Page 76 of Break Point

I wave her away without turning around. I don’t want to say it out loud, but if I can’t own this court against Bryson, then I really am done. It was one thing to feel ready to quit off the court, but standing right here—in the place where I imagined greatness—and falling short? That would be a sign from the universe.

“Bad toss,” I lie, regrouping and bouncing the ball just like before. I lift my gaze to meet Bryson’s, and from seventy-eight feet away, I can still read the worry in his eyes.

“Bad toss,” I say, louder.

He doesn’t react, not even a nod. He knows it’s a lie. But he’s going to let me sell the others on it.

I close my eyes and begin my routine again, three bounces and the ball pressed to the head.

Toss.

I swing hard, my angle a little off, and I miss nailing inside the baseline by about a foot.

“Fault!” Ashton shouts.

I chuckle, and it’s the first time I’ve laughed in days.

“Did you have to google that?” I tease.

“Fault!” he shouts again, this time pointing at me, then holding his arms over his head and striking one wrist with the other.

“That’s a personal foul, asshat!” I bark at him.

“Hey, she knows football,” Ashton says, clapping excitedly while Bryson shakes his head.

The levity on the court would normally annoy me. I take every game seriously, even the ones that don’t count for anything more than a plastic figurine with a tangled parachute. I assume that’s what’s at stake with this, since Bryson was forced to burn his favor on getting me out here in the first place.

Maybe that’s a positive outcome from falling apart completely, though. Perhaps the universe is gracing me with the ability to ease up on myself, on everyone, when I’m out here.

I bounce the ball a few extra times, changing up my routine while I mull over that last thought, then hold the ball to the edge of my racket as I lift my gaze and stare at Bryson’s body. I can beat him easily. Even out of practice and shattered as I am. I should beat him. But can I manage to take an entire set without him getting as much as a single return?

My upper lip twitches just before I toss the ball and slice it over the net, serving him the tennis equivalent of a changeup. His arm slashes through the air, his timing way off, and he sends the ball into the seats. I snicker.

“I saw that,” Bryson says.

“What?” I say, my voice stronger than it’s been in days. My feet are solid under me suddenly, and the tingling that’s been teasing my arms and neck seems to have subsided.

This feels right. It feels good.

It feels like home.

“You’re enjoying this,” Bryson says.

Everyone can hear him, and the weight of admitting that I am in front of witnesses pins me to the ground for a breath. My body rushes with heat, and I’m not sure if it’s adrenaline or if I’m embarrassed to admit that Bryson’s right. And then it hits me.

Who cares if he is?

“A little,” I say. It’s a lie. I’m beginning to revel in it.

I manage to sweep through my serve, then break Bryson’s without letting him earn a single point. By the third game, I need to pause for water and to blot my forehead with the towel. I’m working up a good sweat. Part of that is from everything I’ve been through, but also I’m working hard. I’m not full strength, but I can taste it. I can feel the boiling desire to win creep into my belly.

Bryson lucks out on a return in our third game, and losing the challenge I made to myself fuels me to play him harder. We play a total of five games, and other than scoring a few lucky points made on my serving errors, Bryson goes down in flames. I’m breathing harder than I was the last time I played like this, and Bryson isn’t a real competitor, which shows me how much work I have in front of me if I decide to continue playing. But the thrill is there. He was right. This game is a part of me. The only question left is: Do I need it?

Chapter 28

Bryson

I can tell Jaden wants more time on the court alone, so I send everyone home and promise Taryn that we’ll get the lights off and that I’ll take the blame if we get caught. Given what Jaden has been through, I think we would argue a pretty heart-strong case as to our reasons for being out here.