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CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

I Won’t Say It

T he first four days after we arrived home were torture. Joel sent me one single text, with a date when he needed me back for training. And that was all I’d heard from him.

Every single moment of those four days had me on the verge of texting him, calling him, catching a fucking Uber and just showing up at his house.

I tried to keep myself busy by going out every day, taking a run or a ride (in the opposite direction to Joel’s house), walking on Bondi Beach, hitting the shops – anything to stop me from acting on these urges.

I discovered one down side to being a Wimbledon champion: my face was suddenly recognisable to so many people.

Every time I went out in public I couldn’t help but be aware of people whispering and pointing.

I had to paste on a smile when people came up to me and wanted to chat, to congratulate me on my win, to ask for autographs and photos.

I wanted to be able to enjoy it, but I was in a black mood.

Damn Joel Herbert! I should be on top of the world, but all I could think about was him.

Even once I was back at training, things were …

different. I trained hard early in the mornings and sometimes of an evening as well.

In the mornings I did drills and weights with Joel, but as soon as they were done, I escaped the awkwardness to do my own thing.

My own thing generally being moping around my house and annoying Connor who wasn’t used to me being up in his grill all the time.

It was over a fortnight before everything settled down even a little bit.

I went through the motions of attending media events, interviewing for newspaper and magazine articles, signing a new sponsorship deal with Martel, and putting myself out there the way people expected me to.

But none of it gave me any pleasure. Nothing made me feel anything.

And it was all because of Damn Joel Herbert, or DJH as I had started calling him.

When I did have a tennis related commitment Joel took me, but we were very careful not to speak about anything unrelated to tennis, our upcoming America trip, sponsorships, my training regime or my diet. It was all strictly professional.

I felt like screaming.

Something had to give. I had to do something to stop myself feeling this way.

God , I pleaded as I lay awake in bed for the third night in a row, just let me get over this silly infatuation and get on with my life!

I wasn’t sure if he was listening to me anymore.

The next morning, I crawled out of bed after managing maybe four hours sleep, peering at myself in the mirror in the bathroom. The circles under my eyes were purple. I looked about forty, not almost twenty-three.

Almost twenty-three. Ugh. Almost twenty-three and what did I have to show for it?

Well, if I was being positive, I had a Wimbledon title. I had my own apartment which was paid off now courtesy of the winnings from Wimbledon. I had a regular income from Dudz, and now Martel, who were paying for all my playing gear now too. I had a cat who liked me most of the time.

I had friends … and just like that I was on the downward spiral again.

I hadn’t spoken to Brad once since I’d gotten back from London.

Texts left unanswered, every call sent to voicemail.

How the fuck was I supposed to face him knowing he had feelings for me, after what had happened with DJH overseas?

I was afraid that Brad wo uld take one look at me and figure out what was wrong.

And he’d end up hating me because of it.

Of course, there was Amanda, but she was so busy with nursing shifts and Thomas … I tried to think of something else positive to pull me back out of the slump.

DJH was the only thing that came into my head. I tried to salvage something good from the whole mess. Well, he was an incredible coach.

He was gorgeous and an amazing lover … but I couldn’t think about that because I wasn’t sleeping with him ever again. He made me laugh. Well, he used to make me laugh. Now he was always Serious Joel.

I forced DJH from my mind and showered hurriedly, dressing in my training gear and getting on my bike to head over to his place.

He had the drills all set up for me when I arrived. I stripped out of the jumper and track pants I’d worn over my training gear. He looked at me strangely for just a second, then his eyes flickered away. He never looked at me when he spoke to me anymore.

“You’re not getting enough sleep,” he commented sternly, his eyes focussed about a foot above my head. I shrugged.

“I’ve got a lot on my mind.”

He did meet my eyes then for a second, searchingly. He opened his mouth as if he wanted to say something, but then thought better of it, pressing his lips together. He turned and demonstrated the drill he wanted me to do. I complied in silence.

Why can’t we just talk about it? Why can’t we just have a massive fight about whatever it is that’s making us act all weird, then have some hot make-up sex and get over it, go back to normal?

the voice in my head screeched as I picked up a skipping rope.

