Page 15 of Game Point (Game, Set, and Match #2)

Oliver

Matilda – Harry Styles

I stared down at the embarrassing number of messages I’d sent Dylan over the past week, feeling increasingly unhinged as I fought the urge to send another.

We’d been talking more than ever since I arrived in London.

She had flown to China in preparation for her competition there; her time zone was eight hours ahead of mine, but I made it work.

Talking to her during her breakfast, while it was the middle of the night with me, or getting her download of her full day while I ate lunch.

The dreams hadn’t stopped. Neither had the cold showers.

At the sound of the private apartment buzzer, I headed towards the door.

The concierge had already alerted me to Jon’s arrival, having done his job to confirm he wasn’t press or an overzealous fan trying to get past security.

I’d opted to find my own accommodation rather than staying with my parents, needing my own space.

Their house had never been my own, and even one night there left me feeling increasingly disconnected.

How was it possible to be homesick in your home city?

I opened the door, greeting Jon.

‘Hey, good to see you!’ I said, thankful for a friendly face.

I’d been going a little stir crazy without a friend around.

When I’d heard that Jon was in town this week, I jumped at the chance to get him over to the apartment.

He’d be away in China soon, joining his player Scottie for the Open there. The same tournament as Dylan.

‘How’s it going?’ he asked, stepping inside.

‘Oh, fine.’ I led him into the kitchen, Jon making himself comfortable at the counter. ‘I’ve just been running drills, getting a few practice sets in with hitters to prepare. Coffee?’ I offered.

‘Yes, please,’ he nodded and I turned, opening the cupboards to try and find the mugs. Even after a few weeks, I still wasn’t used to the setup of the kitchen. Jon eyed me suspiciously from where he was perched on a stool at the breakfast bar. ‘Are you still having that problem with your topspin?’

I looked over at him, my brows furrowed. ‘What problem with my topspin?’

He grinned. ‘That’s what I like to hear from my biggest competition.’

I shook my head at him, pouring out two cups of coffee. ‘You’re trying to get in my head.’

‘Is it working?’ I laughed him off, secretly making a mental note to take a look at that movement on court, in case he was being genuine.

Jon took a sip of his coffee, his face scrunching up as he drank. ‘Decaf?’

‘Only the best for my company,’ I grinned, taking a sip. That, and it was already in the apartment when I got here.

‘Have you started thinking about what you want to do next?’

I leaned backwards against the kitchen counter. ‘What do you mean?’

‘I mean this with no offence, Oliver.’ He paused. ‘But … you’re not playing with that heart. It would be fine if you were injured, but as far as I know, you’re fit.’

‘I made a final not that long ago,’ I pointed out.

‘I know,’ he nodded. ‘And you played well. But you still didn’t have that spark, the thing that made you the player I’ve watched beat my own.’

I tilted my head forward. ‘That’s because I’m better than Nico.’

Jon grimaced. ‘Tell that to his gold medals.’

‘Who needs ’em?’ I waved him off. The Greek American giant had two to his name and given the chance, loved to show them off. ‘And why do you care?’ I asked. ‘Again, how do I know you’re not here to take out the competition.’

He shrugged gently. ‘I don’t have a player in competition with you anymore. And besides, I thought we were friends.’

Cautiously, I decided to believe him. We’d been friends off-court for years, and with Nico retired, Jon only coached Scottie now.

Jon leaned forward, his coffee forgotten. ‘Do you have goals?’

His question shouldn’t leave me so … struck.

Ask any athlete and they would all have something they were working towards.

A very clear goal. We had to have one, to work this hard, to stick to the goddamn diet and get up at 5 am every morning to make sure we could fit two gym sessions in a single day.

But recently, I’d been bouncing around competition to competition, just happy to be there.

It had to be enough for the goal to show up and try to win … right?

Jon continued as if he could read my goddamn mind. ‘Real goals that are more like, do you want to win a specific Grand Slam? Get your career slam? Get to a number one ranking? Even work towards a specific brand partnership? Design a goddamn trainer?’

His suggestions were great. All reasonable next steps in my career. None of them sparked joy or made those early-morning wake-up calls any easier. None made the pain in my hips feel ‘worthwhile’.

