Page 58 of Game Point (Game, Set, and Match #2)

Oliver

You Are in Love – Taylor Swift

‘And keep her off the baseline. She loves it there. She’s a powerful player and she will use that to her advantage,’ I explained, somewhat sure I’d already told Dylan this when we went over Aisha Thompson’s player profile last night, but repeating it in case she’d forgotten.

‘Got it.’ She gave me a quick nod, her expression focused.

We were heading through the back of the arena from Dylan’s private locker room, heading through the warm-up area and towards the tunnel, where the court and cheering crowd awaited.

‘Draw her in, get her frustrated,’ I added, spotting the American in the distance, no doubt her coach going through their own tactics for Dylan.

My heart lurched at the sight of her competition: she was tall with long, strong legs, her dark skin contrasting with the neon-orange dress she was wearing.

But one look at Dylan and I could read the confidence in her face, her own brunette hair twisted into delicate plaits.

I stopped, not quite ready to close the distance between us and Aisha.

‘I played her in the US Open,’ she said, not looking too irritated by my reminders. ‘She is easily irritated with delays.’

‘Use that,’ I said. ‘But don’t take the piss, you don’t want to cool down too much,’ I quickly added, rethinking my advice, trying to make sure she understood the line she had to walk. And of course she did, she’d been playing competitively for years. She knew her body better than anyone.

But every time I thought I was pushing too hard, worrying too much, she only smiled, nodding as she reminded me, ‘Don’t worry. I can do it.’

‘I know you can.’ I matched her bright, comforting grin. ‘You’ve got this.’

‘Thanks,’ she said, a genuine smile on her lips. My arms practically ached to pull her into my body, but one glance either way of where we were standing reminded me of how many people were around us. I knew how much it meant to her that we didn’t serve as a distraction from the competition.

The drama it could cause if it got out that we were seeing each other while I was her coach – I couldn’t imagine the chaos in the press room. Never mind among the other players.

I shifted uncomfortably, unsure how else to rid my body of this ache for her.

‘Did you check the racket? The grips?’ I asked, my eyes floating from her to her competitor’s team behind us.

They were talking to an official, her coach throwing her hands in the air.

The room had grown quieter as the competition continued and other players had been eliminated from the competition.

‘The rackets are fine, Oliver,’ Dylan pressed. ‘I’m ready.’

And she really was. She was prepared, and had the knowledge and self-assurance to know she had this, and the plan to guarantee it. But why did my stomach still ache at the sight of her ankle taped up?

I tilted my head, and said, ‘I can’t wait to watch you win.’

Her gaze softened, the dangerous look of the on-court Dylan Bailey melting away to a different woman. Still every inch the woman I adored, but not looking at me like she was about to attack me with her racket.

‘Dinner tonight?’ she asked.

‘Isn’t it a little early to celebrate?’

She rolled her eyes, the delicate curve not slipping from her lips. ‘Don’t worry, I’m sure my coach will make sure I get an early night.’

I laughed, still somehow managing to lose myself in her. ‘Sometimes I’m not sure who is in charge here.’

‘Oh, it’s definitely me,’ she smirked. ‘Were you under the impression that it was you?’

My cheeks burned from a smile that I could not control or fight as I playfully shrugged my shoulders. ‘I mean … yes.’

‘Men, I swear,’ she said. ‘You’re a cute little puppet I pull the strings on with sex and lodgings.’

‘And here I was worried about an abuse of power,’ I muttered under my breath. The inches between us felt as uncomfortable as miles had. Once I got close to Dylan, any distance felt unbearable.

‘Oh baby,’ she crooned, her voice hushed, ‘You were never that worried.’

‘Excuse you, I’ve had many sleepless nights tossing and turning over it.

’ She threw her head back in delight, her laughter obnoxiously loud, but I wanted to capture each noise to remember how it sounded, even minutes before one of the biggest matches of her life.

I opened my mouth to speak again, only to find myself cut off.

‘Dylan Bailey?’ We both turned, finding an official standing behind us, a clipboard in his hands. I wished I’d paid attention to whatever had been happening with Aisha Thompson’s team.

‘Yes,’ Dylan answered.

The official cleared his throat. ‘Sorry, there’s been a delay with the match.’ He stepped to the side, his arms stretched out to guide us. ‘Can you come with me?’

I pressed ahead of Dylan. ‘Where are we going?’

