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CHAPTER TWELVE

Broken

I moved back to my place the day after we got back from Dubai. I just couldn’t spend another night in the same house as Joel. My nerves were frazzled from everything that had happened in Dubai, with Ben … and with Joel. And I still had to see him every day for training.

The nightmares, which had temporarily subsided while overseas, had crashed back into my brain at the worst possible time – midway over the Indian Ocean, on a packed flight.

Blood.

Gaping mouth.

Bulging eyes.

I’d jolted awake, gasping for breath. I’d tried to leap up, to run from the images, but my seat belt held me firmly in place.

“Mel, shh, it’s okay.” Joel’s hand was on my shoulder, pressing me gently back into my seat. He’d handed me some bottled water, taking it back to unscrew the cap when he’d realised my hands were shaking too much to manage.

Except it wasn’t okay. In no world was it okay to keep reliving that morning over and over.

I shook myself, hoping that being back in my familiar apartment would be the catalyst that would stop the dreams from recurring. I busied myself making a coffee as Connor refamiliarised himself with the place.

I needed to keep busy. I needed groceries, I had laundry to do, I had friends I needed to catch up with. Focusing on a checklist like this helped me not to dwell on nightmares of Steve …

Or on the spot on the back of my neck where I was sure I could still feel Joel’s hot mouth.

What the fuck had he been thinking?

Nope , I told myself. No dwelling. It happened, it was weird and it’s not happening again.

I unpacked my suitcase and chucked a load in the washing machine. One task ticked off.

Groceries. Thankfully my pantry was always stocked with staples, but I needed fresh produce. I needed milk that wasn’t long-life.

I needed to burn some nervous energy.

Grabbing an empty backpack, I lifted my pushbike down from the hook near the door, dragged it down the stairs and hopped on. I pedalled the few kilometres to the local organic markets in Double Bay.

I’d never learned how to drive. No licence, no car, no interest in changing that situation.

Anywhere I needed to go I could get to easily via Uber, or in this case, a ten-minute bike ride.

Joel used to tease me about it, until I suggested that he teach me in his BMW.

That shut him up like lightning. No one was allowed behind the wheel of his baby except for him.

I was halfway back to my place, backpack full of grass-fed beef, hormone-free chicken, fresh-caught seafood, and pesticide-free fruit and vegetables when a car honked beside me, the window buzzing down. I kept riding.

“I think those bike shorts are my new favourite!”

“There’s a reason I’m not looking at you,” I retorted, refusing to give him the satisfaction of glancing his way. “Now, drive on, you’re holding up traffic.”

“Oh, come on, Stink! Don’t be like that. I was looking for you. Can I meet you back at your place? I have something important to talk to you about.”

I groaned. “Joel, please, can I just have one day of peace?”

“Either you let me come back to your house, or I’ll keep driving like this and talk to you about it now.”

I could hear the frustrated beeps of cars queueing behind him.

“Fine!” I grunted. “I’ll see you back at my place!”

“Don’t take too long, Stink!” Joel called as he roared his BMW off down the road. I found myself pedalling harder, sure there would be some smart-arse comment about how long it took me to ride back to my house waiting for me at the other end.

I wasn’t disappointed.

“Lucky it’s a sunny day, Stinky – I’ve been getting a nice tan here.” Joel grinned, leaning against his car in the visitor space. I climbed off my bike, biting the inside of my cheek so he wouldn’t see me wince from the stitch in my side.

“What was so important that it couldn’t wait until tomorrow, Joel?

” I opened the door and struggled with my bike on the stairs.

Joel squeezed past me, hefting the bike over one shoulder and carrying it up.

I followed, wanting to be miffed that he assumed I wasn’t capable, but really just relieved because I’d just ridden like an utter maniac, so there was very little juice left in the tank.

“I got an interesting call today,” he began as he hung my bike up on the rack. I moved into the kitchen and started unpacking the groceries. I tried to pretend I wasn’t interested in what he had to say, but my curiosity got the better of me.

“Okay, who called?” I asked.

“The features editor for Woody Magazine,” he replied casually. I turned to him, eyebrow raised, waiting for him to explain.

“He was wondering if he could entice you to be the cover girl for the May issue.”

I groaned. “I hate that magazine, Joel. It’s soft-core porn for kids whose parents have their Internet locked down so they can’t access the good stuff.”

