Page 52 of Game Point (Game, Set, and Match #2)

Dylan

Good Girls – CHVRCHES

‘I swear, racket murder is the answer.’ Scottie twirled one in her hands, looking along its rim with a scary intensity, and for the first time I recognized that I might have underestimated the bloodthirst of Scottie Sinclair.

At least where rackets are involved.

‘No, I’m fine,’ Inés’ eyes were still red from when she’d surely been crying, not that she’d let any of us see her. We were standing in the car park after Scottie had the brilliant idea of teaching her to break a racket. Somehow, Inés had never done it.

‘It’s like therapy,’ Scottie stretched out for Inés to take the racket.

‘Have you ever considered real therapy?’ Inés took it, inspecting it gently with her hands as if it was precious.

‘Been there. Done that. Got the badge. This is different. This is revenge.’

‘The racket wasn’t the problem, Scottie,’ Inés pressed.

‘No, it was that psycho on the other end of the court,’ I muttered.

In the hours since the press conference, I’d caught some of the replays of their match, and as much as it hurt to admit, Inés hadn’t stood a chance.

It had been the match of Chloe’s career – so far at least. Chloe had been fast. Lightning, making shots that even I would consider fucked.

She was ruthless and unrelenting and not once, not even when she won, did she crack a smile.

Scottie shook her head, a similar fear creeping into her eyes. ‘I can’t argue with that.’

‘Where did she come from anyway?’ Inés asked. That was the question we were asking ourselves. She was nobody at the start of this year, and now, we were all fucking terrified of her.

‘Hell?’ Scottie suggested.

‘Possibly,’ I said. I tried to consider what it was going to take to beat her. Now Chloe wouldn’t just be quick, she’d be confident, especially after crushing an established player like Inés.

‘Anyway,’ Scottie began. ‘The trick to this is to imagine her face on the floor, and slam your racket into it repeatedly until you feel better.’ She bent over showing Inés the position to gain the best momentum.

It might look like an obvious thing but rackets are made to withstand a lot, you’ve got to hit them at the right part of the rim to get the most satisfying destruction.

Inés looked plainly between Scottie and I, her shoulders slumped. ‘What if I don’t feel better?’

I grinned at her. ‘Then we get you another racket.’

She held the racket against her shoulder. ‘This is stupid.’

‘It works,’ Scottie shrugged. We had briefly considered letting her drink her sorrows away, but since both of us were still competing, this felt like a better option. One that wouldn’t upset our coaches too much.

‘Look, really what does this fix?’ Inés asked. ‘I’m still going to have lost and I’ll be a racket down.’

‘Nothing,’ Scottie answered, ‘but it gets out that rage.’

‘What if I’m not angry?’ Inés retorted.

This time, it was my turn to answer, scoffing, ‘Oh you are.’

I knew her pain well enough, every player did. But there was a specific kind of anger that came with losing in the first round, especially at the level we played at. It was laced with embarrassment, one that threatened to swallow you whole, the kind that marked the end of careers.

Scottie added, ‘You haven’t felt it yet.’

‘It does help,’ I agreed.

Scottie turned to me with mock shock, her blue eyes wide. ‘Dylan Bailey agreed with me.’ She looked up. ‘Is the sky falling?’

I shook my head at her. But despite Scottie’s reaction, our relationship was transiting from enemies on court to something resembling friends off, and agreeing with her was still a rather new thing.

I turned back to Inés. ‘Just … think of Chloe’s backhand. Every time she broke your serve –’

She cut me off, her jaw locked with frustration. ‘Is this supposed to make me feel better?’

I hated reminding her of this pain, but I knew if she didn’t get it out, she’d carry it around with her for the rest of the season.

I continued. ‘Each time she challenged your shots and won.’ With each word, her hand gripped tighter around the handle until her knuckles turned white. ‘Those goddamn dropshots.’

Inés turned from me, the racket glided over her head in a perfect arch, before she smashed it down onto the pavement, screaming out her frustration.

