Page 79 of Break Point
“Why don’t we head back to the hotel once you’re done with the press?” Dad suggests. “I’ve got some exciting news to share with you both.”
“Of course.” I smile, feeling the nerves creeping in.
I can tell Henry’s anxious, too. His jaw tightens, and he gives me that tight-lipped smile he pulls out when he’s trying to act unbothered. But his shoulders are too stiff, and his eyes flick away long enough to betray him.
He grabs my bag, and I become aware of the crowd shouting my name, congratulating me as we head toward the press tent. I smile and wave effusively, soaking it all in. The support feels incredible, and I pray to God I never take it for granted.
Gemma: We’re in LA boarding our plane for Melbourne! See you real soon, ok?
I’m so excited you were able to make it!
Gemma: I promised I wouldn’t miss it this year. It’s going to be so much fun! I wish I could stay with you in your ridiculously huge suite. You’re so spoiled.
Sponsors went all in for my birthday. I’m sure I can sneak you in for a sleepover ;)
Gemma: Um, no thanks. Grand Slam Tío Joe is no fun and legit scares the shit out of me.
I laugh out loud in the car. Henry and Dad both give me a look. Dad’s super strict about me keeping to my sleeping schedule at tournaments, especially on Grand Slams like the Australian Open.
“It’s Gemma,” I say, looking at my screen and typing a reply.
My dad can be a real pain in the ass. Good thing Robbie and my mom are coming too. They’ll keep you company while I’m busy. Vlad too LOL.
Gemma: Your mom didn’t make it, B. It’s just Robbie, Vlad, and me. I’m sorry. I thought you knew.
My stomach lurches, and I can feel my breath catching in my chest. I don’t need this right now.
My mompromisedto be here, and I believed her this time. She seemed excited and sober when we talked about it. I don’t care if she attends my matches. I wanted her to be here for my birthday, and I stupidly got excited about her coming.
Fuck this.
I didn’t. Did she say why she couldn’t make it?
Gemma: I asked Robbie, but he wouldn’t tell me why.
Thanks for letting me know. My dad doesn’t seem to care enough to tell me.
Gemma: I’m sorry. I’m sure he’s planning on doing so. Maybe he didn’t want to stress you before your match today.
It’s not your fault.
Gemma: Congrats on your win today!
Thanks!
Gemma: I need to turn off my phone, but I’ll see you very, very soon! Love you!
Safe flight. Love you too!
I toss my phone into my backpack as the car parks in the motor lobby of the hotel where most of the players are staying. A handful of paparazzi wait outside, ready to snap photos of anyone coming and going.
Dad instinctively puts an arm around me and guides me inside.
As we walk through the lobby, a female voice calls out in the distance.
“Henry Mitchell!”
We turn to see a petite girl with light brown hair pulled back in a messy ponytail. She’s clearly a tennis player and looks familiar, though we’ve never met. There are so many new athletes this year that it’s hard to keep track of all the names and faces.
