Page 63 of Game Point (Game, Set, and Match #2)

Dylan

Ribs – Lorde

‘It’s got good legs, this one,’ he remarked.

I laughed bitterly. ‘I’d hope it has fantastic legs, for the price of it.’

We were sat in one of the nicest bars in Melbourne, Oliver claiming his side bet. I thought back to the trophy, tucked away in my hotel room. It still didn’t feel real.

‘We agreed on a drink. We did not agree on the price,’ he reminded.

I rolled my eyes, still recovering from the horror when the bartender had told me the price of the drink. And to think, Oliver had tried to order a double! ‘Thank god I didn’t agree to a bar tab.’

‘I would’ve been fair then. I’ve always been a porn star martini kind of guy,’ Oliver said, ‘But you said one drink.’

I laughed a little at the information. He was definitely a fruity cocktail person. I could just see him with a tiny umbrella tucked behind his ear.

‘So, you asked the bartender for the most expensive drink.’

A wide, cheeky smile stretched across his lips. ‘I did indeed.’

‘Do you even like whisky?’ I asked.

He shook his head, expression bitter. ‘Not neat.’ I let out a noise of disapproval, but somehow it got worse. ‘But I thought your head would explode if I asked him to mix it with coke or ginger ale.’

‘It’s twenty-five years old!’ I cried. ‘You can’t mix it!’

He waved a hand at me. ‘I know. But it would taste so good.’

I shook my head at him, taking my own drink, a simple gin and tonic, in my hand, lifting it midway between us to toast. ‘Cheers to you, for winning our bet.’

He shook his head, ‘Cheers to you ,’ he said, a smile so soft it caused an ache in my heart. ‘You did it.’

Hearing those three words felt like exhaling a heavy breath, a weight falling from my shoulders.

I did it.

Every sour word that had been spoken about me, every nickname, every article highlighting how I couldn’t win and would never.

I’d proven them wrong. And I knew without Oliver, without his help and the comfort he radiated, I wouldn’t have made it this far.

We were a team, even if he wasn’t my coach anymore, and I wanted him by my side.

Our glasses met with a clink. ‘To us,’ I said.

Just as I took my own sip, Oliver spat his out, choking on the liquid.

‘Are you okay?’ I asked, unable to stop myself from laughing.

‘My throat is on fire,’ he croaked, grabbing a glass of table water and downing it.

I chuckled, sliding my gin towards him, taking the whisky.

‘We can swap,’ I said. Like I’d let this go to waste.

He nodded, his face still red. I couldn’t help but smile at the sight of him. This was the man I wanted to spend my life with. Supportive, loving Oliver. My best friend, and the person who would always have my back.

Oliver pulled himself together enough to take a drink of the gin and tonic, relief clear across his face as he took a long sip. ‘That’s much better.’

I tilted the whisky in the glass. ‘I don’t think it’s so bad.’

A goofy look appeared across his face. I could almost see the cartoon love hearts in his eyes.

‘You’ve always been the stronger of the two of us.’

My eyebrows pushed up. ‘Really? That’s what you thought with all my crying and breaking down on court?’

‘Always, Dylan. Through everything,’ he said.

‘Your strength is what I fell in love with first. Your ten-acity. Every time you get knocked down, you get back up again. Sometimes it takes you a few weeks, sometimes you have to rest first. But strength isn’t just jumping back into battle.

It’s knowing when to rest, it’s letting yourself cry and feel your emotions and knowing that you’ll come back from it. ’

My hand slid across the table, meeting his and wrapping around his fingers. Squeezing tightly, I kept my eyes trained on him. For so long, I’d felt hopeless and alone. So homesick and untethered. I thought back to that night, in New York, the party where we’d met, the street I’d chased him down.

And now, with Oliver by my side, I knew I’d never feel alone again, that homesickness cured. Because wherever I was with him was home, the warmth of his arms, the comfort of his smile, the press of his kiss.

‘I love you,’ I said, the words never feeling so easy.

His hand squeezed mine. ‘I love you too, brat.’

Home was where my heart was; and my heart was with Oliver.