Page 6 of Game Point (Game, Set, and Match #2)

Oliver

Spotlight – Mutemath

It had been a while since I’d shown up to practice with a hangover, crawling in like some rookie, head pounding with a headache, but that didn’t stop Nico from torturing me as if it was his only job.

I returned the ball over the net, but he caught me unprepared, hitting it clean over to the open court of the private country club he’d dragged me to.

At least he’d promised me brunch after.

‘Come on now,’ he teased, ‘It can’t be that bad.’

I pushed my sunglasses back up the bridge of my nose, the glaring sun far too bright for this time of morning. Why had I agreed to another session with him? And why did I drink so much last night? The answer to the last one was easy.

‘You’ve picked up some new tricks, old dog,’ I shouted back, watching as his smirk fell into a scowl. I swore I could hear him grumbling something about how everyone bullied him for his age.

‘Just serve already!’ He was a surly American, but there was also something different. Seeing my friend in love was something new, especially for Nico.

I did as he said, and we fell into an easy rally, hitting back and forth with little additional effort.

Just when I got too comfortable, he hit it far to the right, then back to the left, forcing me to run from side to side in a matter of a few seconds.

My entire body groaned at me to stop, go home and crawl back into the pit of my hotel room.

Nico rushed the net as I lobbed the ball into the air.

He caught me out with an overhead, claiming the point and the first set.

‘And you’re ranked higher than me!’ he remarked. ‘I think I need to make a few calls!’

‘I was playing yesterday! I’m exhausted.’

Even when I arrived, the receptionist had looked at me as if to ask, ‘What on earth are you doing here?’

I held my arm out, extending the racket to point at him. ‘Need I remind you; I beat you at Wimbledon.’

We both made our way to the bench at the side of the court. I noticed a small limp in his walk, and the competitor in me wondered if I should get another game out of him so I could claim a victory. But the weaker and hung-over part cried out for mercy at the thought.

‘That was months ago. And I retired from that match. I practically handed you the win,’ Nico grabbed a water bottle and took a long, deep sip. At least it wasn’t only me feeling it today.

‘Oh, what, because you felt sorry for me?’ I joked, joining him on the bench as I threw my towel around the back of my neck.

Nico paused mid-sip. ‘Now I think about it – yes.’

Was this guy ever going to cut me a break?

‘Not because you were doing it for some girl?’

His eyes narrowed, ‘Some girl?’

I was actually a little afraid for a moment. ‘Oh, I’m sorry, should I rephrase?’

‘I think you should.’ He remained resolute in his stoniness. And for some odd reason, it warmed my heart.

My hand landed on his shoulder in apology. ‘You are in deep, my man.’

‘Can you blame me?’ His shoulder slackened under my touch. Then Nico stilled again as he quickly added, ‘Don’t answer that.’

‘Wasn’t going to.’

‘How are you doing … with everything?’

I tried to swallow down a sudden lump in my throat, the insinuation clear. When he texted this morning, telling (not asking) me to meet him at a court he’d booked, I’d suspected there was an ulterior motive.

‘It’s fine.’ I took a deep breath in. ‘I’m serious. The divorce had been a long time coming, and she’s happier this way. That’s all that matters.’

‘But what about your happiness?’

I smothered a grin. ‘Is Nico Kotas trying to talk about feelings with me?’

Any emotion disappeared from his tone. ‘Don’t die of shock.’

‘What has this woman done to you?’ I joked, but Nico was having none of it.

He grounded out his reply, ‘She has a name.’

‘Scottie,’ I said, feeling his prickliness a little too much. ‘I’m sorry, I’ve never known you to be so touchy. Over anything.’

‘Things change.’ He was wound so tightly; it was hard not to poke and make fun. But honestly, I’d never known him to be in any romantic relationship, and it was nice to see him so protective over her.

‘I see,’ I finished, letting him stay in his grumpy bubble. ‘Anyway, back to me. Happiness is not being married to somebody who wants different things than you,’ I resolved, the words a bitter truth on my tongue.

He fell silent, and I began to wonder if he was still irritated. Then, in a much softer tone, he said, ‘Can I ask what happened?’

‘You can ask …’ I trailed off, earning myself a raised eyebrow from Nico before I summarized in three painful words: ‘She wanted kids.’

‘And you don’t?’

I shook my head. ‘Never did.’

‘And there’s no chance of changing your mind?’

‘Do you ask people who want kids the same question?’

He shook his head, sounding apologetic. ‘That’s not how I meant it.’

‘Then how did you mean it?’