I rubbed the back of my neck uncomfortably. ‘I’m … I’m not sure.’

‘What gets you excited about tennis?’ Jon asked.

I tried to consider my answer. There was a lot I liked about it.

I was good and had always done reasonably well.

The money was nice too. The power on court had been a thrill, playing my opponent down for that win incredibly warming.

But recently … none of it was new. None of it was special.

‘I liked the passion,’ I admitted, finding the right word to encompass how I felt. And then came the hard part. ‘But I’m not sure I have that for my own career anymore.’

I’d known this was coming for months, and had been feeling that ache for a while. But putting it into words and telling another person, it felt final, a little too real.

‘What about others?’ Jon proposed, an eyebrow arched.

‘Coaching?’ He nodded, and I tried to consider the idea. I’d never thought about it as a next step.

‘Those who can’t do …’ Jon teased.

‘I mean, I can do,’ I pointed out flatly. ‘I’ve won before.’

‘It’s not just that anymore,’ Jon argued. ‘Maybe you aren’t invested in your own journey anymore because you’ve already done it. Some people are satisfied with what they’ve managed to accomplish, and then the grind of being a professional athlete is too much. They start to miss cheeseburgers.’

‘I’m more of a burrito guy,’ I retorted, trying to ignore how much his words rang true, how similar they sounded to how I felt. I’d never considered when I’d feel done, when I’d be ready to move on. Maybe the alarm had been ringing for a while now, and I’d kept hitting snooze.

‘Potato potahto.’ Jon waved me away. ‘Look at Nico. He knows he can’t keep going at the same level; his goals have changed.’

I crossed my arms. ‘Yeah, and they are named Scottie Sinclair.’

‘Don’t get me started on those two dramatic love birds.’ Jon shook his head. ‘ Oh, I’m going to go play doubles with my girlfriend ,’ he mimicked in a high-pitched voice.

I grinned wildly. ‘Wasn’t it your idea to put them together?’

A goofy smile grew across his face. ‘Yeah, I’m considering adding a matchmaker service to my coaching.’

I let out a heavy breath. ‘I … I don’t think I’ve considered coaching properly.’

Jon eyed me. ‘I think you’d do well. I bet you have a note of advice you’d give people if they ever asked.’

My cheeks almost burned at the accuracy of his words, my own phone burning a hole in my front pocket, the list with Dylan’s name at the top, and many, many suggestions listed underneath.

‘Who do you work for? The NSA? MI5?’

He grinned knowingly. ‘I’m good at reading people. Means I make a good coach.’

‘And career advisor apparently.’ I drained my mug of coffee.

‘Give it some thought,’ he advised. ‘See how you feel during your next competition.’

A silence fell as I thought on his words. Coaching? Was it really for me? I had no experience, outside of being coached for many years, and many more years of practical experience playing tennis.

‘I don’t play the same?’ I asked,

Jon crossed his arms. ‘Do you feel the same?’

‘I guess not.’ As I heard the words back, my life over the past year came into view. The divorce, the endless travelling, the missed finals and … her.

Clearing my throat, I added, ‘No, actually, I don’t think I have for a while now.’

‘Sometimes we don’t realize we need a change until it smacks us in the face.’

‘How do I know you’re not trying to get me to retire so I can stop beating your players?’

‘You don’t,’ he laughed. ‘But trust me, right now, they’d beat you no problem.’

‘Overconfident as always, Jon.’ I shook my head.

Pausing again, I thought through his words, his advice.

Something about it felt like it fit. Could I really see myself coaching?

I wasn’t sure. I hadn’t exactly imagined myself on the other side of the net, guiding someone else’s playing instead of focusing on my own.

‘Is it Beijing you’re off to next? For the China Open. ’

‘Yeah, Scottie and Nico are already out there with the rest of her team. I had some family business here.’ He nodded, looking a little suspicious.

‘I might have a favour to ask …’ I trailed off.

He smiled, looking down at the dark liquid in his mug. ‘If you provide better coffee, then I’ll hear you out.’

I hummed in agreement. ‘Coffee shop on the corner?’

‘Absolutely.’