Page 56 of Break Point

“I’m glad you guys could make it,” I say, taking a seat between them as the singles match gets started on the main court. Adrianne is playing, and it should be me down there, not her. I haven’t mentioned my slip to number two to my parents, and I can tell my father is putting it together as he flips through his program, then flits his gaze to the court.

“I lost a challenge match,” I finally say, and his gaze darts to mine with a hint of shock. He must feel bad about it because he quickly morphs his expression into what I think is supposed to be sympathy.

“Oh, it’s fine. It happens, Jade. You’re allowed to have an off day. And this tournament is . . . pfft.” He tosses his program down onto the metal bench next to him.

“Thanks, Dad.” I lean into him, and he swings an arm around my shoulders, giving me a much-needed squeeze.

“As long as you’re playing. That’s what’s most important, right? That you get to play.” My mom has never been good at pep talks. She sucks at them. But something about her attempt just now strikes my funny bone, and I break into a laugh. My dad joins, and in seconds, we’re both blotting our eyes from laughter tears.

“I was just being supportive,” my mom huffs.

My brother steps over a few rows of seats and lies down, having swapped out the binoculars for a tablet so he can play one of his games.

“Will you be here for the weekend? Or just the day?” My parents usually fly in and out when they come, and they don’t make it to many of my matches. Keeping the restaurant open is the priority, and they’ve slimmed down the staff over the years to the point that if one of them can’t be there to manage, they flip the closed sign around and call it a day.

“I’m afraid we fly out at six tomorrow morning. But we can get dinner tonight. Anywhere special you’d like to go?” my mom offers.

“Slices!” Beck shouts, not bothering to sit up from the bleacher he’s commandeered three rows below us.

“Pizza’s fine,” I say with a chuckle.

My mom squeezes my knee, her way of telling me I’m a good sister. My parents and I have lots of little things like this, just simple gestures we do that carry special meaning. Beck may be a preteen who isn’t interested in his sister’s life right now, but he was my biggest fan growing up, and I know the day will come when he’ll be in my corner again. And I’m always in his.

I think, perhaps, it’s our family routine that has me curious now, however. My parents usually fly back on the red-eye to open the restaurant in the morning when they’re doing a quick turnaround. Flying back tomorrow, even though it’s early, won’t let them open for breakfast. And Beck should be playing his youth football league right now. He missed a game to be here. Unless, for some reason, he’s skipping a season?

“Did the Mountain Lions start up again?” I pose the question about my brother’s youth team despite knowing full well that games are always well underway by this time of the year.

“Umm,” my mom starts, glancing across my body to meet my father’s gaze. I glance his way as he rocks back in his seat, his hands gripping the front of the bleacher. His jaw flexes with an awkward smile that I’m not sure is meant for me or my mom. Maybe it’s for nobody. It’s a tic. A nervous one.

“What’s going on?” I ask, spinning to look my father in the eyes, turning my back to my mom. Dad is always the easier one to break, but he seems hell bent on holding in whatever the hell this is.

“Don’t look at her for help. I’m the one asking,” I say, waving my hand in a poor attempt to block his view of my mom.

“We’re selling the restaurant, honey,” she finally utters. I snap my neck to look at her over my shoulder.

“What?” My mouth hangs open while my brain attempts to keep up with this new information.

“It’s okay. We’re ready for it. Business has been tough the last several months, and we decided that, as a family, it would be a good time for us to try something else.” Her tight smile seems forced, and I linger on her features for a moment in search of other tells.

“But that’s your dream!” I proclaim.

My mom sighs, and my father’s hand brushes my shoulder blade. I stand up and pace a few steps away from them before marching back and holding my hands on my hips.

“It was, Jaden. And we did it! Dad and I got to tackle our dream. And we fought for it when it was tough. And now, it’s time for a new dream.” She shrugs, and it strikes me as so defeated. I shake my head. I know the “tough times” she means are the months and years of my father’s recovery after the accident. I know they took a financial hit, even closing for a while when he finally got help getting off opioids. Now, it’s my fault they have extra expenses.

“No. You can’t quit. Is it the finances? Is it my schooling? I’m getting NIL money now. I can cover the rest of the year. And then I’m going to make it on tour. I’ll get benefits through the league, and I can give lessons and be a pro if I don’t make majors right away. You don’t have to worry about me.”

“Jaden,” my dad utters, reaching for my hand. I let him have it, and the warm embrace of his giant fingers around mine calms the racing in my chest. I sit on the back of the bleacher seat in front of us so I can face them both, and to keep this conversation from hitting my brother’s ears.

“Is that why Beck isn’t playing this season? Is money tight?” I ask in a hushed tone.

My father chuckles.

“Jaden, money is always tight. But it’s been a hard year. And the outlook just didn’t leave your mom and I believing conditions would get better. We see the restaurant scene at home getting tougher. And your brother understands. It’s only one season, and it’s not like he’s bored. He’s at the skate park every day or playing games with his friends online. He’s social. And his grades are . . . well his grades are always an issue, but football didn’t have a damn thing to do with that.” My father has an ongoing beef with Beck over grades. Studying is not in either of our skill sets. I’ve worked hard to prioritize it because it lets me play tennis. Without football, I’m not sure Beck will have the motivation.

“You have to get him back in the league, Dad,” I sigh.

My gaze lingers on my father’s for a few quiet seconds, and I can tell by the few blinks of his lashes and the way his focus drops along with the corners of his mouth that he knows he’s bullshitting me and himself.