing concern, I guess.
“Is it Liam?” she asks once I’ve calmed down. “Do you miss him?”
“No … I mean, yes, I miss him.” I let out a broken sigh, sitting up straighter. “But not in a getting-back-together kind of way. Seeing him reminded me how I could’ve done better. How I could’vebeenbetter. But instead, I fucked it all up.”
I exhale hard, cheeks puffing out. “I don’t know what’s happening to me. I’m just so sad. Angry. And I—I can’t even … fuck.”
My stomach knots, heat curling low and tight. Tears slide down my face again. And suddenly, I realize Idoknow what’s happening. I know exactly why. So I say it.
“Mom didn’t call.”
Gemma closes her eyes for a second and sighs.
“That sucks,” she mutters. “I’m so sorry. It could be the time difference or something.”
I’d love to believe that, but Mom would have to know what time of day it is for that to count as an excuse. It’s harsh. It’s unfair. But I can’t help it. Not when the irritation threatens to consume me.
“I wish I didn’t care, you know?” I say, ugly crying all over again. “She cancels the trip at the last minute and can’t even call?”
“No, B, don’t say that,” she says, gently wiping my tears with a tissue. “She’s your mom. Of course you care.” Gemma sounds borderline angry. She takes a deep breath like she’s trying to reel herself in. “There must be an explanation.”
I bite my lower lip and shake my head, more tears spilling, because I know thereisn’tan explanation. Not one that makes it okay.
“She just doesn’t care.”
I look away and stare blankly out the window.
“Belén, look at me.”
Gemma pulls my hand, trying to get me to face her. But I can’t.
“She does care. She loves you.”
“She loves gin and tonic,” I say with a teary snort. “She loves her stupid country club friends. She loves her life without me in it.”
“Belén.”
“Gemma, it’s okay,” I say, meeting her gaze. “Really. You don’t have to make me feel better. I needed to let it out, or I’ll choke at the stadium tomorrow. Or thrash my racket against the court.”
I laugh and cry at the same time because I’d never let myself get into that situation again, and Gemma knows it. I’ve learned my lesson the hard way.
Not only do I have to keep it together for the Rolex deal, but I have to win the next US Open. It’s the only way to shut all of this out. To silence it.
That’s it. I’m done wallowing in my own resentment.
I’ve made a scene with my racket, cursed chair umpires, snapped at reporters, set a terrible example for kids, and been rude to people becauseMommy doesn’t love me.
I’m pathetic. I need to harden up.
But as the realization hits me square in the face, the rage softens, melting into something sadder. Something heavier.
“Those things don’t break anyway, right?” Gemma says, her chuckle thick with compassion. “Besides, we need all the Neel Ultex prepaid debit cards we can get to keep financing our shopping sprees. So let it all out, okay?”
She presses her lips into a warm smile and squeezes my hand with both of hers as the car pulls into the hotel’s motor lobby.
