Page 8 of Breakpoint

T he red dust on the clay court swirled around Jaz’s ankles as she lunged, the impact of her racket sending a cloud of red into the air.

Jaz hated the clay court season. Her slide across the clay was passable, but she still felt like an elephant on skates.

Across from her, Daniela grunted with effort, her tall, lean frame a whirlwind of motion as she met the ball with a resounding thwack .

They were engaged in a ferocious dance, a symphony of grunts, slides, and the sharp crack of the ball on strings.

It was warmer than normal for late April, but the hot Spanish sun beat down on them like a dome of heat.

Sweat plastered strands of dark hair that had escaped her bun on Jaz’s forehead, but her expression remained unreadable, a mask of intense concentration.

Daniela’s long legs propelled her across the clay, her every movement a burst of energy mixed in with controlled aggression.

A bead of sweat traced a path down her cheek, glistening in the bright Madrid sun.

It usually took a bit for her to transition her game to clay.

It was always the most challenging surface to play on for her compared to the others.

The ball was a lot heavier, and she had to slide across the court to get to just about every ball.

Plus, clay courts, with their grippier, bouncier texture, lent themselves to a slower pace of play than Jaz preferred, with more topspin and fewer winners.

She had to work harder to get a winning shot and use all the tools in her box to win matches on clay.

But Daniela was sliding across the court like it was second nature. She didn’t seem to face the same footwork struggle. And it was annoying as fuck.

Especially given that Daniela showed up late again .

And to Jaz’s horror, she smelled of tequila when she rolled up forty-five minutes late. She surmised Daniela must have been out enjoying the Madrid night light a little too much instead of focusing on the tournament they both had to play.

It must be nice to be twenty, roll out of bed, and be ready to play tennis with only a few hours of sleep and alcohol still seeping out of your pores.

It would take Jaz at least three days to recover from a night out.

Alcohol hit differently in your mid-thirties.

But even when Jaz was twenty, she was already at the top of the sport and would never cheat the game by drinking or partying during a major tournament.

Her current annoyance ratcheted up even more by all the media currently surrounding this practice session.

There was a throng of press, a sea of flashing cameras and extended microphones, ringing the court.

Their lenses, like predatory eyes, trained on this spectacle.

The air crackled with anticipation, not just for the upcoming tournament, but for this intimate glimpse of these two players hitting together.

Each powerful serve she hit, each lightning-fast return, was punctuated by a barrage of camera shutters.

The rapid-fire clicks were a percussive counterpoint to the rhythmic thud of the ball on the court.

The press, usually a cacophony of voices, was hushed, their collective gaze fixed on the two women battling it out on the red clay.

The sight of these two women practicing together was something they obviously never expected.

Jaz reluctantly agreed to have a practice open to the media, but Jaz knew that Kira would never set up such a large feeding frenzy, so it must have been Daniela’s team.

She hated dealing with the press on a good day.

She’d played in televised tennis tournaments where thousands of eyes watched her every move.

Had done photo shoots for magazines with millions of readers.

Honed her muted public speaking skills after hundreds of post-match interviews and even a few TV commercials.

But dealing with the media was still exasperating, and she hated it. All she wanted to do was play tennis.

Plus, she knew no matter what she said, her words would somehow be twisted to make her the enemy, so fuck them.

Between points, she spotted Mike and Tom talking about strategy; she guessed.

Mike would point at something on the court, and Tom would nod and agree.

At least they seemed to get along. Jaz actually liked Tom’s grumpiness and that he rarely spoke unless needed. It was like finding her spirit animal.

Mike finally blew his whistle for them to take a break and grab some water.

Suddenly, Chris, the agent, as Jaz referred to him, appeared out of nowhere and jumped into action.

He started talking to the press gathered.

This guy seemed to want attention at every turn.

He finally nodded at Jaz and Daniela to come over and begin this shit show of a press conference.

Even outdoors, the fluorescent lights from the cameras were blinding and only seemed to amplify the tension crackling between the two. Jaz stood there resolutely, determined to not let them get the best of her. Daniela smiled brightly, basking in the glow of the media’s attention.

They were definitely a study, in contrast.

“Hey, guys, what’s new?” Daniela quipped with a bright smile. A smattering of laughter filtered throughout the media gathered.

“Jaz and Dani, sources report both of you will be playing in the Olympic Games in Atlanta? Is that true?” Came from a reporter to Jaz’s left. Kira told her they were going to leak the Olympic announcement to one of the friendly reporters whom she owed a favor to.

“Yes,” Jaz responded flatly. If the press were waiting for her to elaborate, they’d be here a long fucking time. She tugged at the collar of her shirt, avoiding eye contact with the eager journalists.

When nothing else came from Jaz, Daniela replied, her response smooth as silk.

“Yes, we will. It’s an incredible honor, of course.

It’s really exciting to be making my first Olympics.

To stand on that court, wearing our country’s colors, it’s going to be the greatest honor.

It’s every athlete's dream come true to represent our country on the world’s stage at the summer games. ”

“So, is this what brought you together?” Another reporter from the back shouted.

“Obviously,” Jaz stated sardonically. Even though they were outdoors, the air thickened, becoming almost suffocatingly awkward.

She saw Daniela glance her way at the rebuke.

When it was obvious she was going to leave it at that, Daniela again intervened.

The reply rolled off her tongue. “Jaz is obviously a woman of few words. It’s going to be an amazing experience not only representing my country but getting to play doubles with Jaz. ”

The media gasped. That part obviously hadn’t been leaked.

