Eli
“I swear if you ram into me one more time, I’m filing a police report.”
“You’re in my lane,” Marina shouted over her shoulder, her helmet slightly crooked, her laugh carried in the wind. “Get better reflexes, Santiago.”
“These are go-karts, not battle tanks.”
We whipped past neon-lit turns near Tokyo Tower, the city flashing in streaks of red and white. She flicked me off as she drifted ahead—graceful and petty in one motion.
“You’re so annoying,” I muttered, grinning under my helmet.
“You’re obsessed with me,” she yelled.
She wasn’t wrong.
The next morning, we stepped onto the court for our wildcard match at the Tokyo Open. We barely said a word before warmup—just a shared nod, a glance that said: let’s do this.
The match? We won. That’s all that mattered. Straight sets. Headlines already writing themselves again.
I peeled off my damp shirt the second we got backstage, adrenaline still burning, waiting for the cameras to get out of our faces.
That’s when my phone started vibrating.
Unknown Number. Again.
I ignored it. But it came back. Twice. And by the third call, I knew.
I ducked out of the noise, pressed answer, and leaned against the hallway wall.
“Hello?”
A pause. Then—“I saw you playing. Tokyo, right?” The voice was soft. Familiar. Fake.
I closed my eyes. “Mom.”
“I just wanted to say… you looked good,” she said quickly, like saying it fast made it real. “You’re getting your name back out there. I’m proud.”
I stayed quiet.
Then came the real reason. “I was wondering, if maybe you could help out a little. Just this week. Things here aren’t cheap. You know how it is.”
Of course I did. It was the same thing every time. Rehab or not, she always found a way to turn my progress into her excuse.
“You’re still in treatment,” I said slowly. “They cover everything. I already paid up front.”
“Well, yeah, but not everything. There’s incidentals. Some stuff I need. You don’t understand how—”
“No,” I snapped. “You don’t get to say that. You don’t get to call me the second I make it back on a court just to ask for money.”
“Eli—”
“I’m not your goddamn ATM.”
Silence.
I could feel my pulse in my throat. My jaw clenched so hard it hurt.
“You watched me play,” I said through gritted teeth. “And your first thought was how much money you could squeeze out of it. Nothing’s changed.”
“I’m still your mother.”
I laughed. Dark. Bitter. “No. You were a dealer with better cover.”
“Eli—”
“Don’t call me again.” I ended the call before she could finish.
I stared at the wall for a second, letting the heat crawl under my skin. I was shaking.
Then I heard footsteps.
Marina.
She hovered nearby, pretending to scroll through her phone like she wasn’t listening.
“You okay?” she asked after a second.
I didn’t answer.
She stepped closer. “You don’t look okay.”
I ran a hand through my hair, still catching my breath. “That was my mom.”
“What does she want?”
“She saw me play, wants money.”
Marina didn’t say anything. Just waited. That’s what she did—she waited me out.
“She had a gambling problem,” I said eventually. “Not like—oh, she liked casinos. I mean full-blown, steal-money-out-of-your-drawer, remortgage-the-house, lie-to-your-face addiction. She had power of attorney over my accounts when I first went pro. Rookie mistake. I didn’t think twice.”
Her brow furrowed, but she didn’t interrupt.
“She drained everything. Every bonus. Every sponsor payout. Gone before I ever saw it. I didn’t even know until the bills started bouncing. She just smiled and said, ‘Don’t worry, we’ll figure it out.’ But she already knew we couldn’t.”
I leaned back against the wall.
“That’s why I took the deal. That’s why I said yes to one appearance fee that turned into a scandal. I needed money. Fast. No one else was going to give it to me.”
Marina’s voice was soft. “And now?”
“Now?” I laughed. “Now she calls every time my name trends. Like it’s some bat signal that I’ve made enough to save her again.”
She stepped in closer. Too close.
I didn’t move.
“I get it,” she said, almost under her breath. “My dad? Controls everything. What I eat. What I say. Who I talk to. He smiles for photos and then shreds me behind closed doors. I know what it’s like when the people who raised you are also the ones ruining you.”
That did something to me. Split me open, right down the middle. Neither of us said anything for a while. We just stood there, in the quiet aftershock of the win, not celebrating.
Just breathing.
“You’re not your mom, Eli,” she said finally. “You’re not her choices. You never were.”
I looked at her then—really looked. Her mouth was pressed tight, her hands fisted in her sleeves like she was saying something too raw. Too real.
Backstage, cameras flashed. Reporters swarmed like moths.
“Marina!” one called. “Talk us through that insane overhead in set one!”
She beamed. And I mean beamed. Like her whole face lit up.
“I saw the gap, and I just went for it,” she said, laughing. “And honestly, Eli told me to trust my gut five seconds before it happened. So he gets, like, ten percent of the credit.”
“Ten?” I teased, leaning into the mic. “That’s generous.”
“I mean, I hit the shot.”
“I told you to go for it.”
“I ignored your last three instructions.”
“And yet, here we are.”
The reporters laughed. One raised his hand. “Eli, how does it feel—this comeback? Do you think it’s official now?”
I paused, staring into the sea of lenses. And then—I surprised even myself.
“I didn’t cheat the game,” I said, voice steady. “But I did cheat myself.”
The room went still.
“I cheated myself of time. Of joy. Of honesty. I let pride make decisions my heart didn’t agree with. And for years, I thought redemption came from wins.”
I looked at Marina. She was watching me, quiet.
“But standing here,” I continued, “I realize redemption comes from choosing better. From letting someone believe in you when you’ve stopped believing in yourself.”
Marina blinked fast, lips parted.
“This—” I motioned between us, “—this isn’t just a comeback. This is the first time I’ve ever played without fear. Because I have a partner who reminds me I’m not what I lost. I’m who I choose to become.”
The room erupted. But I didn’t hear any of it. I just looked at her. And saw her smiling—like she was proud. Not just of the win.
But of me.