Page 45 of Break Point
Instead, I take a deep breath to buy myself a few more seconds to concoct a reply, to say something—anything—to get him to stop looking at me like that.
“Belén?” Liam’s sleepy voice startles me. “Are you okay, love?”
When I turn my head, he’s there, shirtless in his black boxer briefs, his brown hair a perfectly disheveled mess.Christ.
“Yes, I … I’m fine.” I force a smile, hoping to reassure him. I set my cookie on the plate and remove the ice pack, trying to make a point.
“What happened?” His brow furrows. “Are you hurt?”
“Nothing … no, I slipped. I’m icing my knee as a precaution. But it’s nothing serious. I’m fine.” I offer him another reassuring smile, but the tension in the room grows thicker with every ticking second.
“Are you ready to come back to bed?” Liam glances at Henry, whose jaw is clenched as he stares at his fidgeting feet.
I look away, too embarrassed to make eye contact with Henry because I have no idea what he’s thinking. Liam and I made out and fooled around a bit, but we didn’t have sex. I’m still a virgin, not that it’s Henry’s business. For some stupid reason, I still care what he thinks of me. And Liam stepping out in his underwear is mortifying.
“You’re going to be knackered at practice tomorrow,” he adds, his voice softening. “It’s past three in the morning.”
Henry finally lifts his gaze and directs his attentionto Liam. “Well, if you hadn’t stayed over, she would be sleeping and resting like every other night,” he says.
“Henry—”
“Not trying to be rude, mate,” Liam replies, cutting me off, “but it’s none of your business. I know you’re playing substitute coach, but if we’re being honest, who Belén spends the night with or not is way above your pay grade.”
“For all intents and purposes, Iamher coach,” Henry retorts. “And it’s best if you?—”
“That’s enough.” I stare into Henry’s eyes, silently begging him to stop. The way he’s biting into his lower lip and staring back at me makes me wonder if it’s anger or disappointment fueling his uncalled-for reaction.
I look away, unable to hold his probing gaze, and set my glass on the coffee table as I rise to my feet. Henry does, too, and tosses in one last comment before scurrying away to his bedroom: “Joe was right about him.”
1 Thank you, Tony.
2 Say hi to Martha for me.
3 On your behalf.
4 Don’t get mad, but he’s been insisting all day.
5 Oh, no, Roberto. What have you done?
CHAPTER 12
CHINA
OCTOBER 8, 2010
MY OVERALL PERFORMANCEat the China Open was lackluster and disappointing. Maggie Davies, a 26-year-old Brit ranked 108th, eliminated me in the fourth round, so I was sent back home earlier than expected.
Tony is driving Dad, Henry, and me back from the airport, and I’ve practically worn my headphones the entire time since I boarded the plane in Beijing. It’s the nicest way for me to let everyone around me know I’m not open to chatting or discussing the events of the past few days.
I hate losing, yes, but this time, Ireallysucked. We had a solid game plan, which I disregarded because I was distracted. I should’ve put my phone away, but I didn’t. That’s on me. It was my choice to stay up late texting Liam every damn night, and I should’ve known better. That’s what pisses me off, but there’s no one to blame but me.
Losing out of pure carelessness and distraction is unacceptable. It hits differently than losing after giving it your all.
I cannot afford to lose focus. Not when Ineedto win the US Open next year more than I need oxygen in my lungs. I wouldn’t want to fall into a bad rut. But, at least, I lost with dignity. I didn’t have it in me to make a hissy fit about losing. It was that embarrassing. So I attended mypress conference, smiled for the cameras, and brooded in the privacy of my hotel room.
Thankfully, I didn’t get to play against Zoya. She was there, but I couldn’t stand looking at her. She’s a living, breathing reminder of the thoughts I wish didn’t haunt me in my sleep every night.
When I see her, I see myself losing control and banging that racket against the court along with the rest of my inappropriate behavior that dreaded day. I see how I lost the opportunity to win the US Open, to get itdoneonce and for all. She’s a constant reminder that I only have one more shot next year to accomplish my secret, petty goals. So yeah, let’s say I’m doing it for the Rolex ambassadorship, which is partly true.
