Page 60 of Game Point (Game, Set, and Match #2)

Dylan

Call It What You Want – Taylor Swift

‘Well congratulations on your run here,’ Rachel Kendrick said flatly from the opposite side of the couch, her phone set to record every word. ‘It’s been an interesting battle.’

I swallowed, keeping my eyes on her. It was the day before the final. I’d already posed for a few magazines, done some social media work for the competition, and now I’d been cornered by ol’ snake eyes Rachel of the Daily Tea .

Last time I’d been in a room alone with her, I’d had a panic attack. This time, I would not allow that to happen.

‘Thank you?’ I replied, my voice uncertain if that had really been a compliment or not.

‘Especially after the ups and downs you’ve experienced this year.

Consecutive losses at both Wimbledon and the US Open, even going as far as to announce a retirement before, of course, dramatically changing your mind.

’ She listed everything easily, every one of my failures from last year.

But I had put them to rest, I’d proven that I’d needed rest, to recalibrate.

I could come back and still reach that final.

‘I needed a break.’

‘Like I said, dramatic. And now you’ve come back, your hometown match. Is this one last shot at a title or a return to the sport?’ Rachel asked.

‘I think it’s a different way of playing. I’ve been focusing on my mentality, on improving how I feel during matches to make sure I’m staying as mentally well as I should be.’

‘Do you think it was the pressure at this level that you couldn’t handle?’

A few months ago, that question would have felt like an insult. Today, I was prepared.

‘Maybe, yes,’ I admitted casually. All those nights before finals when I’d been restless, coming onto court the next day bone tired, my head anywhere but in the game.

The pressure had threatened to crush me.

Continuing, I said with a faint smile, thinking only of Oliver, ‘But I’ve been working on new ways to handle that pressure. ’

‘The pressure of winning?’

‘Yes,’ I nodded, ‘but also changing my goal.’

‘I asked you that before.’

‘Yes, you did.’ Again, I thought back to that last interview we had. She’d asked for my goal, and I’d been my usual self.

‘You said you wanted to win,’ she summarized. ‘If that’s changed, what is it you’re here for?’

I adjusted in my seat, swallowing as her previous words repeated themselves in my mind. They were hard to forget. ‘You told me I’d had plenty of chances at the top? That my potential was unfulfilled without a trophy.’

‘Isn’t it?’ A brutal question from a brutal woman, which again would have stung before. But I had Oliver’s reassurance, his words and actions, and the knowledge that no matter what, I was enough.

‘No,’ I said. ‘My aim is to always be competitive. If that means second place, I’m going to accept that, knowing I did my best, and I’m going to be proud of that.

’ Her eyebrows pushed higher, her tiny brain probably exploding as I continued.

‘I’ve been taking my time, I’ve been resting.

If I play less, I’ll burn out less, and I’ll be more competitive.

And maybe I will win. Maybe I won’t.’ I shrugged, ‘If I still have the record for most grand slam finals achieved, without being able to claim that top prize, then at least I’m still in the fucking running. ’

There was a long silence, Rachel stared at me like I’d lost my goddamn mind.

And maybe I had. Falling in love had a way of doing that to a person.

But I felt more like the pieces of me were put back together, not only by Oliver, but by coming home, by being with the family I’d missed, by realising who actually had my back, and by being myself, for letting myself accept that defeat didn’t have to be second place.

Or third. Defeat was only when you accepted it.

‘So, you’re satisfied now? With being runner-up?’ she asked.

I took a moment to think on my answer, the instinct to immediately respond forcing me to bite my tongue. I was almost sick of having to clarify, defend my mindset. As if burning myself, body and mind, to the ground was the only way to compete.

‘Nobody is ever satisfied with being the runner-up. I wouldn’t be an athlete if I was simply happy with second place. But …’ I trailed off, trying to find the right words. ‘I’m simply unwilling to be disappointed any more with second place.’

Her eyes narrowed, ‘And has this anything to do with your coach from the last few months?’

‘Former coach.’

Rachel nodded. ‘Yes, I understand you’ve split ways right before the final. Rather unusual, isn’t it?’

‘Not given my track record.’

She looked at me plainly. ‘And your plan is to what? Burn through coaches? This is four in the last year alone.’

‘Sometimes it’s not a good fit. Sometimes I simply learn all I can from them. I’ve been playing this sport for a very long time.’

‘Which is it?’ she asked. ‘The reason for splitting with Oliver Anderson? Was he not a good fit? Or did you learn all you could?’

I swallowed, feeling on edge, unsure if she was hunting for something specific, that piece of information that could confirm any rumours, if Avery and Brooke hadn’t kept their mouths shut.