‘More like …’ His words cut off as he tried to find the right words. ‘Scottie could ask me for anything. Kids, no kids. A puppy. A part of my liver and while they’re at it, my second kidney.’

I managed a laugh. ‘Down bad, dude,’ I teased.

‘Don’t remind me.’ Then he turned to me. ‘I don’t care. As long as she’s happy.’

And all of a sudden, I saw it in his eyes: the emotion, the love he had for her pouring out. What happened to him on that damn island?

Thinking about how he clearly felt, how easily he would give her everything, made me feel like I wasn’t a good enough husband.

Had I tried to want what she wanted hard enough?

Did I spend enough nights lying awake next to her wishing to change?

Had I spent enough time with friends’ kids trying to discover the spark of parenthood I had missed all my life?

The one she clearly had discovered while I’d been left in the dark?

I knew the answer. But it didn’t mean giving up made me feel any less like a failure.

‘For me, I never saw them fitting into my life. I don’t have that … paternal need to teach somebody how to ride a bike, you know?’

A low hum shook his body. ‘I’m pretty sure there’s more to fatherhood than that.’

‘Exactly,’ I agreed, ‘and I actively don’t want it.’

‘And she did.’

I closed my eyes. I hadn’t told many people what happened, the deepest cracks that broke us apart. And there was still a mixed feeling in sharing it now, a relief of sharing tinged with the pain of rehashing it all.

‘For the longest time, she said she didn’t.

She was happy with tennis being everything.

But the sport, it’s evolving. She saw the room for maternity leave and still being able to have a career after it.

And it was great. She … she was so fucking hopeful over it, and it ate me up that I didn’t want it. ’

‘That must’ve been difficult.’

I sighed, remembering those last months.

Once she told me what she wanted, after shoving newborns in my arms for me to hold and smell as if a stinky baby would make me want one.

‘We fought for a while over it. She swore she could live without a kid, but I knew her well enough. It was clear how badly she felt, and how I was robbing her of the future she wanted.’ I looked at him, my friend who was clearly caught up in the deepest ocean of love, an emotion that now felt so foreign to me, as if I couldn’t imagine what it felt like to love without it causing me physical pain.

‘I loved her enough to know when it was hurting us both.’

‘Fuck, man.’ His voice cracked as he spoke.

‘Are you …’ I trailed off, trying to process the shock. ‘Crying?’

‘Shut up.’ He wiped at his face; my body still frozen as he pushed up from the bench. He grabbed his racket, bouncing the ball against the ground. ‘Let’s hit some balls,’ he added, forcing his voice to sound deeper.

My phone buzzed twice in my pocket, and I pulled it out, the last night resurfacing in my mind. A buzz of serotonin shot through me as I looked at the response to the panic text I sent that morning.

OLIVER

I’m rethinking this trophy situation.

DYLAN

How did you get this number?

Who’s the stalker now.

I started to type out a response when Nico rudely interrupted.

‘Who’s that?’ he asked.

‘Nobody.’ I pressed send before pocketing my phone.

OLIVER

I’m just saying, my trophy is way better than a measly round of drinks.

He hummed. ‘Does nobody have a second name?’ He threw the ball at my head, missing me narrowly as I got up.

‘Did you want to go do another set?’

‘Getting over the ex, are we?’

‘No, it’s just a bet.’ I walked away, not feeling the need to have to explain any further. But judging by the way Nico followed me as he walked close to the net, he had more questions.

‘With?’ he asked, his racket tucked under his arm.

I took a moment to consider lying, keeping her identity to myself, before seeing no real harm. We were only friends, after all. ‘Dylan Bailey?’

He froze, his eyes going wide. ‘Huh?’

‘What?’ I asked, taking a step towards him. ‘Do you know her well?’

He squinted, trying to make up his mind. ‘Well enough.’

‘What does that mean?’

‘She was at the training camp at Rhodes.’

‘Oh, okay.’

‘I mean, she left halfway. But we played a lot of cards.’

‘That kind of sounds like friends?’

He shook his head, crossing his arms over his body. ‘I wouldn’t say that.’

‘So, you aren’t friends.’

‘That’s not quite it either.’

‘Are you going to start making sense any time soon, or should I expect you to keep speaking in riddles?’

He let out a heavy breath. ‘She’s … she’s more Scottie’s acquaintance. Now. You know, after all the things with her dad.’

‘I heard about it.’ My heart sank remembering the news, thinking over how dark the truth behind Scottie Sinclair’s life had been, and for all the other players who had come forward over the past few months with similarly haunting stories.