Page 128 of Break Point
I swallow past the swell of emotion it causes me to see Henry worked up about wanting to keep me safe. But I quickly settle down once I remember it’s nothing more than his sense of responsibility and the promise he made to my dad to look out for me in his absence.
It’s not about me. It’s never been about me. It’s about pleasing my dad and staying in his good graces.
“And knowing we shared a room wouldn’t upset him?” I muse.
“There’s no reason for him to find out,” he says with a shrug, like he’s suddenly become Mr. Practical.
He’s infuriating.
I hate the way he’s selective when it comes to keeping things from my dad.
“Then it leaves us no choice but to sleep together,” I say, choking on my words after hearing myself say that out loud. And how I phrased it.
Henry makes a rough, low sound in the back of his throat.
“Sharing the bed … I mean.”
“I know what you mean.” His voice comes out low and raspy.
“So what’s it gonna be?” I keep unpacking like I can’t be bothered by the exchange. “Are we sharing the bed, or should I give Lydia a call?”
“We’re sharing the bed.”
And rip the heart out of my chest while you’re at it.
CHAPTER 29
THE EASIEST PUNISHMENT
APRIL 15, 2011
I KNOCKon the door before letting myself inside the room. There’s no answer, so I press my keycard against the reader and push the door open just enough to peek inside.
The room is empty. But the steady spray of water coming from the bathroom, confirms Henry’s in the shower.
I step in and remove my tennis shoes, leaving them by the door.
Today’s a day off. I’ve spent it recovering, hydrating, and handling some light media obligations. I faced the fierce Italian Sara Errani yesterday in the quarterfinals and moved on to the semis. It was a tough, physical two-set match that left me drained. The heat wasn’t in our favor, but I managed to stay aggressive on my returns and closed it out 7–5, 6–4.
After taking a hot shower earlier, I paid a visit to the physical therapist who gave me a well-deserved massage to help with muscle tightness. Hopefully, it’ll keep me loose for tomorrow’s match.
Henry got lost in the pages of one of his military sci-fi novels when I left for my appointment, which was conveniently held at the hotel.
Before I left, we agreed to do a quick video review of yesterday’s match and a more thorough analysis of Polona Hercog, my Slovenian opponent for tomorrow’s match, once I got back. We’ll grab some dinner after that and call it a day.
The dynamic of sharing a room with Henry has been … interesting. Not as challenging as I thought it would be. He wakes up earlier than me, showers, and leaves the room so I can prepare to start the day in private. He waits for me downstairs with a cup of coffee, we have breakfast together and then head out.
The week has flown by. Our days are fast-paced, busy, and exhausting. By the time we’re back at the hotel, it’s basically dinner, shower, bed.
Grabbing my notebook and pen, I hurry to set everything up on the coffee table so that when Henry steps out, we can dive straight into tape revision.
I plop on the couch and stare out the window at the beautiful M-shaped mountain framing my view. I wish I could explore more of this city with Henry. I also feel bad that I haven’t been able to spend much time with my cousins who flew in from Guadalajara to see me play. But I’m hoping to grab lunch or dinner with them before we fly back to New York.
My phone chimes with a text notification. I ignore it. I’m sure it’s Dad or Drew wanting a recap of the day. Instead, I breathe deep and close my eyes, falling into one of the mindfulness exercises Henry taught me months ago.
Never fails to settle me.
After a few slow breaths, the sound of the bathroom door startles me. My eyes snap open, and there he is.