‘We were great friends,’ I said, the answer rehearsed. ‘It didn’t make for a good fit as player and coach. But Oliver is wonderful to work with; any other player would be lucky to have him.’

‘I see.’

Her answer was simple, but that didn’t mean I was any less anxious about it, the fear of what she might know, might be leaving unsaid, unsettling my stomach. Rachel opened her mouth to say something else, and the sense of foreboding only grew, the air turning the room hot and overbearing.

‘You know,’ she started. ‘There have been some ru—’

She was cut off by a knock at the door, opening to reveal an official media assistant, the one coordinating all of the interviews and photography for the day.

‘Sorry to interrupt, but Dylan has another appointment to run to.’

Relief washed over me at her words, not questioning the fact I was sure Rachel was supposed to have another ten minutes.

‘It’s been a pleasure,’ I grinned, unable to hold back my joy at escaping her.

‘As always,’ Rachel forced through gritted teeth.

I followed the assistant out, heading into the busy hallway and over towards another room. Taking a deep breath, I readied myself to face another journalist.

What I didn’t expect was Oliver, smiling brightly, reclining back in a chair.

The door had barely closed behind me before I exploded, ‘What are you doing here? What happened to lying low?’

‘Don’t worry, I’m just taking up your break,’ he explained. ‘That and I paid the attendant to get you out of there quicker. Figured the less time with Rachel the better.’

I didn’t hesitate to pull him in for a kiss. ‘You are a genius.’ Collapsing into the chair next to him, I noticed the food on the table. ‘Is this for me?’

‘I thought you’d need lunch,’ he said, leaning forward to eat some teriyaki chicken from the shop we’d discovered round the corner from our hotel.

‘See, this is why I love you.’ I grabbed a fork, feeling half-starved.

‘And here I thought it was because of my perfect ass.’

I shovelled a forkful of rice into my mouth. ‘That too.’

Oliver paused midway through bites. ‘I was thinking, are you more of an action movie girl or would you …’ He trailed off, pausing for dramatic effect as he pulled two DVDs out of his bag.

My eyes narrowed on him. ‘Was this your plan all along? Feed me, seduce me and force me to finish the Twilight series?’

‘Can you believe they were on sale?’ He waved the two Breaking Dawn DVDs at me, his smile somehow growing brighter. ‘I think if we start early and order room service, we can get both parts in before lights out.’

I shook my head, swallowing some more food. ‘Aren’t you supposed to offer to distract me from the pressure with sex?’

‘That is still of course very much on the table. But I thought we could also watch a film.’

‘Or two,’ I corrected.

‘Round up the series and everything,’ he said, before taking another bite of his lunch. I rolled my eyes at him, but I didn’t bother to argue, knowing Oliver too well to accept my fate. ‘How are you feeling about it? I know you’ve said the night before can be a challenge for you.’

‘I’m feeling okay. I’m not panicking and that’s a good start.’

‘Good.’ His head tilted forward. ‘And you don’t have to worry, I’ll make sure you don’t have nightmares about the CGI baby.’

‘CGI baby?’

‘That’s all in part two,’ He picked up the second DVD, turning it to look at the back. I could’ve sworn his skin had turned a shade paler. ‘Honestly, she’s quite chilling.’

‘Well, thanks for those spoilers.’

‘It’s more of a content warning,’ he mumbled, poking at his food again. ‘I’m looking forward to tomorrow.’

My hand lowered, my attention on Oliver, taking in his ruffled brown hair. ‘Yeah?’

‘I love watching you play,’ he admitted. ‘Love watching you win even more. And after everything Chloe did this past year. What she said after China, how she took out Inés and Scottie. I can’t wait to see what you can do.’

Shaking my head, I dared to ask. ‘And if she eats me up too?’

I allowed myself to consider my own question, to follow down that path of anxiety. What if all of this work, all of Oliver’s time, had been for nothing. The injuries, the time spent getting better, all that damn journaling. What if, after all of that, I still lost?

I held my breath as I waited for him to answer, but Oliver just gently raised his shoulders in a shrug.

‘Then I’ll take you out back, we can destroy a few rackets together, and come back stronger next year.’ His hand slid across the table, the top of his knuckles brushing against mine. ‘But I know she won’t, Dylan. You’ve got this.’

The knot of anxiety untangled itself, smoothing out as I took in his smile, his confidence in me oozing out of every part of him.

He believed in me, he always had. Even when I’d given up on myself, Oliver had been there to pick me up every time.

My hand uncurled, taking his into mine. It didn’t matter in the end, if I lost.

He would always be there to get me back on my feet, put a racket in my hand and keep me trying again.