Slammed, стр. 33

Chapter Twelve

I was pleased when Toni accepted my invitation to the US Open final, sitting in the box alongside my family again. The few times I glanced up there, I was both thrilled and terrified to see her and Alice getting on like a house on fire. Or at least talking in an animated sort of way.

I had learned not to look at specific parts of the crowd over the years, since coaching during the game is against the rules. With my mother being my coach, that meant I often had to ignore my own guests beyond a brief wave or nod here and there. The penalties were harsh, and it tended to ruin my mood when I got told off by the umpires.

So, anyway. I won.

Which Toni would probably say was another unenthusiastic reaction, but I really yanked at my healed hip muscles in the last game, so that took the fun right out of the whole thing. For a blinding moment I thought I was going to have to retire right before I pushed through three more serves and finished the damn thing.

Mira was waiting after the presentation for the exclusive ESPN interview, microphone shoved in my face.

“Elin, you’ve done it again. This is your twenty-first Grand Slam title, leaving you one away from equalling the all-time record.” The crowd was going wild. I waved to them again, buying myself some time and a few deep breaths so I didn’t talk through gritted teeth.

“Yes, wow!” I tried for enthusiasm. My smile was genuine, that much I could say for myself. The endorphins were fighting the shooting pain up my side, almost as effective as ibuprofen. “I can’t quite believe it, but here we are.”

“It took you the three sets again, just like Wimbledon. Was it slipping in the second set?” Something in the way Mira smiled felt almost shark-like. Had her teeth always been so big and white?

“No, sometimes against a very good opponent you have to take it to the wire. That’s how it should be, no? As close as possible until someone breaks and wins.”

I had seen Celeste off in the semi-finals, and my opponent that day was the number-three seed, Fatima, who happened to hate my breathing guts on a good day. She hadn’t shown it on court, the consummate professional. I owed her the courtesy of recognising her achievement, and the match really could have gone to either of us at various points.

“Now our viewers at home may have missed it, but as you served for the match there, you pulled up on the second point.” Fuck, Mira. Couldn’t she have kept her observations to herself?

“Well, everyone knows I was out for a few weeks before the tournament. I’ve had to adjust some of my most routine moves to prevent aggravating that injury. When I forget, my body lets me know about it. No big deal.”

“Yes, but—”

“I mean, I served after that and it seemed to work okay, right?” I laughed, forcing her to fake laugh along with me. I thought about Toni’s accusation again, how she’d basically said I didn’t want this enough anymore. Spiting Mira might be the motivation to get me over the line and through at least another season.

“Well, let’s hope you enjoy your big win here today, and celebrate with the best New York City has to offer,” Mira said, wrapping up. She sounded like she was working for the Tourist Office, but I was relieved to get the hell away from her and back to the locker room.

Parisa and my mother were waiting there, no sign of my sister or Toni. They’d be off in search of the buffet and free champagne in the official reception no doubt. Where I’d be expected to show my face pretty soon.

“Get Ezi?” I asked Parisa as soon as the door was closed. Fatima had apparently already raided her locker and hit the showers. I sat heavily on the wooden bench that ran down the middle of the room, hiking up my white presentation jacket and the tight tee beneath it. My muscles showed no sign of which one had betrayed me, maybe a faint