Tiebreaker
Page 25
Maren
“Welcome to Arthur Ashe Stadium for the US Open Women’s Singles finals. Today’s match between Serena Williams and Maren Murphy Callahan is sponsored by Prudential.”
I wish I could tell you that I won the US Open that year, the year I broke my wrist, lost my mojo, and found my way back to who I was––not only Maren Murphy, Grand Slam winner and twelfth-ranked player on the WTA. But also Bebe’s sister, Jonathan and Maryanne’s daughter, Noah’s lover and best friend, and ultimately his wife. Unfortunately, I can’t. I barely made it to the quarterfinals before getting my ass kicked up and down the court by Garcia. It was an ugly one too. I’m still butt hurt over that loss, though not entirely surprised. Making up for a decade’s worth of lost time can be distracting if you get my drift.
I wish I could tell you I won the following year, but I lost in the finals. Gutting, totally gutting.
Noah and I found a happy balance between training and working in Oklahoma from September to January and traveling for tournaments the rest of the year. It turned out to be easier than either of us had anticipated. Knox took over managing Rowdy’s, and even though Noah has said over and over that he doesn’t mind carrying my coattails I’m ready to make some changes, to start the last book of our trilogy. I’m ready to hang up the racket and go home for good.
“You ready?” my husband asks as soon as I open the door to the ladies’ locker room and step out into the tunnel. Arms crossed, I find him leaning against the wall. After all these years he still makes my heart skip a beat.
“Ready as I’ll ever be.”
He takes my racket bag, slings it over his shoulder, and walks me down the tunnel. It’s our ritual. Ours and only ours. Even with the losses, tennis has never been more fun than in the last two years. Now that I get to share it with the other half of me, the one that makes it all worthwhile.
We reach the end and eyes the color of Oklahoma red clay meet mine. Filled with love, it’s all the encouragement I need. He leans down, his mouth hovering over mine.
“On jump.”
“On jump,” I echo, and close the distance between my lips and his.
I fell in love with a boy when I was ten years old. But it’s the love I have for the man he’s become that makes him my forever. Because real love isn’t polite or tidy, it’s messy and complicated. It doesn’t hide behind vanity and success, it shows you all its scars and failures and isn’t diminished by them. On the contrary, it grows stronger because of them. It takes all your uglies and recycles them into something beautiful. Something worth fighting for.
Handing back my racket bag, he smacks my ass as I turn to walk out. “Go get’em, Mrs. Callahan.”
The groundswell of applause as I walk onto center court catches me off guard and lands heavy on my heart. I wave to them, all these amazing people rooting for me, hoping and wishing that this is my year. I’m so humbled by their support, so blessed to have experienced it.
My opponent is already in her seat, pulling rackets out of her bag, when I approach. She catches my eye and we both nod in greeting. From the stands directly behind my bench, Bebe and my parents shout and clap. Noah slides into the seat next to Katya, his sexy lips forming the words “I love you.”
Clear history…visualize the win…visualize the win…visualize the win…
And I do. In my mind, I see it clearly.
The umpire makes his announcements. The coin toss comes next. Heads. Serena wins and chooses to serve. Hope she enjoys it because it’s the last thing she’ll be winning today.
With a hand towel, I wipe my face and dry the handle of my racket. A cool 80 degrees with a hundred percent humidity in Flushing Meadows.
I’m loose and ready. One last detail to attend to.
Right before I walk onto the shady side of the court, I turn toward the man I love and smile. Our eyes lock. For a moment he looks confused. Until I pat my belly and mouth, “baby on board.” Almost two months. Noah was starting to get suspicious. Had I told him sooner, however, he would’ve driven me crazy, worrying about my health, worrying about the baby.
The look of utter shock on his face is priceless. He blinks, fighting the swell of emotion I can see clearly on his face. Then the first tear breaks free, streaking down his face only to be joined by another. Later, I tell him with a soft smile. Later I’ll kiss those tears away. Now I have something to accomplish.
I take my place, adjust my strings. I squat, sway left and right, and flip my racket once in both directions. I’m ready to roll. I am a stone-cold killer. Today I am fucking invincible. Serena’s serve has got nothing on me.
“Okay, baby, let’s win this thing.”
About the Author
P. Dangelico loves romance in all forms, pulp, the NY Jets, and to while away the day at the barn (apparently she does her best thinking shoveling horse poop). What she’s not enamored with is referring to herself in the third person and social media but she’ll give you the links anyway.
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www.pdangelico.com
Risk Taker
He’s sworn to protect and serve. She’s committed to living her life to the fullest. It’s going to take a sinner to save a saint.
Annabelle Murphy has had it rough. A childhood illness may have robbed her of the chance to experience high school and college. It definitely killed her dream of playing professional tennis. But enough is enough. She’s tired of her life resembling an after school special. She’s tired of life dealing her the short end of the stick. But most of all, she’s tired of being a virgin.
Having spent half of his life in the military, Axel Brandt knows a thing or two about hardship. All he's looking for is a little peace and quiet. That’s why he took the job as Chief of Police in the sleepy Oklahoma town in the first place. Now all he has to do is not let a certain blonde with a penchant for reckless driving drive him insane with lust and longing for things he can’t have.
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