But that would be stupid. It was sex that had made things weird between us in the first place.

Having more certainly wasn’t going to help.

But it would be fantastic …

No Mel! No more sex with DJH for you!

Drills finished, Joel motioned in the direction of the weights equipment. I paused and shook my head. I couldn’t handle the weirdness anymore. But I couldn’t find the courage to speak up and ask him to explain what was going on.

“I’ll do weights at the gym this afternoon,” I mumbled. I expected him to argue, to tell me that I should do them now, while he was there to supervise. Instead, he just shrugged.

“If that suits you, Stink,” he muttered. I took a deep breath and willed the tears back inside my skull. I wouldn’t cry over him. I had no reason to cry over him. He’d made it perfectly clear to me that it was just about sex. But now it wasn’t about anything, apparently.

I was scared. I wasn’t able to resist him, but I had to because I couldn’t bring myself to put it out there. I was worried that he’d reject me. I couldn’t come back from that.

I left in a huff, the best way to mask the world of hurt I was feeling underneath. I powered home on my bike, as if riding faster would leave my worries behind. Of course, it never works that way. They were still waiting for me when I got home.

Another problem was also waiting for me at my front door, disguised as Amanda. I wasn’t sure how I knew she was going to make my life more difficult – maybe it was the sheepish look on her face.

“Hey Mel, how are you?” she asked me too brightly.

“Fine,” I replied warily, unlocking the door and climbing the stairs. She followed me.

“Want a cup of tea?” I asked automatically as I held my door open for her. She nodded as she walked inside and plonked herself down on the lounge. I went straight into the kitchen and put the kettle on.

“So, how have you been? Busy I bet. I’ve seen you on TV like a thousand times in the last week!” she said, speaking loudly over the bubbling of the kettle. I turned around and leaned against the bench, my arms folded.

“Amanda, you know I love you, but whatever ulterior motive you came here with, spit it out now,” I snapped.

Amanda gazed at me wide eyed, looking much too innocent to be anything but guilty. Then she sighed and all the pretence slipped from her face .

“Okay, let’s get the nasty bit out of the way, and then we can talk about other stuff.”

I held my breath, having a sneaking suspicion about what she was here for. Or rather, on whose behalf she was here.

“I feel really silly coming over here to ask you this, Mel, really I do – it’s not like we’re in primary school anymore.

So, I’m just going to say it. Brad’s upset because you’ve been avoiding him.

He said that he’s tried to call you a few times and you haven’t answered, and you haven’t responded to any of his texts. ”

I screwed up my nose.

“So why didn’t he come round himself to confront me?” I asked, even though I felt intensely relieved that he’d sent Amanda instead. I didn’t think I was ready to deal with an emotional showdown at the moment.

Amanda grimaced. “Well, he’s worried that you don’t want to see him. He doesn’t want you to feel crowded at all.”

I felt so guilty. I should have just been honest with him from the start: that I wasn’t in a place to acknowledge his feelings for me, because I was …

what was I? I was pining after something I couldn’t have.

Was that why Joel had backed off all of a sudden?

Because he could tell I was getting too into it, and he didn’t want to encourage that?

Stop! No thinking about DJH, Mel!

“I’ll call him today,” I promised Amanda. “You’re right, I’ve just been really busy with work – I was waiting for it all to calm down, but I should have at least told him that. I’ll call him.”

Amanda seemed to relax. “Okay, I’m glad that’s over. Now, tell me all about England! I bet you partied hard the night after the win?”

Thank God the kettle boiled right at that moment, and I was able to turn away from her to pour the tea. There was no way I would have been able to mask the expression on my face, and she would have known something was up.

“Uh, yeah, Joel and I went out to the WTA after party. You know how much I hate to go to the social things, but I was sort of obligated. ”

I composed my face and turned back to Amanda. I passed a mug of tea to her, sitting on the chair opposite her and taking a sip of my own. It scalded my tongue.

“Did you do anything else fun?” she asked me over the top of her mug. I took a few deep breaths while I pushed away the memories of all the ‘fun’ things I’d done just before and just after that party.

“Actually, yes, Joel got us tickets to see Jace McKenzie,” I answered, pleased at how airily I was able to say his name.