Page 28 of Break Point

“Ha!” Her laugh is drenched in sarcasm.

I don’t think we’re talking about tennis now.

“I told Amelia to take that post down—”

“Oh God, don’t do that. Ugh,” she groans, threading her hands behind her neck and meeting my gaze for a moment. Her eyes look pained, her mouth a tight, very straight line.

“I had to. I can’t let people bully you for no reason at all. I wouldn’t feel right.” I prop the racket on top of the net and lock onto her face until she gives in and drops her gaze back to mine.

“Like a good hero always does,” she says in a quiet, resentful tone.

My head falls to one side as I sigh.

“That’s not fair. I’m trying to help. You don’t deserve this.”

She blinks a few times as she studies me, her nostrils flaring with her heavy breath. I wonder how long she’s been out here. Her bare shoulders are pink with sunburn.

“It’s fine. You’re right. Thanks for trying to help. It’ll be . . . whatever. Just don’t ruin my check next month.” She snags the racket from my grip and carries it around the net to her gear bag while I turn in place and try to come up with something better to say.

“Jaden,” I mutter.

She doesn’t acknowledge me, instead stuffing her rackets into her bag before wiping a towel over her face and picking up her water bottle.

“Jaden!”

Her shoulder blades stiffen at my raised voice, and she pulls the water bottle from her mouth. I tread carefully, slowly moving toward her. Her profile finally in view, I manage to catch the slight slip of her mask. Her eyes are pooled with tears I guarantee she won’t let fall, and the moment she senses me hovering close by, she sniffles and turns her attention to her bag as she zips it closed.

I step into her space with caution, and her frame tenses as the toes of our shoes are less than two feet apart, our bodies squared. I want to reach out and touch her, lay my hand on her shoulder. Instead, I hold up two open palms and take in a deep breath, praying she’ll look me in the eyes and see that this is me being as sincere as I can. She lifts her bag over her shoulder and clears her throat before finally meeting my gaze, her lips pursed but her body still.

“I’m sorry,” I say, something I’m finding I say to this girl a lot.

Her body relaxes with a slow exhale.

“It’s not your fault,” she says, her eyes flitting from my face to the concrete beneath us.

“I know, but it doesn’t mean I can’t be sorry. And for what it’s worth, I hear you. Loud and clear. Hero worship. Like you said. And I am sorry for it, or how it makes you feel, or those people who are just . . .”

I shrug, not knowing what to label the trolls who attacked her online.

“Mean,” I finally decide.

Jaden’s mouth pulls into a faint, one-sided smile on the same side as the shoulder she lifts.

“Thank you,” she says, her voice soft, maybe even vulnerable. Her eyes meet mine, and even though the quiet between us lasts for a brief second, it feels heavy. In that instant, I want to both look away and never look away all at once.

“I have an idea,” I blurt out, fishing my phone from my pocket and holding it out the way a spy does in the movies when he’s got a dozen barrels pointed at him. “Trust me?”

Her quiet laugh makes me laugh too.

I reword. “Okay, maybe gamble on me just this once?”

Her eyes study mine, moving between my right and left, before she gives me a tiny nod.

“Just once,” she says, her words laced with caution even though her faint smile lingers.

I reach toward her bag and hook my finger into the racket head I just mishandled with a dose of luck. Turning so my elbow brushes against her bicep, I’m as close as I can get to her without fully putting my arm around her. I’m pretty sure she’d shove her racket down my throat if I tried to do that right now. I can see her eyeing me in my periphery, and I’m pretty sure I haven’t heard her take a breath in quite a few seconds. Stretching my arm out and holding up my phone to take a selfie, I nudge her faintly with my elbow.

“Try to look like you don’t hate me,” I half joke.