He held out a calming hand, tucking his clipboard under one arm. ‘I’m with the International Tennis Integrity Agency, we are doing a spot test at the tournament before the semi-finals.’

My anxiety heightened at his words. ‘Is Thompson being tested too?’

Testing was random, sometimes held after matches, but being asked to perform one before a match was something I’d never experienced. And while I knew that Dylan had nothing to worry about, I could still feel my blood pressure rocketing, my palms growing sweaty.

The official nodded. ‘Yes, and we did the same yesterday.’ He stretched his hand out again, looking towards Dylan. ‘Please, if you will.’

I took in the thin line of her lips, her narrowed glance, before she nodded sharply.

‘I’ll go,’ she agreed. ‘But my coach must come with me.’

Like they’d be able to keep me away.

‘Of course,’ the official agreed, looking a little thankful we didn’t have any more arguments.

‘Okay. Fine. Let’s get this over with.’

We were led down a long corridor, heading past the locker rooms and towards a section of the arena that was lined with medical examination rooms for first-aiders and physios.

He stopped at a random room, Aisha Thompson’s own coach standing outside, her expression equally as grim as my own.

She rolled her eyes as she looked over at me.

Then Aisha appeared in the doorway, and it struck me how young she actually was to get this far in the competition.

A semi-finalist at eighteen? This sport was insane.

Both Aisha and her coach moved aside, silently heading back down the corridor, Dylan watching Aisha’s every move, like a hunter stalking its prey. Aisha looked back over her shoulder, a confident, cocky smile on her lips. We were in for some fight on court.

‘You can wait here.’ The attendant looked at me, before pushing on the door. ‘The nurse needs a few minutes to draw some blood.’

I stepped forward again, Dylan standing in place behind me.

‘You said I could stay with her,’ I pressed, my fingers curling into frustrated fists at my side. I couldn’t bear to look at her, terrified that if I saw her face, I’d break and drag her away.

‘Nobody but officials and the player being tested are allowed in the room. This is our new procedure,’ The attendant’s stony expression didn’t change. ‘You can either wait here while we draw blood. Or you can both leave, and forgo the match.’

I opened my mouth again to argue, unwilling to let her go in alone. We were moments from the court, from the deciding match that would see her through to the final.

The final. The words didn’t seem real. She’d come so far, and now with the final in sight, it was hard to let something like this come up and risk it all.

‘It’s fine,’ Dylan said, looking over at me, her expression set. She turned to the official. ‘Let’s get it over with.’

She slid her bag strap from her shoulder, holding it towards me.

I took it, my fist clenching around the strap. ‘I’ll be right out here.’

The door clicked shut behind them, leaving me alone in the hallway. I sank down onto a bench opposite, watching the door like a dog waiting for its master to return.

A shadow moved in the hallway, catching my eye. I looked up, finding a familiar face.

‘Oliver, good to see you.’ Brooke Turner looked down at me, her blonde hair cropped sharply short, her green eyes piercingly cold. She didn’t try to shake my hand, but I didn’t offer up mine either.

‘Brooke,’ I said, keeping my voice controlled as I got up from the bench. And despite my much taller height, she still somehow eclipsed me. ‘It’s been a while. What are you doing here?’

‘I’ve been coaching some players in the doubles matches.

They were playing earlier, but of course, I can’t miss this big show.

’ Her gaze floated down to the red racket bag I’d left on the bench.

‘I saw you took on a player. That’s a … big job for a first-time coach.

Are you sure you’re up to the challenge? ’

I hated the way she spoke about Dylan, not even mentioning her name. What had Brooke got to be mad about? She was the one that had burnt her player out, destroying her self-confidence.

‘Dylan can do it,’ I simply said, not wanting to give her any more of my time than she deserved.

‘Although I guess this isn’t the round that is usually the issue,’ she said. ‘It’s always the finals when she fucks it up.’

I stared her down, not showing any reaction to her words. She could say what she wanted, but I wasn’t going to let her talk about Dylan that way.

‘She’s going to win,’ I said, any anxiety I’d had evaporating away, leaving me only with the pure conviction she would lift that trophy.

‘I’ve thought that before,’ she grinned. ‘But she always chokes.’

‘Don’t talk about her like that,’ I snapped, stepping back.

I’d heard things about her, from before Dylan.

How hard she was, cold and relentless to her players.

There were too many out there that took advantage, used too strict methods to drive athletes into greatness.

But when that success left those players broken and mentally ill, was it really worth it?