“Well, it’s a home fit for a champion. Sorry, goddess. Thank you for inviting me over. A hotel tonight would just have left me alone and crying again. Mira might be improving my game, but she’s not exactly into the cuddling part of it all.”
“Better to have a hard-ass for your coach than a cuddler,” I replied, slipping an arm around her shoulders. “You can always find someone else for the cuddling part.”
She didn’t entirely lean into it. “Listen, it’s not just because of Parisa, but I don’t think we can take this anywhere until everything is cleared. I can’t speak out about the biased testing now, and the last thing I need is being accused of sleeping my way to the top. Everyone knows you’re untouchable when it comes to the authorities, and I’d hate for even one person to think I was using you for some kind of immunity.”
“Oh, Toni…” I wanted so badly to argue, but I understood only too well what she was wrestling with. “You’re right. Of course. I had no expectations, so you know. The guest room is already made up.”
“Right, good.” She looked disappointed, at least. “Sorry, it was an awkward conversation and I didn’t think we should wait any longer to have it. The minute all this is calm, though…”
She kissed me soundly before I could ask what, then pulled away with real reluctance.
“We should turn in,” I suggested. “Big couple of weeks coming up.”
Parisa and Celeste were waiting for me after my first-round match, which I’d won without too much of a sweat. I hated getting the wildcard in the early rounds, it always seemed to overwhelm them to come up against a name so soon.
“I got the data,” Parisa explained, waving printed pages briefly under my nose.
“And it’s actually worse than the anecdotal evidence,” Celeste finished the thought for her. “But we don’t know what the next step should be. From me, it sounds like just being angry. Cortes Ruiz they’ll say she’s covering her ass after finally getting back in the trophies. Keiko doesn’t feel confident about leading some kind of movement.”
I considered them both for a moment, scanning the information but not taking much in. The vague feeling that had been nagging at me since Celeste first mentioned it crystallised in that moment. I knew what I had to do, even though the thought of doing it made me feel weak in the knees.
“It should be me,” I said. “Making it very clear I don’t speak for women of colour, because they’re more than capable of doing so. But as a white, cis woman and world number one in the sport, I have a responsibility to take the heat when a whistle needs to be blown.”
“Are you sure?” Celeste asked. She had her hands on her hips, almost challenging me. “I know you wouldn’t talk over us, but there’s a real chance the GTA won’t take it well. It could affect your prize money or even your endorsements.”
“Sure, because I haven’t made enough money already from this sport,” I replied, biting back a laugh. Parisa smiled at me, but with a hint of warning. She didn’t want me to stop bringing in the money yet.
“Elin, they really don’t want this story to happen,” Parisa said, tapping her foot on the floor, impatient with our sudden enthusiasm. “There’s a chance they’ll make an example of you.”
“So let them,” I said, lifting my chin and squaring my shoulders to show I wasn’t intimidated. I almost convinced myself. “I have nothing to lose, and everything to win. This sport has been changed and improved, time and time again, by women who stood up and said ‘enough.’ Do better. Be fairer. That’s all we’d be doing—continuing that great tradition.”
Celeste nodded, her rigid posture relaxing at last. If this had been some kind of test on her part, I seemed to have passed. I clenched my fist in silent resolve not to let anyone down.
“Okay.” Parisa held her hands up, accepting my decision. “Celeste, let’s go through what we already talked about.”
Chapter Twenty
Tennis became almost the secondary concern as that first week at Indian Wells wore on. Every hour seemed to bring a new piece of gossip, new confirmation of someone being over-tested, and along the way some actual matches were played too.
Toni practically confined herself to her room once we checked in for the tournament. I didn’t get to spend much time with her, but in competitive mode I had a busy schedule to stick to anyway. As angry as events off-court were making me, it had been years since I’d enjoyed my tennis this much.
Was I trying to make up for everyone else having a rough time? Or was it just one of those purple patches with no nagging injuries, no tricky opposition, and just general good luck? It felt like every ball I hit landed exactly where I imagined and nothing was out of my reach to return. Even in fairly routine wins there was usually a moment of panic, a pushback that I wasn’t expecting, but I went two full matches without any of that drama.
I met with Celeste for lunch in the players’ dining room, a welcome respite from wandering the grounds and trying to remain unnoticed. Although the grounds held two huge stadiums, the country club feel could be a little too intimate most days.
“Hey.” She greeted me with a kiss on the cheek, looking smart and relaxed in her lemon-coloured shift dress. Her hair was expertly styled in short twists, and Celeste managed to look both strong and elegant as she took the seat opposite me. “You all set for