Her cry was painful and raw as she slammed it into the ground again and again and again.

She didn’t stop as the strings crumbled, the rim falling to pieces, until all that was left in her hand was a handle.

Inés straightened, her chest heaving heavily as she inspected her work – what was left of it held in her hand.

Inés 1–Racket 0

The warm summer wind blew around us as Scottie and I stood to the side, Inés not looking up from the broken pieces of graphite.

‘That’s the first one you’ve ever broken?’ Scottie asked, her voice astounded.

‘Yup.’ Inés tossed the handle in with the rest of the wreckage.

‘Not bad for a beginner,’ I mumbled, impressed by the damage. She’d said she wasn’t angry, but her red face and panting breath told us something else. It was as if Inés Costa’s calm and collected voice of reason had, like her racket, snapped.

With a piercing glance, she looked at us, her arm stretched out towards us.

‘Pass me another,’ and with those words from her, I knew I was in for a treat of an evening.

‘I have to admit,’ Scottie turned to grin at me as we headed through the reception, ‘I’ve never been as terrified of Inés as I was tonight.’

I laughed, thinking of the wild look she had in her brown eyes when she was finished. ‘Our girl is now officially a serial racket killer.’

‘I mean one or two, fine,’ Scottie said, her eyes growing wide as she continued, her mouth open in shock. ‘But all five?’

It truly had been a sight to behold. Inés Costa took all five rackets in her bag to the ground.

By the end, she seemed a little crazed, but it felt good for her to vent that rage.

I felt better about letting her go get drunk with some of her other friends.

She had let some of it out, now she could go blow off some steam.

‘I never really thought of her as an angry person.’ Scottie leant forward, pressing the button on the hotel lift.

I turned, eyes scanning around the reception area and into the hotel bar, spotting a few of our competitors looking rather serious, some watching the TV, a recap of Inés and Chloe no doubt.

An intense match like that always made waves, especially when it was involving a player as well liked as Inés.

I turned back around to look at Scottie. ‘Does anyone really walk away from a match like that without at least a little bit of rage?’

‘I guess not. How are you feeling?’

Her question caught me off guard. I sometimes needed to remind myself to not get too defensive around her off court. I’d eat her alive during a match. But outside of that, our relationship was changing.

I swallowed, forcing my tone to be even. ‘I’m feeling good. You?’

‘Honestly, I’m a little afraid now I know what to expect from Chloe.’ She looked down at the floor, a small laugh escaping her. ‘All I can do is hope you have to play her before I do.’

‘Good luck with that.’

Scottie shrugged me off, throwing her long blonde hair behind her shoulder. ‘I’m sure it will all work out in my favour.’

‘Keep dreamin’,’ I mumbled. Scottie shot me a mock scowl. Even upset, she was still annoyingly gorgeous. The elevator opened before us and I followed her inside, pressing the button to my floor after her.

As soon as the doors closed behind us, she turned to me, a devilish look on her face. ‘How’s it going with Oliver?’

I bit down hard on my tongue, instead feigning innocence. ‘How’s what going?’

She rolled her eyes at me. ‘Are you really still playing dumb?’

‘He’s a great coach if that’s what you mean,’ I shrugged innocently. Truthfully I wasn’t sure what we were, we had never returned to the topic of a label.

‘ I’m yours, and you’re mine ,’ I’d promised him. That was good enough for now. But still I grew nervous when I thought towards the end of the competition. Would he leave? Would this all end?

‘You know it’s going to get out,’ Scottie said. ‘I think for anyone who sees you two together, it’s impossible to ignore. It’s better if you get in front of it, before somebody else controls the story for you.’

I could still remember the headlines about Scottie and Nico six months ago. They’d been cruel, using Scottie’s off-court wild-child past against her, the rabid pack of journalists taking their relationship and twisting it, saying whatever they wanted about the two of them.

The cruel, cold face of Rachel Kendrick was clear in my head.

‘What if …’ I swallowed, trying to push it all away.