Joel put on his best cajoling face. “Look, Mel, I know it’s not really your cup of tea, but just hear me out – ”

“What? You actually want me to do it?” I screeched. He grabbed me by the arms and held me still.

“Mel, think about this rationally. One, you’re not getting offers from sponsors – sorry, but it’s true.

The money would be welcome. Two, it would thrust you into the limelight, and might attract sponsors that are a bit left of field and outside the tennis sphere.

And three, if you go out there and do an interview showing how little the video thing worried you, people are going to forget about it a whole lot faster. ”

“But it did worry me. It does worry me,” I argued pitifully.

Joel sighed. “Of course it does. You’d have to be a sociopath for it not to.

Maybe think of this as a chance to refocus the conversation; shine a light on the fact that it’s okay for women to enjoy sex, to be adventurous in bed, but it’s not okay for men to take advantage of that.

You can turn it around to a discussion about consent, and the fact that Pete Levine didn’t get your consent to film what you did together. ”

I felt the fight go out of me. Joel was talking too much sense, yet again.

I’d been so caught up in the mortification of the whole debacle that I hadn’t even thought about the unfairness of Pete Levine walking away unscathed after taking advantage of me.

Joel sensed the change in the tension in my body and released me.

“When would I have to do it?” I asked, turning back to my groceries.

“Not until we get back from the States. So, can I call him back and tell him you’ll do it?”

“Yes,” I sighed without looking at him.

“Great! Stink, you’re a good sport.”

“Why did they call you anyway?” I asked.

“Well, actually they DM’d me on Instagram after they saw my posts from Dubai.”

I stiffened. I’d forgotten in all the drama in Dubai that Brad had mentioned keeping updated on what I was doing through Joel’s social media.

“But you only posted on-court action shots, didn’t you? Not that exciting considering every sports media outlet would have been posting similar.”

Joel cleared his throat. “Well … I don’t think it was the content so much as the fact that they knew I was with you, so they figured I might be able to put you in touch with them. You’ve seen all my posts, right?”

I shook my head. “I’m still on my social media hiatus. The Internet doesn’t need more of Mel Black.”

Joel snorted. “I’d hazard a guess that ‘the Internet’ would beg to differ with you on that.”

I closed the fridge and turned to face him, finding him sitting in a chair at my table, looking for all the world like he lived here. I sunk into a chair as well. I reached behind me into the fridge and pulled out a couple of bottles of Platinum Blonde, my favourite beer. I passed one over to him.

“Have you heard anything more from the police?” I asked quietly, changing the subject. Joel shook his head, taking a swig from the beer.

“Nope. I called them this morning but there are still no leads whatsoever. Mel … these nightmares you keep having …”

I choked on a mouthful of beer. “Nope! We are not discussing this!” I spluttered.

“I just want to know how often they’re happening. Do you need to talk to someone about them?”

I downed the rest of my beer, leaning over and reaching into the fridge for another.

“I’ve talked to you about them – don’t make me regret that,” I warned.

Joel shook his head, sipping slowly from his own beer. “I just wonder whether maybe you should talk to a professional. You’re an athlete, Stink. You need quality sleep or your performance will suffer.”

I rolled my eyes. “Oh, this is my concerned trainer talking, is it?”

Joel sighed. “Don’t be like that, okay? I’m worried about you. I don’t want … fuck, I wish I was there before you!” He rubbed at his forehead .

I leaned forwards, finger hooked around the neck of my beer. “Joel, don’t try to pretend that you’re coping with this any better than I am. You being there first, it wouldn’t change what we saw.”

“I could have stopped you from coming in. I could have saved you having to see.” Joel’s voice was agonised.

My heart lurched. “Jesus, Joel! Don’t you dare feel guilty about this! I wish you hadn’t had to see it either! Fuck, I wish neither of us had to see! I wish he wasn’t …”

My throat locked up. I pushed back from the table and turned to lean against the bench, gripping the edges with white knuckles.

His chair scraped and the warmth of his body was like the sun on my back. His hands were on my arms, holding me steady.

“Please, Stinky. Just … promise me … if things get too overwhelming for you that you’ll at least be honest with me about it, even if you don’t want to talk to anyone else.”

I inhaled until the lump in my throat was small enough to speak around. “I promise.”

I wasn’t sure I could keep that promise. He was clearly carrying enough guilt about the whole thing. I didn’t need to be adding to it with my own issues. But it was easier to lie to him than to argue.