Page 58 of Love, Amy

“Flights?” Aurelio croaks, face creased. “Now?”

I look at my phone. It’s well after 9 p.m. “Probably not now. This is Cincinnati. But I’m sure there’s a flight tomorrow.” I look at Antonio. “Can you and your team get him on the first one?”

"Sì, signorina.” He immediately whips out his phone, calling another team member with an update. He walks out of the gym, speaking rapid-fire Italian. Vince has conveniently disappeared as well, probably feeding Beck another bullshit excuse. I need to get the man a raise.

Aurelio’s eyes flutter closed, exhausted. “Thank you, Amy. I’m not being very helpful.”

“You’re scared.” I get off my bike, walking around to the front of his. I put my hands on top of his on the handles. He opens his eyes at my touch. “Which is completely understandable considering what happened last time. But, Aurelio, this isn’t like last time. Even if she doesn’t make it, you’ll get to say goodbye. Your family gave you a chance to do that.” Aurelio nods along to my words. I tighten my grip. “And based on what I’ve heard about her, she’ll probably make it.” I smile for him. “She sounds like a real pill.”

My words have the intended effect. Aurelio laughs, and my heartbeat slows a little. He seems to realize how silly it is for him to keep going with his recovery, so he dismounts the stationary bike. “I feel even worse because I’m also disappointed.” Aurelio admits as he stands and surveys the gym.

“Disappointed about what?”

“I wanted to play in the U.S. Open.” He shakes his head. “It’s selfish, but I’m finally playing my best, and I wanted to show it.”

“It’s not selfish.” I’m surprised by how fierce the words are. “You’re choosing Nona, you’re choosing your family when it matters, but you love tennis. We all do.”

“Maybe she’ll be fine.” He tries to be optimistic. “I’m not set to play for a little over a week, now that I’m not going to be in the final here.”

“She’ll be watching you win again very soon,” I promise him. I glance at the clock mounted above the TV. “You should get packing and ask Antonio when your flight is.”

Aurelio nods in agreement, but he’s chewing his lip anxiously. His energy, which is usually funneled into action and enthusiasm, settles on him like an itchy sweater. “I’ll go with you,” I say, struck with inspiration. “I’ll help you pack and stay with you tonight. My final isn’t until tomorrow night.”

Aurelio nods again, this time with more purpose. “I know I can do it if you’re with me.” My heart squeezes. I grab his hand, and we walk out of the gym together.

*

Later, Aurelio sleeps peacefully in my arms. I’ve never been so happy to be the big spoon. I don’t think Aurelio’s mind has known peace for days. After his mom died, his nona is the one who encouraged him to finally pick up the tennis racket again. She wanted this for him, just like her daughter-in-law did before her. Aurelio worries history is repeating itself. That every time he chooses himself and his passion, he’s dooming his family to die without him. That every time his family tells him not to worry, it’s a lie he’s all too willing to swallow.

I think about going to Rome with him, but considering how serious his nona’s condition is, I think I would just be in the way. Hopefully, he’ll see her before she goes. Or maybe she’ll recover with some rest and fluids at the hospital. I wasn’t wrong about her sounding like a pill. She sounds blunt and jagged in the way all the best grandmothers are.

I gently stroke Aurelio’s head, smoothing his gorgeous curls. After packing and booking his flight for tomorrow at 10:30 a.m., we practically fell into bed together. It wasn’t lust but comfort we sought in each other.

The Amy of last year couldn’t imagine finding a man she wanted to be the big spoon for. She certainly couldn’t imagine waking up in the arms of the same man day after day. She didn’t believe there was a man out there that would want her that long.

I glance over my shoulder at the clock on the bedside table. It says 12:17 a.m. It feels even later.

I nestle closer to Aurelio, placing a gentle kiss on the back of his neck. “I love you, Aurelio Santoro,” I whisper.

He doesn’t stir, but for some reason, the words help me sleep.

CHAPTER 18

Cincinnati Tournament: August 2026

My father finds me in my dreams.

A younger version of my father looms over me, the one that stares back at me from the photo on my nightstand. His face is smoother, his hair darker. He looks so much closer to the tennis god he used to be and so much further from the agitated tennis coach that sits in my box.

He seems taller than usual, too. It’s because I’m sitting on the tennis court, racket at my feet. Beck offers me a hand up. “Sorry,” I say, confused. “I don’t know what happened.”

His huge hand engulfs mine, pulling me to my feet. “Don’t worry,” he says easily. “I’ve got you.”

I glance around, realizing we’re at the backyard court in Malibu. What are we practicing for? I can’t remember. Do I have a tournament coming up? I know my father will ream me out for being distracted, so I turn to pick up my racket. I’m surprised to see Beck has beaten me to it.

He picks up my custom Bowman X Wilson collaboration racket. It looks identical to the one he used when he won his final Wimbledon, except mine’s pink. I’m not Amy; I’m a Bowman. Even in my confusion, I know that. “Amy,” Beck says seriously, looking me in the eye. He holds onto my racket, not handing it back to me. “Remember, I chose you.”

“Chose me?” I hold out my hand, wanting the comfort of my racket. “Chose me for what?”