Page 23 of Rivals and Liars

"Good luck today," the Spanish woman whispered.

"You too." Kate winked at her, and Leire turned and walked toward her locker.

The Australian turned to hers and sat down on one of the benches after grabbing her things. She realized Diane had been right. She felt calmer after talking to Leire, even though they hadn't actually resolved anything and had really just agreed to an unspoken truce. The difference from before was that Kate had a very clear picture of where things stood. The US Open was her goodbye to tennis, and it would also be the end of her relationship with Leire Cobos.

They both walked out onto the court at almost the same time, and the stadium erupted because the crowd had been waiting months for these two to face each other. They looked at each other as they met at the net for the coin toss—just a second, but Leire almost stumbled when she got caught in the intensity of those green eyes.

Candela Valle watched them with a knot in her throat while her photographer captured the moment. The journalist wasn't sure anymore if it was because of what she knew, but as far as she was concerned, what was between these two players couldn't be more obvious. Maybe she was paying closer attention than everyone else, or maybe she had a sixth sense, but the way they looked at each other and stretched certain moments—in her view, it spoke for itself.

Leire took the first set seven-five, shortly after Kate broke her serve with a crosscourt volley that got the crowd on their feet. Leire answered with two service winners, including one where Kate's return sailed two centimeters long.

Kate didn't look at Leire so she wouldn't lose her focus, and massaged the base of her neck with her fingers as she walked to get her water. Nothing hurt. It was as though her body had decided to give her a break and let her play this match at full strength, and that was precisely the thought that unsettled her, because she couldn't make sense of it: if her body could do this today, why couldn't it do it all the time?

She knew the answer. Dr. Faruk had given it to her a few weeks ago, and yet today her body seemed determined to prove him wrong. She put down the water bottle and went back to the court.

She took the second set four-six—not because Leire played badly, but because she played better.

During the changeover between the second and third sets, Diane pressed ice wrapped in a towel against Kate's lower back while she drank water.

"I'm fine," Kate said, but her coach didn't move her hand.

Kate was grateful anyway, because the cold had travelled down her spine and cleared her head a little.

"Go get her, honey," the woman said, just before Kate headed back onto the court.

The third set lasted one hour and four minutes—the longest of the match and the quietest. No gestures to the players' box, no conversations with the chair umpire. Just the two of them, the ball, and the sight of the other woman across the net.

Kate won the first three games and Leire won the next three. Then Leire broke in the following game, a nineteen-shot rally that saw Kate come to the net twice.

When it came down to the final point, they were both exhausted, but neither showed it or lost focus. It was a crosscourt backhand from Leire that ended the match—a shot hit with a pace that seemed impossible to reach, and yet Kate did reach it, and Leire was about to hit the ball back to push it to the other side, but she decided to take the risk and let it go when she calculated it was heading out.

Her read was right. The ball bounced right on the line, three centimetres behind it, and the crowd exploded while she stood there, arm still raised. By the time she snapped out of it and looked across the net, Kate was already walking toward her with her racket in her hand and that half-sincere, half-playful smile that made her weak from head to toe.

They shook hands for a few seconds, and then both of them pulled the other in at the same time into an embrace. It was brief—bodies pressing together for just a moment—but long enough to exchange a few words without the cameras catching the movement of their lips.

"Congratulations, babe," Kate whispered, still running on adrenaline.

"I almost got it back," Leire said, sniffling, crying from a mix of euphoria at winning, the tension of having won it against Kate, and a tangle of emotions and feelings she no longer knew how to manage.

They pulled apart and smiled at each other again, and Candela pressed her lips together without stopping her applause, almost as emotional as they were.

They both spoke to the cameras at the same time, but Kate finished first and headed toward the locker room with Diane.

"You played one of your best matches today, darling," the woman said.

Kate scrunched her nose with an amused grimace that got a laugh out of Diane.

"Yeah, I really enjoyed it," she admitted, and her coach felt the urge to break something when she caught the flash of sadness in her eyes.

She knew it wasn't about the loss. It was about knowing she wouldn't be able to play matches like this one for much longer.

By the time Leire got to the locker room, Kate was already gone. She sat on one of the benches and leaned her elbows on her knees for a moment as she took in what had just happened. She was happy she'd won the tournament, but at the same time she knew she was losing something that mattered more than that—she'd started losing it that night in the hotel room, when Kate told her about her injury and she didn't know how to be the person she needed.

Chapter 13

Kate has twelve days on the island to rest, with the sole purpose of doing physical therapy every morning, a specific and gentle training session with Diane, and clearing her head. She's already spent three of those days doing fine on the first part and failing miserably at the last. She barely sleeps. She can't fall asleep because her mind keeps drifting through a pile of memories with Leire that mostly boil down to hotel rooms and the occasional stolen kiss in locker rooms. She misses her—as always—but now it stirs something strange in her, an anger that tightens behind her chest and leaves her with an unbearable pressure all day long. They text each other, they say good morning, Leire asks how her back is doing and she says it's fine, but the redhead doesn't want to be asked about the injury—she wants Leire to care about how she's doing emotionally, to want to know how she feels about the idea that her career is ending. She wants her to say she misses her, that she can't wait to see her, that she's sick of hiding her—but Leire only says part of that.

"I can't wait for Cincinnati so I can see you"