Page 15 of Break Point

“Oh, no. Jaden and I are just . . .” I stop myself from spiraling into a convoluted backstory. “We’re good friends. And she was supposed to use my card for that payment she made when she was here, but I gave her the wrong one. Anyhow, I was hoping you could maybe change the payment method real quick.”

“Real. Quick.” The pointed way she says those words indicates there is nothing quick about what I’m asking her to do, but I press on, pulling my personal card from my wallet and holding it out for her.

“Yeah,” I say, grin firmly locked in place.

A few seconds pass before she finally relents and snags the card from my hand and pivots to head back to her workstation. I trail behind her, my pulse drumming in my ears. I’m no longer winded. Now, I’m simply anxious.

“And where is Jaden Johnson? She needs to authorize this—”

“Nicole,” I say, propping my elbows on the wooden ledge as she slides onto the stool behind her computer. My fingers curve around my jawline as I drop my chin a touch so I can look up at her through my lashes. I’m about to beg. And lie.

“Do you know who I am?” I’m grossing myself out right now, but I power through.

“Yes, Mr. Moss. I watch football.” She doesn’t sound like much of a fan.

“Right, well, I really messed up. I promised Jaden I’d take care of this for her. You could say I owe her one. Anyhow, if I have to drag her back in here because I messed up and gave her the wrong card . . .”

I let my half-finished story linger between us, a smirk playing at my lips. Being the Cordon U quarterback has gotten me a pass in lots of places, mostly free drinks at the oceanside pubs. I’m not asking for anything free here, so my hopes are high.

“Oh, you’ve been friend-zoned,” Nicole finally says, punctuating her conclusion with a sharp laugh.

Her lips pucker into a knowing smile, and though that’s not really where I saw this tale going, I decide to go with it. Especially since she’s propped my credit card up on her keyboard and has started typing. The entire process takes about fifteen minutes, and I even manage to have Nicole laughing by the time she’s printing out my receipt. I wave through the glass door in thanks and give Nicole one more winning smile as she locks up for the afternoon, then pull my phone from my pocket and shoot my father a text as I head back to my apartment.

Me: It’s taken care of.

My message is flagged when he reads it, and I wait a second or two for a response. It never comes. I don’t bother messaging my sister at all, instead tucking my phone back into my pocket and stretching my arms across my body before kicking off a long jog around campus. My lungs need the work, and so does my head. Some patterns are impossible to break. Amelia may be the oldest, but I’m her protector. Her dreams don’t deserve Dad’s negative scrutiny. And if my NIL money affords me anything, the best is being able to throw a block for my sister when she needs it.

Chapter 7

Jaden

Taryn must be too distracted by our morning workout plan to dig back into the Bryson Moss conversation. She gave it a break during practice yesterday but picked right back up when we got home and showered. I think if I hadn’t dozed off on the couch while we were eating midnight cereal, she would have pulled an all-nighter on the subject. Five a.m. workouts, though, are tough enough to get up for as it is. And the list waiting for us when we walked in this morning was daunting.

Fall conditioning is always brutal because many of the players spend their summers without rackets in their hands, instead focusing on academics and keeping the strength training to the bare minimum. I, on the other hand, haven’t had a summer off since I was eight. Playing tournaments and practicing constantly when I’m home in Phoenix makes training in the Pacific Northwest feel like a vacation. But the weight lifting still kicks my ass. It’s good to see that it’s kicking my biggest competition’s ass too. Adrianne Chavez redshirted her freshman year, not because she wasn’t good but because her ankles weren’t 100 percent. I think she wanted less competition for the top seed too. I’ve managed to stay ahead of her every season, though. It’s good for me to have her constantly nipping at my heels. She pushes me to be my best, both on the court and in the gym.

I line my body up under the squat rack while Taryn spots me for my final set. My shoulders set and grip in place, I lift the bar from the hooks and shuffle forward. My first rep is clean, but when I lower myself again, there’s a sudden shift in the weights on my right side, and the bar ends up rolling along my scapula, pinching a nerve.

“Damn it!”

Taryn steadies the bar on my shoulders and maintains her grip as I walk it back to the rack. I immediately pull my right arm across my body in a stretch and walk around the mat while I dig into the tight muscle with my left hand. The clip, which I neglected to put back in place when I loaded on more weight, taunts me in the center of the floor. I kick it in frustration, then retrieve it a couple of lifting stations down when the embarrassment from my tantrum burns my cheeks. I’m scaring the freshmen.

“I should have noticed, Jay. I’m sorry,” Taryn says, taking the clip from my hand and securing it on the bar.

I roll my neck, wincing from the sharp pain.

“No, that’s on me. Let me try to finish this out,” I say, ignoring the fact that my friend’s head is tilted in a cautioning way.

“Just spot me for one more,” I huff, centering myself under the bar.

With my hands set, I lift the weight on my shoulders. The zap of pain is instant and travels up my neck and into my ear. I plop the weight back in place and shake my head. I hate not being able to finish things.

“I’m gonna see if Aaron’s in the back,” I say, praying our trainer is in today. I don’t mind working with his grad students, but Aaron’s really the best.

Taryn nods and busies herself putting our plates away. Sometimes, I think I don’t deserve her friendship. I can be . . . a lot. She rolls with my impatience and constant drive, though, and never makes me feel as if there’s something wrong with me being the way I am. I know there’s plenty of room for self-improvement. It’s just that self-work gets in the way of tennis, and I will always pick tennis. I need to learn to pick friendship sometimes.

I brush her arm before she turns her back to me and meet her eyes. “Sorry I didn’t listen.” I grimace and shrug.

“Chin up, Champ,” she says, touching my literal chin with her fingertip before sliding the next weight off the bar. “If I didn’t love your intensity, I wouldn’t stick around. Turns out, it’s kind of my favorite part of you.”