He dropped his hand and planted a long, warm kiss on her mouth. “If that’s the last kiss I give you, then I hope you’ll remember it as the kiss from the guy who loves you and will always love you because he saw the possibility of a life of happiness with you.”
He turned and walked out.
Gemma remained frozen, still trying to find the words she wanted to say to him.
Andre stepped out of Gemma’s room then leaned against the door, his eyes sealed tight.
“What’s wrong?” someone asked.
His eyes popped open. It was Tish. “I have to leave.”
“Wait a bit and we’ll all go together.”
He shook his head. “No, I’m leaving. Going home.”
“What? Why? What happened?” She searched his eyes.
“Before I leave, I have to ask you for a favor.”
“Sure. What?”
He held her shoulders and peered into her eyes for a few moments. She flinched.
“Don’t tell Wesley what Gemma does all the time. Where she’s going, who she’s with. Don’t listen to him when he tells you to kiss me. Your instinct was right when you said no to him initially. I want to believe you thought you were just doing your job. But your job is to protect her. Don’t let anyone get to her.”
Her large eyes turned glassy
“I won’t be around to help her. She’ll only have you. You! Don’t misuse her trust.”
She blinked.
“Do you understand?”
Tish nodded, tears streaking her cheeks.
The weather opened up on Friday, and the semifinal match between Gemma and Sonia was set to continue. Gemma searched for Andre, scanning her reserved seats, then glanced over at the PM’s. But he was nowhere to be found. Had he given up on her? Why wouldn’t he? She had given up on their relationship after all.
She’d broken up with him to end the madness, but how was she to deal with the overwhelming sadness she felt? She had been impulsive. How could she clean it up now? Her life was still a mess.
Cleaning up the chaos in her life had to start somewhere. It would start on the tennis court. Gemma redirected her focus to the third and tiebreaker set.
She’d have to generate the same electric energy as the day before. Sonia was shaken. Gemma could see that, but Sonia had the opening serve. Gemma understood the psychology of the game, the brutal truth. All athletes at this level were talented, technically equivalent. But the champions understood the mind games. Once doubt penetrated the mind, nothing could save someone from sinking. She had to remind Sonia of the momentum shift of the day before. Gemma had to break Sonia’s first serve.
Sonia launched the first serve. Gemma’s return was decisive, forcing Sonia to sprint to the other side of the court. In that instant, Gemma risked it and rushed the net. When Sonia returned the ball, Gemma was there to spike it away.
Love-15.
Gemma set the tone. She’d be aggressive and take chances. On the second serve, Sonia compensated and lobbed the return, forcing Gemma to sprint away from the net toward the baseline. With her back against the net, Gemma realized the ball was above and behind her. Like a basketball player performing a fade away jump shot, Gemma leapt and spun in mid-air, her racquet behind her head. She dropped the hammer and cut through the ball’s trajectory. The ball tore across the court, just barely missing the net.
Love-30.
On the next serve, Gemma crept up on the baseline, daring Sonia to attack her body. Sonia bit, and when the serve came, Gemma adjusted her grip and returned the ball straight down the line.
Love-40.
Gemma never looked back, breaking Sonia’s serves twice, and never faltering on her own.
Match to Gemma: 6-3.
The standing ovation and cheers would not end. She saluted the crowd, the Prime Minister, and the Prince. When Gemma extended her hand to Sonia, the graceful champion embraced her opponent instead.
“I always knew it was just a matter of time,” Sonia said. “Good luck. This one’s yours.”
After another hug, Gemma marched off the court, waving to her fans. Mixed with the perspiration, tears dripped from her face. Tears of joy, tears of loss.
She sat in the locker room and remembered Andre’s words. What are you afraid of? She closed her eyes and recalled his honest eyes and lovely smile. Then she remembered something else. With love, magic is possible.
Gemma nursed a glass of red wine in her living room while Tish sat silently.
“What happened with Andre?” Tish asked, breaking Gemma from her thoughts.
She turned slowly to Tish. “I fucked up. Badly.”
“Yes, it appears that way. And now what?”
Gemma shrugged. “I need him. But I can’t have both a career in tennis and a relationship. You saw what happened; they can’t coexist. Paparazzi following us, taking videos of us, private details showing up in the papers. I can’t live that way. My life can’t be a soap opera. But… I don’t know. Without him, I’m lost.” A tear rolled down her cheek. “I need to find a way—”
Tish leaned forward then rose. She tugged on her braids, not making eye contact with Gemma.
“What’s wrong?” Gemma asked.
Tish dropped back into the seat, took a deep breath, and spoke. “I should have known. It’s so obvious now, but I didn’t see it. I thought all of it was being done for good reason, never bothering to ask why the bloody hell we did what we did.”
“What are you talking about? You’re not making any sense.”
Tish covered her face for a few moments then peered at Gemma. “I think you can have it all.”
Gemma gazed at her friend. “Is that so?” She wiped her cheek.
“This may be the worst time to say this, but you need to know the truth. Or at least what I believe is the truth.”
“What are you talking about?”
“What happened to the two of you was not his fault or yours. Someone else orchestrated the drama.”
