“Mom, I’m not an Olympian. I’m a trainer for Olympians,” I explained. “And they aren’t even Americans.”
“Doesn’t matter. You’re in Rio, aren’t you?”
“Yes. True.”
“Then, let Four Corners be excited about you. Other than that guy your father went to high school with, who played for the Wranglers one season, there hasn’t been a single professional athlete out of this town. Ever. And besides, he just sat on the bench.”
Four Corners was a tiny town in the eastern part of North Carolina. Its biggest claim to fame was an award-winning barbecue sauce. I understood why the local paper wanted to interview me. But I wasn’t what the town considered a traditional woman. I lived in Europe for God’s sake.
My father popped into the corner of the screen. “Hi, sweetheart. How’s Rio?”
“Great, Dad.” I smiled.
They were both drinking coffee and waiting for the games to start.
“Have you seen much of the city?” he asked.
“Not really. My focus is on keeping the guys healthy. It’s going to be a lot of work to get through the tournament. I’ll have some time to sightsee at the end of the games before we fly back to Italy.”
“Hmm.” He seemed to think it over. My father was always like that. He was the quiet one while my mother was a complete chatterbox.
“Honey, can you wave at the camera or something during the game? It would be fun. I’m going to record the entire game,” she piped in. She kept moving the screen to show me my father’s face and then back to her own.
“Mom, I’m not going to do that. If I’m on camera at all it’s because something happened to Sergio or Paulo and that’s not a good thing.”
She looked disappointed. “All right. But I’m still recording it.”
The camera pivoted again. I was getting motion sickness talking to them.
“What about Eric? Have you seen him?”
My stomach twisted in two. Why did she have to mention what happened? I knew I would see him, but I wanted to put that humiliation behind me. I thought six months in Italy would be enough time for me to forget, but it wasn’t. I still had a sick feeling whenever it came up. That kind of rejection was hard to get over.
“No, mom. Not yet.” I needed to get off this call. “I have to go. I can’t be late to the beach. I have a lot of work to do with the guys.” I blew a kiss to them.
“Bye. We’ll look for you, Sierra.”
“Bye.” I hung up before my mother made any more requests.
I was lucky she hadn’t asked for autographs or a video chat tour of the building where I was staying in the village.
My parents were kind. And they were supportive. But it didn’t matter what they said, or how much pride they had in me. I couldn’t shake the gnawing feeling that I was on the wrong side of the court today.
I looked in the stands while I worked Paulo’s leg and seeing the red, white, and blue flags made me feel more homesick than all the time I had spent in Italy.
“Bella, what is it?”
I shook my head. “Nothing.” I tapped the player’s leg. “I think you’re ready to go.”
He adjusted his sunglasses. “Grazie, bella.”
I watched as he took the court. The wind whipped around, shaking the net and stirring sand around my ankles. The storm was getting closer.
Chapter Three
Pierce
The warmup had gone well. Scott and I had a rhythm that was unparalleled in the sport. I couldn’t put it in words. We got each other. I knew which way he would go before he did sometimes. Today was one of those days. Everything clicked. Our rhythm was flawless. The gusts of wind didn’t seem to throw either of us. We were ready to dominate the first two sets and put this game to bed.