More flashes came. Daniela wasn’t even phased and smoothly continued.

“We all know she’s definitely a force to be reckoned with.

Her experience as a previous Olympian, but also a champion, will be invaluable for me.

I’m confident we can bring home some medals. ”

It was nice that at least Daniela respected her as a champion and player, even though she didn’t respect her time by arriving late to everything.

The questions continued, mostly directed at Daniela.

She fielded them with ease, discussing her training regimen, her excitement about the Olympic village, and her admiration for Jaz’s game.

She did it with such grace and enthusiasm, weaving in anecdotes and praise for Jaz whenever possible.

She deftly painted a picture of unity and shared ambition, even as Jaz stood beside her, a silent, brooding presence.

Jaz, meanwhile, was fine shrinking further into the background and let Daniela handle the media she craved. She only offered one-word answers when absolutely necessary.

A young reporter, new to the circuit, tried again to engage Jaz directly. “Jaz, you’re known for your aggressive baseline game. Do you think that will be an advantage on the hard courts in Atlanta?”

“Well, I have won nine Grand Slams on hard courts,” Jaz responded deftly.

Daniela shot her an aggressive side eye at her bluntness, but smoothly steered the conversation back to safer territory.

“Jaz’s game is incredibly versatile, and she’s won everywhere,” she explained, her smile widening.

“We all know she can adapt to any surface, and we’ve all witnessed what her serve can do on a hardcourt. That’s what makes her so dangerous.”

Not knowing when to stop, he followed up his question with another doozy. “Jaz, there’s been a lot of talk about your recent performance. Despite your age, some say you’re in the best shape of your career. What’s your secret?”

Jaz looked him dead in the eyes, pissed they brought up her age. Again. Her jaw tightened and her voice strained as she answered with one word. “Practice.”

Daniela, taking on the role of diplomat, seamlessly picked up the thread. “Jaz’s dedication is unmatched. Her work ethic is incredible. She’s pushed me to be better with every practice. We’re going to be a team, and her drive is definitely contagious.”

Hoping to bring down the temperature, another reporter, this one with a microphone emblazoned with a red sports network logo, chimed in with a more neutral question. “Did you know each other personally before this? Or played doubles together previously?”

Daneila quickly responded, likely not sure what was going to come out of Jaz’s mouth.

“No, we’ve never really crossed paths before, so we are starting at square one.

We thought since we were both here, we would get a jump on understanding how to play together because we all know the Olympics are definitely a different beast.”

As the press conference drew to a close, Daniela was practically glowing, while the sour look on Jaz’s face showed she’d rather be anywhere else.

When Chris finally said that would be all and no more questions, Daniela flashed another dazzling smile at the cameras while Jaz practically bolted for her tennis bag.

Chris came over to Daniela with a wide smile on his face.

“That was fucking awesome, Dani. The news just broke, and I have sponsors blowing me up already. We should jump on this asap and set up a few events. There’s also a movie premiere that has some buzz that I think I can get you into now.

You should wear that little red dress that the paps love. ”

He was already on his phone, typing away. It was clear to Chris that the media was another stage on which to perform. For Jaz, it was another obstacle to endure.

They gathered their bags and headed to the locker rooms, with Chris chattering the whole way.

Jaz bent over slowly, her ankles and legs already feeling sore from that practice session with Daniela.

When they finally walked into the female changing area and the door closed behind them, Daniela’s smile finally fell .

“Fuck that was like pulling teeth with you. Thanks for nothing back there,” Daniela declared with fire in her eyes.

Jaz, perched on the bench, meticulously unwrapping the tape on her wrist, didn’t flinch. “What are you babbling about now?”

“With the media. You did nothing, and I had to carry our water,” Daniela exclaimed. “A gaggle of reporters firing questions, and you just sat there, staring into space like you were meditating on the perfect drop shot!”

Jaz could admit she was impressed by how Daniela handled the press back there.

It was one of the easiest press conferences Jaz had been a part of in years.

She didn’t have to do much but stand there while Daniela answered the bulk of the questions.

But she wasn’t going to back down and let this chick come at her like that.

“Oh, so you take that seriously? Not practicing or working hard when you show up late obviously hungover. So I was letting you shine because that’s all you seemed to care about being on point for. Not your tennis game. You had every angle covered, every quote pre-packaged.”

The silence that followed was thick. Daniela let out a long breath and put her hands on her hips. “Why do you hate me so much?”

Jaz was taken aback. She knew she could be abrasive and grumpy on a good day, but she didn’t have hate in her heart for anyone.

Well, except that one journalist who called her a black monkey.

And they were going to have to spend a lot of time together, and she didn’t want anyone to feel beneath her personally while they were together.

Yes, they were beneath her as tennis players, but not as humans.

She knew what it feels like for hate to be spewed her way, and Jaz Mason was above that.

“I don’t hate you. I don’t even know you.

We’re playing tennis, not braiding each other’s hair. ”

“I understand if you don’t care about being a bitch, too well everyone, but some of us would like the press to stay on our good side.”

“Do you think I care what the media thinks of me?”

Daniela scoffed. “Obviously not.”

“My game speaks for itself,” she shot back.

“Well, you haven’t won anything lately, so maybe it’s saying you should hang it up and retire.” Daniela slammed her locker shut, the metallic clang echoing like a gunshot, as she stormed out of the locker room.