Page 160 of Break Point
“What’s this?” I ask, unfolding the paper.
Robbie trails off mid-sentence. All eyes swing in our direction.
“Read it.”
“No freaking way.”
I stare at the booking reservation.One-way. London. Henry Mitchell.
“You’re coming?” I gasp. “You’re really coming?”
He nods, flashing one of those trademark Henry smirks.
“Dr. Rivera cleared me to fly. I’m coming to Wimbledon with you,” he says, beaming. “As long as I continue physical therapy on schedule and don’t do anything stupid while I’m there.”
I squeal and throw my arms around his neck, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek.
We weren’t sure if Dr. Rivera would greenlight the trip. Henry will have completed nearly eight full weeks of recovery by the time Wimbledon starts, but they’re still being extra cautious. Henry’s been signed with two major sponsors who are covering his physical therapy and other expenses, betting on a comeback as soon as Dr. Rivera and his shoulder allow it.
One of those sponsors is none other than Neel Ultex.
Rumors about Henry and me started swirling after Mexico. We weren’t exactly discreet after my win. A few photos, one too many smiles, and suddenly everyone was speculating. Some thought Tim replacing Henry as my coach was confirmation that we were dating.
False, but let them think whatever they want to think.
That’s when Drew had hisbrilliantidea: make the relationship official and use it as leverage. He pitched Neel Ultex on the possibility of a future campaign featuring both of us.
They ate it up.
According to Drew, we were irresistible marketing fuel. A rising star, a fallen athlete, real chemistry, real stakes. He spun Henry’s injury and unlikely comeback into a brandable narrative the public would root for.
Since there’s so much on the line, I wasn’t sure Dr. Rivera would authorize the trip. But he did, and I couldn’t be more excited and hopeful. Henry’s presence makes me feel like I can take over the world. Like I’m strong enough towinthis time.
Dora watches us with a soft smile and crinkled eyes. Dad’s smiling, too, though one eyebrow is lifted in that classic overprotective way. It’s like his body, brain, and heart are all having different reactions to me and Henry being a thing.
“It’s your birthday, andI’mgetting gifts?” I shake my head, feigning disappointment.
“You’ve spoiled me enough already.” He shrugs. “I’m just treating myself right.”
He’s not wrong. I gave him two trophies, a shoulder surgery (according to him), and a signed, special boxed set ofWaking Legion, his favorite military sci-fi series. Right before surgery, he told me it counted as a birthday gift and that I was off the hook for life.
Not happening.
Mom’s staring at us, jaw tight, fingers clenched around her glass. She’s quiet, but the silence hums with judgment.
“Ah! To be young and free.” Mom’s voice cuts through the table. “At your age, Henry, I was pregnant, vomiting, and watching everything I worked for disappear.”
The table goes still.
“Addison,” Dad says quietly, but there’s steel in it.
Robbie stares at Mom, quiet disgust and disbelief all over his face, like he’s finally seeing it.
Dora rests a hand on my knee under the table and gives it a gentle squeeze. Henry slips a protective arm around my shoulders and pulls me closer because he can now.
I glance at him. “I’m sorry,” I mutter.
I know it’s your birthday. I know I should let it go. But I can’t?—