Gemma set her glass down. “Explain. Very. Slowly.”
“Okay,” Tish said, “but first, I have to resign as your assistant. And ask that I speak to you as a friend who loves you and wants to see you happy.”
“Gemma, what brings you–?”
The hard, fast slap threw Wesley’s glasses off his face.
“What the hell, Gemma? Have you lost your mind?” His eyes were wide, his mouth askew.
“After all these years how could you betray me?”
He leaned down, searching for his glasses. “What are you talking about?”
“It was you all along. You’ve been doing this. You were the one who was meant to protect me. Instead, you tried to ruin my life.”
He laughed as he rose, glasses in hand. “Is that what you think? You think I was trying to ruin your life?”
“It’s not what I think. It’s what I know.”
“You don’t know shit, Gemma. Nothing. You act all innocent and confused now. That’s rich. Look at your homes, your bank accounts. You think those came for free? Years ago I promised you’d be bigger and more powerful than anyone. I asked you to let me do my job and you do yours. I made you famous. I made you filthy rich. Now you’re shocked you had to give up something in the process? Another five, maybe six years, you’ll be gone from tennis. No one will remember you. I made sure you can live the remainder of your life in comfort, at the level only a handful of people have ever had the privilege of experiencing.”
“Did you bother asking what I wanted?”
“You wanted to be famous. You wanted to be rich. You wanted everyone to love and respect you. You wanted to matter. From your birth parents, to Georg, to any of the countless people in your life who had doubted you or hurt you. You got what you wanted. I put everything on the line to get you there. I did it out of love for you.”
She dropped her eyes.
“When I saw you that day with Georg, I swore I’d do everything I could to rebuild your confidence. Look at you now. You’ve beco
me the most loved person on the planet. You are a presence, a force. You’re practically royalty, and royalty needs someone extraordinary next to her. You need a prince, not Andre. He’s a nice enough guy, I’m sure. But we need to keep you in the limelight. Single, available, always with celebrities, the equally rich and powerful. Years from now, you can think about settling down. Now’s not the time. You need to ride this train.” He slid his glasses back. “I understand what you’re feeling. You’re in shock. Not able to think clearly. But take an objective look at where you are today. You’re one match away from having what you wanted professionally. Financially, you are better off than most professional athletes combined. You already have it all. I don’t expect this to be obvious to you now, but you will thank me later. You will understand.”
Something dawned on her. A reality she would have never considered before. “Wesley, five years ago, you were Georg’s agent, weren’t you? That’s why he was at my party.”
His face froze for an instant, then recovered. “But I dumped him immediately after what he did.”
“But you asked me to not press charges. Why? What would I have learned if I had?”
He just stared, not moving, not reacting.
“An ideal pairing that went terribly wrong… Christ, Wesley.”
“Listen, you’re–”
“Wesley,” she interrupted, stepping up in his face. “Don’t ever come near me or speak to me again. We are done.”
“You’re being irrational. You’re not thinking clearly. Don’t forget who you’re talking to. You have everything you ever wanted because of me.”
“Wrong. I lost the only person I needed because of you.”
“My greatest point is my persistence. I never give up in a match. However down I am, I fight until the last ball.”
~Bjorn Borg
n game day, when Gemma awoke, she stumbled into her bathroom and stared at her reflection in the mirror. The sun’s rays flooded the room and specks of dust floated in air. Specks; nothing more.
She thought of her future. She was a standout tennis player–for now. But so were many others. So many had come and gone. So many more waited in the wings. She didn’t want to be one of those: one more athlete who made noise, won, and then disappeared. She was a speck amongst millions of others.
“You have so much to offer this world,” Andre had said.
It was still hard to believe. She was about to play in her first championship match at Wimbledon. This had been her dream. This was what she had worked toward since she was five years old. This was for her father.
She had destroyed her happiness to get the title match, and she would not let that sacrifice go in vain.
Gemma stepped onto center court, waving and walking briskly. The thundering cheers draped the entire stadium. It seemed all of England had come out to support their favorite daughter. She marched with a sense of calm and ease, her chest light, her breathing smooth. She glanced at her adversary. With Sonia out, the smart money was on Mina Pavlova, who had already won Wimbledon once before. She had defeated Gemma each time they had met. Winning against Mina would be a phenomenal end to her championship run.
Gemma was certain she would win. Not because she believed she was necessarily better than Mina. No, she would win because that’s what she needed to do. It had to happen that way. She refused to sacrifice so much just to be the runner-up.
Gemma scanned through the crowd. Was he here, watching her, supporting her? She looked at Tish, who shook her head. She had asked Tish not to let him out of her sight if she saw him.
A pang shot through her. Please, be here with me.
Gemma didn’t like to romanticize anything, but as the match progressed, she thought of herself and Mina as two warriors clashing on a battlefield of grass. The same grass where thousands before had lost their lives. Two souls put on this field to motivate and enchant the next generation of tennis players.
They fought against each other, against the field, and against exhaustion.
