Page 23 of Break Point
Robbie’s what I like to call a fashionable nerd. He cares way too much about his looks, even if he pretends not to. He’s perfected the formula for looking casual but put-together at the same time. His black-framed glasses accentuate his blue eyes, and I always envied them growing up.
When I was a kid, all I wanted was to look like my mother, until one day, I woke up relieved that I wasn’t like her in any way. For so long, I thought being a blue-eyed blonde was what I needed to gain her approval. But Henry always said that wasn’t the issue. That I didn’t need to change anything to belong. Back then, I didn’t believe him.
Now I’m not sure I ever told him he was right.
Speaking of Henry … I woke up worried sick about him, and I can’t let another day go by without telling him how sorry I am about his father’s passing.
It’s 6:50 a.m., but I’m almost ready. I’m wearing my favorite purple biker shorts, a white tank top, and a white hoodie—all Adidas. My hair is slicked back into a ponytail, with a white headband added for a finishing touch.
Frowning, I gather my gear and racket bag, reminding myself to grab a brand-new Neel Ultex racket from the stock I keep in my storage closet. I still can’t shake the bitterness of being dropped by them. Drew is working hard to get me a new sponsorship deal with any top brand willing to offer one.
After filling a big tumbler with water, I head downstairs, not bothering to check if Robbie is still in the apartment. I don’t want to give Henry the chance to call me out for being late. To my surprise, he’s already there. Henry, Robbie, and Tony are standing past the building’s entrance, talking and laughing. Their conversation eases as I approach.
“Seven oh-one.” Robbie smirks, pulling open the white SUV’s door. He hops into the passenger seat and says, “We were about to leave without you.”
“Bájale, o te vas en taxi.”?1
Robbie shuts the door with a laugh while Tony shakes his head, smiling as he opens the door for me.
“Buenos días, mi niña.”?2
“Buenos días, Tony.”?3
I glance at Henry, and he’s looking back at me, his thick brows bunched together. He’s wearing black training shorts, an olive-green hoodie with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and a backward black New York Yankees cap. A couple of sweat beads roll down his temples, and his cheeks are flushed, like he’s just back from a run.
“Morning,” I say.
“Morning, Bells,” he replies, giving me a slight jerk of his chin. He takes my bag and gestures for me to get in the car. When he sits beside me, I realize I’ve never been more nervous in my life.
1 Turn it down a few notches, or you’re taking a taxi.
2 Good morning, my girl.
3 Good morning, Tony.
CHAPTER 7
HERE TO TRAIN
WE ARRIVEat the NTC in Flushing Meadows at 7:35 a.m. after detouring to drop off Robbie at Tandon. The non-stop conversation kept things from getting awkward between Henry and me. I know we’ll be alone together, training every day for who knows how long, so I’d better start getting used to it. I didn’t have a choice when my dad made the decision for me, and now we both know the real reason behind it.
“Yo aquí los espero,mi niña,”?1 Tony says, hopping back in the car.
Henry and I walk in silence as I lead him toward the entrance. It feels strange to be here again, the place clean, empty, and peaceful. So different from the packed, wild scene it was a few days ago. It’s as if nothing ever happened here.
I can’t say I don’t love the bustle of people coming and going, music pulsing on and off, the cheers, and the sepulchral silence between points. It’s fascinating to see how obedient people can be while watching tennis.
Most of the time.
“Hey, Patty,” I smile, dropping my backpack on the floor and pulling out my venue card to place it on the counter.
“Oh, hi, Miss Freeman!” She nervously wets her lips, glancing at Henry with a smile but not taking my card.
“This is Henry, my new coach,” I say, gesturing toward him with mythumb. They greet each other politely, but Henry’s face goes expressionless in record time. “Could you help me get him checked in? I’m guessing he’ll need an access card, too.”
“I’m so sorry, Miss Freeman,” Patty says, tugging her thin, gold-framed glasses off and setting them beside the chunky keyboard on her desk. “Weren’t you notified about the—” She trails off, clearing her throat.
“About what?” I tilt my head, feeling equal parts curiosity and annoyance.
