Slammed, стр. 23
Still, at least my swanky doctors had nice offices. No squeaky floors and ugly lighting for me.
I always thought there was something a little off about anyone who went into sports medicine. Don’t get me wrong, I was grateful for them. Over the years and in countless places, they’d patched me up and kept me on top of my game. Still, they were often a lot to take, personality-wise. Usually athletes in their own right, they often were more interested in my stats than my scans at first. Eventually, though, they all got past the jokes and trying to be friends right down to the medical nitty-gritty.
As I suspected, it was a bad muscle strain. Rest, painkillers, a change up in my physio to strengthen my core and the pelvis. I wasn’t wild about a room full of people nodding about my pelvis, but I had gotten used to that and worse indignities. There was some warning about wear-and-tear on my hip joint itself, but I’d learned to deal only with the injuries I had at any given time.
“The important thing,” my mother said, as we got back into the car, “is that you should be fit in plenty of time for New York.”
“Good,” I said with a sigh. “You know Alice wants to come this year? Maybe we could do something nice in New York, just the three of us.”
“Winning a tournament isn’t doing something nice? Come, Elin. Every slam counts now.”
“Yes, Mamma.”
I leaned back on the leather of the SUV’s seat, watching the scenery fly by as we headed back to the hotel. Parisa had rearranged my schedule already, and I looked forward to some quiet time. Before I could get too complacent in my injured state, my phone bleeped for my attention.
You ok?
Toni. Well, that was unexpected.
Fine. Why? I replied. Surely it wasn’t big news.
Toni’s little bubbles seemed to stay on the screen for a long time as I waited for her response.
I saw you took an R. Nothing serious?
Had news really travelled that fast? Maybe she’d been watching the coverage, as we all did from time to time out of habit. Or had she been watching on purpose? Following my progress as I had been hers? Was that too much to hope for?
Old hip problem, likes to remind me who’s really in charge sometimes. Rest and physio, back in a week or two. How are you?
The bubbles loaded and loaded. Great. A slow texter. At least she finally had a flaw. The lack of them so far had been a little annoying.
Training hard. Need to rack up some points before the season is out. Glad you’re ok.
I plotted out some replies, but nothing seemed cool and breezy enough. Apparently my unusual interest in my phone had registered with my mother.
“Celeste?”
I shook my head, trying to avoid the scrutiny of her questioning look.
“Just to…uh, Ruiz—you know her, right? She heard I blew out today, was just sending good wishes.”
“Hmm.” Not much ever got past my mother, but what she chose to care about was a mystery until it happened. She seemed happy to let this one go. “Don’t give too many details. Let people speculate on whether you’ll be back or not.”
I hadn’t listened to her about what I should say publicly for most of my career, but that hadn’t stopped her trying to tell me. In that spirit, I made a point of telling Toni I’d be back.
Don’t worry, you’ll still be seeing me in Flushing Meadows. Whoever plays first buys the smoothies, deal?
No instant response that time. Was she already bored? Had she just wandered off already? Then, before I could get into a spiral over it, she started typing.
Sounds good to me.
Maybe the painkillers had finally kicked in, or the stress of the day had eased, but when I closed my eyes and let myself relax against the headrest, I was smiling.
Chapter Nine
Arriving in New York was the usual whirlwind. Journalists would crowd into press conferences to ask us questions before opening day, about diet and training and the pure focus they all liked to write about. The US Open was big business, and as the last of the four Grand Slams in the year, it felt like an end-of-term party. Never mind that there were still a bunch of tournaments after it, including the GTA Finals in Singapore that finalised the rankings.
We did all work hard and train hard. Our diets were micromanaged by nutritionists and often personal chefs. But there was a reason we all arrived days before the tournament started: party time.
In London, we’d hidden away in the leafy suburbs, moments away from the stadium. For the US Open, the place to be was Manhattan. The hotels were huge and very fancy, with every kind of restaurant and entertainment right on the doorstep. It made for a fun life, in the days between being driven out to Queens, where we actually played.
My hip was much improved, but I was still working through some stiffness and pain. I hated playing in that not-quite-healed state, as it was basically asking to aggravate it into a worse injury that made me learn some new curse words. The bigger worry was that in trying to shield the hurt part of me, the unnatural movements would upset some other joint or muscle.
Ezi had been having the time of her life with my physio. Though she hated to see me injured, she knew it made me much more dedicated to my programme and eager to heal as fast as possible. It also made the work with her the entire focus of my time, instead of having to squeeze it in around matches and everything else.
She dropped by my suite