Page 20 of Rivals and Liars

Leire doesn't move. She waits, because she doesn't know what to say.

"Nerve compression, chronic pain, all of that—I could end up with limitations in everything, not just tennis."

"And how do you fix it?" Leire's voice comes out so quiet that Kate has to strain to hear her.

A bitter laugh escapes her and she shifts a little, propping her elbow on the back of the couch and resting her head in her hand.

"You fix it by retiring. I can finish the season, but the doctor's recommending I stop. Without that level of exertion, the pain could be managed without surgery."

"But—" Leire almost stumbles over the words. "Isn't it better to have the surgery and keep playing?"

"It's not a simple surgery. The recovery is pretty long—it could stretch to a year, and I'd never get back to the level I'm at now. I'm going to retire, Leire. The US Open will be my last tournament. I've already decided."

The silence that fills the room presses down on both of them. Kate endures it because she wants Leire to say something, to react, to move closer and wrap her arms around her. She's desperate for any kind of response—but Leire has none. She's frozen across from her, staring at her own hands, thinking something she's not saying out loud. When she finally looks up, Kate doesn't find the understanding she was hoping for, or the embrace she so badly craves.

"Does anyone else know?" Leire asks, and Kate has to blink to focus.

"Just Diane," she says, her voice tight. "And now you."

"And what does Diane say?"

Kate frowns.

"What does it matter what she says?" she asks, hurt. "She supports me, Leire. She agrees with my decision to retire."

"Of course. Sorry."

Leire lowers her bare feet to the floor and leans forward, elbows on her knees, while Kate watches her hold back whatever is running through her mind. It isn't the reaction she expected, and she should be used to not getting what she wants—but it's never easy, and every time Leire responds like this, it takes something out of her. It hurts in a way she's starting to struggle to bear.

"Hey," she says, and the softness in her own voice annoys her.

Leire looks up.

"I'm not asking anything of you, okay? I just wanted you to know."

"Right. Thanks," Leire says.

Kate feels a sharp pain cut through her when she hears that—and it isn't in her back. That one she can handle. This one is somewhere else, dead center in her chest, like someone drove a fist into her sternum. The same ache she's been carrying for months, the one that flares up every time Leire takes a step back when what Kate is after is for her to step forward.

"My pleasure." Her sarcasm stings Leire, who still doesn't know what to do with the information she's just received—and she reacts in the worst possible way.

"What do you want me to say, Kate?"

She doesn't mean it cruelly, and Kate knows that. She can read the confusion all over her face. She puts herself in Leire's shoes—even though she knows she shouldn't—and tries to imagine how she would've taken news like this. She's sure her own reaction wouldn't have been this cold. But Leire lives in a permanent state of fear, and Kate can understand that, even if understanding it doesn't make it hurt any less.

"Nothing. I don't want you to say anything."

Kate stands.

"Where are you going?" Leire's heart climbs into her throat.

"I think it's better if I sleep in my own room tonight. My back hurts and we can't fuck, which seems to be the only thing you and I are actually good at."

Leire shoots to her feet and stops her at the door.

"Wait, baby. Don't go."

"And what do I do if I stay? Watch you stare at me while you try to come up with something to say?"