Page 110 of This Could be Love

Round of Sixteen

I won the first set with ease. It was as if the ball obeyed my every command and landed exactly where I wanted it to. My aggressive play made it difficult for Bozovic, and she couldn’t get into a rhythm. I also took the lead in the second. Then something happened. She changed tactics. She landed her balls more precisely on the baseline and took speed out of her shots. I tried to keep up but just couldn’t score often enough. After losing the second set, I sat on the bench, soaked my towel with water, and pulled it over my head. I had to win the third. If I didn’t, the tournament was over for me, and my comeback a failure. Although…no, that wasn’t true. I’d played my best, and getting knocked out in the Round of 16 was no disgrace. Quite the opposite.

I pulled myself together and gave it my all again in the third set, playing aggressively and trying to score at the net.Unfortunately, my courage wasn’t rewarded. First of all, I was unlucky with the net cord; then Bozovic countered one of my strokes with an unbelievable shot. After more than three hours, she finished the match with an ace and sank to her knees in joy. As the crowd cheered, I waited for the grief to come. The pain. The shame of having failed. But none of that happened. Instead, I felt a deep sense of satisfaction. A kind of calm. I had lost. But that wasn’t a bad thing because I had played well. Because I was back. Stronger than ever. And there would still be plenty of opportunities to prove myself.

* * *

Hair damp from the shower, tennis bag over my shoulder, I left via the back exit where a shuttle bus was already waiting for me. After the match, my parents had gone straight to the hotel. As for me, I’d decided to wind down on the ergometer, visit the physio, shower, and attend the press conference.

“Hey, Champ!”

I froze in my tracks and my head jerked to the side. At first, I thought my eyes were playing tricks on me. I was frozen as he sauntered over to me, hands casually buried in the pockets of his beige chinos. It was the first time I’d ever seen him wearing long pants—and a polo!—which was all the more reason to believe that my subconscious was messing with me. But once he was standing in front of me and our eyes met and he smiled, he was anything but make-believe. I stared at him and just couldn’t get the words out.For at least ten seconds. Ten seconds in which his face alternated between determination and nervousness.

“What are youwearing?”

He stopped short then started to laugh. “Okay, that wasn’t the question I’d been expecting.” He gave himself a sheepish once-over and shrugged. “I’ve never been to any kind of tennis thing before and didn’t know if there was a dress code.”

Right then I realized how much I had missed his voice. “A dress code? For the spectators?” I asked, amused.

“Well, I mean, Bradley Cooper was wearing a button-down.”

“Bradley Cooper?”

“He was in the audience. At your first match.”

“Oh,” I exclaimed surprisedly.

“Justin Bieber was there for your second. And one of the Kardashians at your third.”

“Hmm.” I nodded, though it wasn’t any secret that the US Open was a true VIP magnet. Every year actors, singers, and sports stars made their way to the stands of Arthur Ashe Stadium. “You watched my matches?”

“All of them.”

My heart skipped a beat.

“The scoring system remains a mystery to me, and I have no idea what a tiebreak is, but…”

“Why?”

“Why…I don’t understand what a tiebreak is?” His voice grew softer at the end of his question.

“Why you’re here, Vince.”

A hesitant smile appeared at the corner of his mouth. “Because there isn’t anyone else I’d rather hear say my name, I think.” He took a deep breath, as if having to gather courage. “And because I love you. Because I never should have let you leave without telling you that.”

I couldn’t make a sound, just stared at him while my heart did the strangest things. First it stumbled, then it stopped, and finally it began to beat at triple speed.

“I love you, and I want to be together with you, Lou. Even if that means we can’t be together.”

Confused, I furrowed my brow.

“That sounded a lot cooler in my head,” he said, and I couldn’t help but laugh.

He tried again. “I know we can’t have a normal relationship. Or, well, not one where we see each other every day. And I know that it’ll be complicated. Really damn complicated.” He paused. “But if I’ve learned anything from you, it’s that complicated is no reason to give up. You proved that all last week. Every time you went out on the court.” He smiled softly. “Your love for this game didn’t let you give up. And”—he took a shaky breath—“my love for you…won’t letmegive up.”

“But…you said you didn’t want to be a part of my world.” I made a gesture toward the stadium. “That you had to protect yourself and…”

“That was bullshit. Or… No. That wasn’t bullshit. I was simply scared.” He sighed. “Scared that I wasn’t up to you and your life.That it would remind me of my own past life too much. And my demons. And I was scared that I would always feel like a weakling in your presence.”