Page 47 of Rivals and Liars

"Thank you," she says, and has to stop to swallow. "I'm not great at this kind of thing, so I'm going to try not to cry any more than I already have." A low rumble of support ripples through the crowd, giving her a few seconds to swallow again. "This was my last match, and I'm leaving with a broken heart, because this has been my life for so many years and it feels like I don't know how to do anything else—but another part of me is leaving happy. This sport gave me everything: joy, heartbreak, learning, and love too. On a court like this one, I met the woman I'm in love with, and even though it didn't work out the way I hoped, I treasured every second I spent by her side. A new chapter starts for me now, and I just want to say thank you for everything I've been given."

Kate raises the trophy toward the crowd again, smiles at the applause, and turns to disappear into the tunnel and never come back—head down, shoulders caved in. It's that image of her turning her back and walking away for good that trips something inside Leire, and suddenly she sees everything with a clarity that steals the air from her lungs: Kate is leaving. This isn't another argument, or a rough patch in their relationship they'll work out later in a hotel room. Kate is about to walk out of this stadium, and when she does, what they had will be over.

Everything Leire has spent years protecting—the contract, the brand, her identity—is nothing compared to the raw, physical terror rising in her throat at the thought of the rest of her life without Kate in it. And for the first time, what terrifies her isn't being exposed. It's staying silent and doing nothing to stop her.

Leire sets her trophy on the ground and takes three steps toward the presenter, pulling the microphone out of his hands while he stares at her, mouth open.

"I'm in love with you too, baby."

Her voice comes out loud and cracked, but clear enough that there's no way to misunderstand what she just said. The stadium detonates around her, but Leire doesn't hear it, because the only thing she's doing is watching Kate, who has stopped dead at the entrance to the tunnel, her back to the court, like she's been frozen in place.

Leire's heart is pounding, her lips trembling, and she has to drag in short, sharp breaths just to keep breathing. She lets go of the microphone when the presenter takes it from her hand, and she moves through the longest seconds of her life—the ones Kate needs to react, to understand that she really heard it, that it wasn't some cruel trick her mind invented to tell her the one thing she needed to hear.

Kate turns slowly, with a ringing in her ears that comes from inside her, not from the roar of the stadium. Leire is there—exposed, waiting for her answer in the middle of a court where millions of people are watching through their screens—and yet she has never looked more certain of herself than she does right now. Her shoulders are straight, her head is up, her gaze expectant, because the only thing that matters to her is what Kate thinks—not any of the rest of it—and all she can do is pray she hasn't come too late.

Kate smiles, and Leire lets out a sob of relief that everyone hears because the presenter is still standing beside her with the microphone open. She bends forward for a moment, hands on her knees, trying to steady herself and make sure she isn't dreaming, but when she looks up, Kate is still there, watching her with a smile full of a pride that Leire should have given her years ago.

Both of them are still, and the stadium has gone completely silent, as if every person inside is holding their breath waiting for the next move—and the one who makes it is Kate, who simply turns slightly toward the tunnel but doesn't walk into it. Instead, she reaches her left arm back and opens her hand, waiting for Leire to come to her.

Leire nearly trips over the presenter as she takes off running, catching Kate's hand before she's fully reached her, lacing their fingers together before they disappear into the tunnel side by side.

Chapter 23

They walk through the tunnel in silence, tense, hands locked together with an almost desperate force, eyes glassy. Other players still lingering at the tournament intercept them before they reach the locker room. Congratulations come from faces they know and some they don't, from staff along the way. Kate is somewhere inside a fog, unable to say anything beyond a nod and a half-smile as they move, grateful that Leire hasn't let go, because she feels a little dizzy under the weight of everything a tired body and an exhausted mind have been carrying all day.

When they finally step inside the locker room, the quiet is a relief, and Leire exhales as she pulls the door shut. She knows they have to talk about a lot of things—saying she's in love with Kate doesn't erase everything that happened, doesn't wipe the slate clean—but she can't start any of it right now, not the thing about her father, not the two of them, because the Australian is trembling from head to toe and has no idea how to hold all of this at once.

"Let's sit down before you pass out," Leire whispers, steering her toward a wooden bench.

The moment they sit, Kate breaks again, gasping as if she can't catch her breath. This is the end of her career, and she needs a little more time to feel it—to believe she won, that the crowd adored her all the way to the last point, that Leire is standing right here beside her and not hiding.

"Let it out, sweetheart…" the Spanish woman whispers, pulling her close when Kate folds into her.

She holds her against her body, one hand moving slowly up and down her back, lips pressing into her hair. Kate cries for several minutes until finally her body calls it enough and she begins to settle. When she lifts her head, her face is wet, her bangs plastered to her forehead, loose strands from her ponytail sticking to her neck, her eyes red and swollen.

Leire makes sure she's okay, then gets up to grab some tissues.

"Do you want water?" she asks, crouching in front of her.

Kate nods, and Leire pulls the bottle from her bag and hands it over.

"Here—drink slowly, small sips, so you don't get the hiccups."

The redhead does as she's told, takes a couple of gulps, and gives the bottle back. She lifts her gaze until her green eyes meet Leire's light brown ones for the first time since they left the court.

There's so much in that look that Leire loses her breath, her heart slamming against her ribs.

"How are you doing?" she asks, and Kate just nods to say she's okay.

At that moment someone knocks—a firm, clear knock—and waits a few seconds before opening the door.

"Can I come in for a minute? I just want to see how she is," says Diane, who knows Kate well enough to have suspected she'd fall apart.

The coach closes the door behind her and crosses the room to them, settling beside her player on the bench while Leire stays crouched, hands resting on her knees.

"All good, sweetheart?" Diane asks, and Kate's chin wobbles just slightly before the tears come again.

Again, a few minutes pass before she steadies, and this time she drags one wristband across her nose and the other across her eyes.