They battled for each point. They yelled, screamed, grunted, and growled. Gemma’s arsenal of different serves frustrated Mina, while Mina’s thundering returns kept Gemma honest. But Gemma was driven by knowledge; a certainty that she was destined to win. She could not lose.
The first set went to tiebreaker, but when Gemma tore a laser beam backhand down the line, Mina lost her footing. With that, Gemma won the first set.
Destiny was on her side.
The second set was a horse race as well. Each one holding serve. With the set tied at 6-6, they entered the tiebreaker phase. Back and forth the gladiators fought. The player who earned the two-point advantage would win the set. For Mina, it would mean a tie game and an opportunity to play a third set. For Gemma it meant the culmination of a dream: a championship.
The cheers were uncontrollable. The British crowd would not relent. They understood two more points meant their player would win Wimbledon. Try as she might, the umpire could not get the crowd to be silent. Everyone–the crowd, Gemma, and maybe even Mina–could feel the game was at an auspicious point.
They’d been going back and forth until Gemma broke Mina’s serve and tied it up at 13-13. Gemma would receive two possessions. If she just held her serves, she’d win.
Gemma had racked up twenty-two aces in the match. One right now would deflate Mina. The utmost amount of presence, with the least amount of effort.
She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and tossed the ball in the air. Catapulting upward, she ripped her racquet with all her remaining strength. The yellow bullet went down the middle, catching the outside line. A perfect ace.
The crowd erupted. 14-13.
Mina, like Sonia in the previous match, was left planted on the grass, unable to challenge the invisible ball. Her head dropped.
Gemma noticed the crowd, who pointed at the tachometer, their mouths open in shock. She was clocked at 132 miles-per-hour. Was that a new record? It didn’t matter.
She didn’t smile. The match was not over. One more point. That was all she needed.
Gemma served again. This time Mina returned the ball cross-court, forcing Gemma to sprint for it. Gemma reached the ball and sliced it back, taking pace off of it. But Mina attacked the net, ready for a quick put-away. She forehand-volleyed the ball to the other side of the court. A perfect angle, completely on the other side of Gemma.
One point was all Gemma needed. Every point sacred. There is no tomorrow!
Gemma sprinted, but she knew she would be short. She stretched, and in the last instant leapt, flying toward the ball to get the two additional inches she needed.
Contact.
The ball lobbed high up, with just enough on it to make it past the net.
Just one point.
Gemma hit the ground and her racquet popped out of her hand, skidding on the grass. She glanced at Mina, who shuffled to the net, tracking the looping ball as it started its descent. Gemma got on one knee, grabbed the racquet, and pushed off. She attacked the net. Mina was at mid-court, racquet raised, prepared to spike the ball.
Just one.
Left, right, or center? Gemma had to make a split-second guess. Mina’s foot shifted slightly. Left! She leapt again, stretching for the ball, racquet held tight.
One!
Mina’s spiked ball hit Gemma’s racquet dead center. The ball flew past Mina’s ear. The stadium held its collective breath. The ball hit the grass and rolled innocently.
For one second the thunder of the crowd deafened her. She watched the ball roll to a stop. Gemma jumped to her feet, whirled to the line judge who had his hands down, then spun to the umpire, then to Mina, who dropped her head and racquet.
In!
The ball was in!
Gemma lost control of her knees. She fell to the grass, then collapsed and covered her head. The crowd sounded like waves. Like the waves she heard when she climbed Point Dume, when she sat on the sand with Andre, watching the surfers, and when they gazed at the sparkling stars o
ver Leo Carillo. But this time, he was not with her. She was alone, and she cried like she’d never cried before.
Eventually Gemma stood and waved to the cheering crowd. The roars were persistent and relentless. She ran to her box and hugged her mum, who was crying like a newborn. Next to her were a tear-drenched Xavi and Mari. Tish cried on Bedric’s shoulder, while he nodded in approval.
With love, magic is possible.
Once Andre was clear of the crowds, he leaned against the wall, threw his head back, and yelled as loud as he could. He removed his sunglasses and wiped tears. She had done it. She had defeated her own demons. She was a champion.
His newly acquired throwaway phone chimed: a text message reminding him his flight was in three hours. He dropped the phone in his pocket and left. It was time to get off the grid and see how the chess match would play out.
Gemma eventually regained her composure, but when she raised the golden plate, tears came again. The interviewer tried to ask her questions, but she was barely able to put words together. Finally, when she caught her breath, she spoke.
“Thank you for your undying support,” she said to the fans. The crowd erupted in applause and cheers. “Winning this tournament against the best in the world, in my country, is a storybook scenario.”
Mina, the proud warrior, smiled graciously.
Gemma noticed the Prime Minister. He wiped at his tears.
“To my fans who believed in me and supported me, thank you. My love for my family, fans, country, and this game is what has carried me to this point.” She pointed to the sky. “I did it, Dad!” The crowd erupted, chanting her name.
“This has been one crazy and stressful run to the championship for you,” the interviewer said.
“You think?”
The crowd roared.
“Yet you pulled through in dramatic fashion.”
“I pulled through because of one person, and I need to thank him. Andre, I won this for you–because of you. Thank you for your unwavering love.”
Game of Love Page 25
