Page 72 of Break Point

Before this devolves into the way discussions between the two of them have in the past, I cut things off and force them to refocus.

“Your son needs you now,” I snap.

My mom is quick to apologize. My father’s apology is his silence. I’ll take it.

“She talked to someone at the hospital right before she was released, but I don’t think she’s been talking to anyone regularly,” I respond to my mother’s suggestion.

“Mental health is tricky,” she says. “We’re all just a bunch of petri dishes mixed up in different ways.”

“Yeah, but I feel like Jaden and I have very similar petri dishes.”

My father laughs again, and this time it provokes me.

“You know what, Dad? Maybe it was a mistake bringing you into this call. I’m so sorry to cut into your precious time. Here I figured you would give a shit that your son was hurting.”

The line goes silent again, and I let it fill the space for several awkward seconds. Finally, my father clears his throat.

“I’ve seen some of her tennis matches.” I flinch hearing his admission.

“You have?” I question.

“Well, I mean, I needed to know if this Jaden Johnson was worth your sister’s investment, and I could tell there was a pretty strong connection between the two of you at dinner the other night. You remember . . . when you both walked out on me?” As if he hadn’t instigated it.

“I seem to remember it being a very good time for us to leave, but that’s not the point right now.” I’m sure my mom will want to know what this is all about later. She has her own flaws, and one of them is reveling in the ways my dad can simply blow it when it comes to compassion or intimacy.

“You’ve actually seen her play?” I prod.

“Yes. I’ve watched highlights along with a few of last season’s matches from the Cordon website. She’s good.”

I blink wildly, because that sounded an awful lot like a compliment. A month ago, my dad thought Jaden was capable of committing wire fraud.

“She’s not just good, Dad. She’s probably the best damn women’s college tennis player in the country. And she has dreams of going pro.” At least, she had dreams. I worry she lost them somewhere on that court under the hot October sun.

Dreams like Jaden’s are something my father can identify with. He didn’t have the talent, but I know he had the desire from little slips in stories he told me about his time playing in high school and when he was recruited to play at Tech. I know he fancied the thought of being a pro, of leading an NFL team, or at least being a backup somewhere. I’m sure it’s why he wants it for me so badly.

“If you love her that much, then you need to remind her of her dream,” my mom says.

“She’s right,” my father agrees. I hold my mouth, waiting for the but in his response. It’s strange to hear them on the same page, especially given the way this conversation veered down two paths at the start. I think maybe it’s happened five times in my entire life.

“How?”

The line is quiet again for a few more seconds, until finally, my father is the one to answer.

“Any way you can.”

I let them both off the call while my mind races with a complete and utter lack of ideas. I check the time on my phone. Tennis practice should just be wrapping up. If I hurry, I can probably catch Taryn, and maybe between the two of us, we can muster one idea of a way to remind Jaden of her own initiative and drive.

I grab the hoodie that’s been hanging on the side of my locker for the last month, then close the door before grabbing my duffel to head to the tennis center. I pause just outside to slip the hoodie on after I’m hit with the fall chill coming off the nearby ocean. It’s my favorite thing about this place. Or rather, second favorite. And after feeling inside my hoodie pocket, I think I may have just thought of a way to wake up the dream that lives in my number one.

Chapter 27

Jaden

Do I really bring any star power to the Score app’s brand if I’m no longer a D1 tennis player? I don’t think I do.

I pull off the fifth sweatshirt I’ve tried on tonight and toss it into the growing pile on my bed. I feel like a fraud wearing anything that says athlete or tennis. I guess if I’m going to let Amelia and Bryson know that I’m stepping down from being a brand ambassador tonight, it doesn’t really matter what I’m wearing. It’s the right thing to do. Besides, Amelia’s launch has gone so well, she’s beyond the boost she initially got from the buzz about the hot new Cordon couple. She doesn’t need me.

Letting Bryson know that I’m planning to transfer for spring and finish my degree close to home, however, is going to sting. I don’t want to let him go, but I can’t afford to be at Cordon without working for his sister. And I’m not sure my heart can handle being here once tennis season starts.