Page 17 of Break Point
Gemma offers me a tight-lipped smile as I walk to the kitchen to grab a pen but quickly returns her attention to Robbie, who’s keeping her busy with his words.
Henry lifts his gaze from his plate for a second, and the moment I catch his mournful eyes, I’m disarmed. What I’d once interpreted as emptiness now appears to be a deep sadness settled in his features, but I can’t bring myself to say anything. Not yet.
I hate this.
After sitting at the table next to my dad, he pushes my plate in front of me, but I frown at the cold slice of pizza and say, “Thanks, I’m full.”
Dad takes a napkin and holds out his hand, swiveling his fingers for me to hand over the pen, whichI do.
“This,” he says, jotting down a significant dollar amount on the napkin, “needs to be paid within ten days.”
I nod, trying to keep a straight face.
“It’s kind of steep, don’t you think? I’ve seen male players hurl their rackets over the fence and their fines don’t come anywhere close to half of mine. This is bullshit.”
“Language.”
Now everyone’s silent, suddenly interested in our conversation.
“We’re looking at double racket abuse, verbal abuse, and unsportsmanlike conduct for offending the chair umpire,” Dad reminds me. “But you already know that, so I don’t see why you’re so surprised.”
We could go back and forth all night about how men and women are treated in sports, but I don’t have it in me.
Not today.
I take a deep breath and let it go.
“Let me know who I’m making the check out to,” I say, knowing full well Dad’s the one who’ll actually sign it.
I’m not allowed access to my bank accounts. Dad insists a young lady my age shouldn’t have millions at her disposal, so he keeps close tabs on my expenses. I do have an allowance, though, one I never fully spend anyway. But I love sunglasses. That’s my one obsession.
“We’ll sort it out tomorrow,” he says, “but I thought you should know what we’re up against. Hopefully, you’ll learn from this and?—”
“Dad,” I cut him off, bringing a hand to my forehead. “Please… you said we’d sort it out tomorrow.”
I can’t take it.
“Sure.” Dad nods and reaches for the pizza box to grab a fresh slice.
Dad considers everyone at this table family, but Henry’s sitting there with his arms crossed, judging me, and it makes me feel small. I already hate myself for how I acted yesterday, and now I’m being called out in front of everyone.
It sucks. But it sucks more in front of Henry. Because I care what he thinks, even if I’m not sure I know him anymore.
It’s pathetic.
I’mpathetic.
Robbie reaches for the napkin with Dad’s scribbles on it and whistles.
“Oh, shit!” He lets out a laugh, tossing it back on the table. “Seventeen grand?”
$17,260, to be precise.
Henry snorts, shaking his head in disbelief.
“Qué flojera me das,”?2 I spit out.
Did he have to shout the number for everyone to hear?