I closed my eyes, and instead of fear, I found a burning rage that had me curling my hands into tight fists, nails digging into my palms. I shook my head.

‘What if I don’t want to be reduced down to whoever I’m …

’ I trailed off, all too aware that I didn’t even have a correct word to summarize ‘us’.

‘Fucking?’ Scottie suggested, a wild smirk on her lips.

‘In a relationship with,’ I corrected, the words sounding weird coming from me.

I was never the kind to want or care about a relationship.

They got in the way of what I wanted. But with Oliver …

with him, I felt more focused than ever.

Clearer on my goals, less filled with doubt.

And if I struggled, I could go to him, breathe in his aftershave and take a moment.

‘Ooh, we’re pulling out the big words are we?

’ Scottie practically yelled, clapping her hands with joy.

I could only roll my eyes at her. She continued as the elevator stopped.

‘I suggest if you want to avoid the press being involved, then you’re going to have to take up a life of celibacy.

’ The doors opened before us, and I took a few steps forward.

I turned to say my goodbyes when I noticed she was following me out. ‘I thought you were a couple floors up.’

‘I’m not done with you yet. I know how scary it can feel.

Especially when it’s somebody important to you.

I tried to protect Nico, we kept it a secret until he was ready to become Mr Scottie Sinclair, and even now they take advantage, with the engagement, every time we are spotted together.

I’ve stopped trying to keep up with the headlines because honestly, fuck what the press says.

’ I laughed at her words. ‘No matter what, only you know what’s important. What’s undeniable.’

I looked down at the patterned hotel carpet, the elevator door closing behind Scottie.

‘We’ve tried to ignore it,’ I admitted quietly.

‘So did we,’ she said, holding her left hand up. ‘And look how it turned out.’

It was impossible to miss the square sapphire rock on her finger. How did she manage to walk around with it on her finger without being weighed down?

I smiled at her. ‘Very sparkly.’

‘That man,’ she sighed, turning her hand to look at the rock. ‘He knew the way to my heart was vintage.’

My heart clenched in my chest, a wave of very slight jealousy crashing into me. They were settled, in love, and horribly co-dependent. And I found myself longing for that. Or maybe not quite what they had, but something adjacent, something that said ‘Dylan and Oliver’.

Maybe it looked like overcooked spaghetti in red sauce, abandoned in the pot in favour of a more edible meal.

A spare bedroom that never really got its own bed.

And texts and FaceTimes from across the world.

That was us. Fun and messy. A friendship where you could each relax with the other, never worried about being judged or not being deemed enough, but always a little teased.

‘We should all get a drink. When this is over,’ Scottie said, her features soft. ‘I think we could make good friends.’

I already knew that our friendship had been growing over the past few months, every off-court run-in with each other growing more pleasant.

‘I know,’ I said, feeling unsteady on my own feet.

All those years opposite her on the court, driven mad with jealousy for everything she had.

A parent on tour with her, one who was dedicated to her career.

Then, the Wimbledon tournament where I’d watched her lift my trophy.

It all came crashing down for us both, the illusion of perfection shattered.

‘I think we’re almost there.’ I nodded towards her, feeling a real weight shift from my shoulders as I allowed Scottie Sinclair some real forgiveness.

She smiled softly, her gaze wavering from my own. ‘It’s weird with competitors, I know,’ she acknowledged. ‘But I respect you on court, and … after what you did for me …’

‘I should have tried harder to see the bigger picture,’ I admitted, finding myself taking a step forward towards her, my hand stretched out to her arm. ‘I was jealous of you, it took me so long to see.’

Scottie shook her head, cutting me off. It’s like over the years, she’s learned better than to get into a fight with me.

‘We all make mistakes,’ she said instead, the ring of the elevator filling the air as the door once again slid open. Her smile turned wicked as she stepped into the elevator. ‘God knows I’ve made plenty of ’em.’

‘I know,’ I said, winking. ‘I keep a list.’

She let out a loud cackle as the doors slid shut, the moment feeling like something new had really dawned between us.