Page 41 of Rivals and Liars

They got back to their hotel, Diane went up to Kate's room with her, and in the end she stayed the night, holding her through hours in which neither of them slept more than three.

The next day she'd had to play makeup artist to try to hide the dark circles under Kate's eyes and the color that had all but drained from her face, and since then Kate has become a shadow of herself, moving on autopilot and waiting to get through the tournament so she can go home—knowing she's lost the two things she loves most: Leire and tennis.

"You should do the press conference, Kate," she'd told her yesterday. "You need to announce your retirement while you're still in the draw. If they knock you out and you say it afterward, you're giving them every reason to speculate and say stupid things—like you lost your edge and the back is just an excuse."

Since Kate made the decision, Diane has been pushing to announce it as soon as possible, but Kate wasn't ready. She needed time to take it in before telling the world, and even though she still hasn't fully accepted it, time has run out. So she agreed, and her agent arranged the press conference for this morning, before the day's matches begin.

"Everything's ready," an assistant announces in her direction, but Kate barely registers the words—her mind, completely scattered since her breakup with Leire, is somewhere else entirely.

Specifically, it's on the conversation she had last night with Rachel, after Rachel had been calling her ever since Diane told her what had happened. Kate hadn't felt strong enough to talk about it until last night, when she finally picked up and started crying all over again the moment she heard Rachel's low, warm voice.

"I'm so sorry, Kate," Rachel had begun, and because Kate started hiccupping and couldn't calm down, Rachel launched into a monologue about everything she'd done during the day. She went slowly, adding pauses and sighs when something had frustrated her, and little by little Kate started to settle, to actually listen to what she was saying, and even to laugh at a few moments. "You'll get through this," she said when Kate was finally able to string words together into short sentences.

"I guess so," she answered. "Though I wasn't ready to lose both things at the same time. I thought she'd be there—that she'd support me, that she'd be my rock when I was left standing on one leg."

"I know. But sometimes things don't go the way we want them to and everything falls apart at once, at the worst possible moment. But if anyone can keep going and come out stronger on the other side, it's you, Kate Brogan."

She laughed—though the smile barely made it to her lips, just a faint tremor when she tried to stretch them—and ever since, she's been holding onto that, onto rising like a phoenix, because she can't afford to fall apart completely.

"Okay. Let's go," she says at last.

Diane nods and walks out with her, sitting beside her as Kate takes her place at the microphones. The press room at the Open is more packed than usual—almost as full as it would be for a post-final press conference—and Kate's mouth goes dry before she can say a single word. Diane has settled to her right, ready to be her anchor through one of the hardest moments of her career, the moment when it becomes real that this is ending for her.

Kate pulls the microphone closer and clears her throat.

"Good morning." Her voice comes out quieter than she expected, and that makes her more nervous. "Thank you for coming. I really appreciate you all being here this early."

She glances for a second at the paper she brought along in case she went blank, but right now she can only see blotches of ink on the page, so she pushes it aside. Diane picks it up and folds it when she understands it won't be used.

"I had notes, but I think if I read them it won't come out right." A few people in the room smile. Candela doesn't—because right now Kate Brogan looks to her as vulnerable as her sister did the day she sat down at the table and told the family she liked women. "I've decided this is my last tournament. When it's over here, I'm done. I'm retiring."

The murmur in the room swells and falls like a wave, and the cameras start firing at her without mercy. Kate tries to hold herself upright, but eventually she drops her gaze and swallows before continuing.

"It's not a choice I made freely—it's a choice my body made for me. My back has had enough, and I've decided to listen to it before it gets worse. That's all I have to say, no drama." She says it as if she's trying to convince herself before anyone else. "Well—okay, there's a little drama. Look at me." Kate points to her face, where her eyes are already filling up.

The room murmurs again and she hears a few words of encouragement.

"Kate, how long have you known? Is this a recent decision?" someone asks from the second row, hand raised.

"Yes, it's relatively recent, and I haven't had much time to process it yet. But here we are."

"We're really sorry to hear this, Kate. How has your family taken it?" another journalist asks.

"Better than I have." Kate smiles, and her warmth spreads across the whole room. "They're supportive and thrilled at the idea of me putting my health first—and hopefully spending more time at home."

The room laughs again.

"I imagine it must be very hard to sit up there and tell us this," someone else says.

And that's where Kate comes apart a little. Her throat closes when she tries to answer, and what was supposed to be a full sentence turns into a broken sound that brings the whole room to silence. She presses her knuckles to her mouth, looks up at the ceiling and blinks, and then Diane places a hand on her back and leans toward the microphone.

"She's trying," she says, swallowing her own grief. "Give her a second, please."

Diane moves her hand up her back, squeezes her shoulder, and Kate nods without looking at her as she tries to breathe slowly. When she feels ready to speak, the clarity of her voice surprises her.

"Sorry." She laughs at herself, wiping her eyes with her fingers. "Ever since I made this decision, I've known I'd have to come in here at some point and say it out loud. I was convinced I could do it—just say it straight through and walk out without any of you seeing me cry. Turns out what I plan and what I actually do don't line up very well."

The journalists smile, and again she hears words of support.