Page 46 of Rivals and Liars

On the other side of the stadium, Diane is holding Kate's face in her hands.

"Look at me, sweetheart," the coach says, waiting a few seconds because Kate seems like a different person this morning.

She's been somewhere far away since she woke up, and at the same time hyper-aware of everything around her. Her eyes drift and then fix on Diane's, but the coach knows she isn't really seeing her—there's a curtain between them that Kate hasn't managed to get through yet.

"Focus, please," she urges, and she watches the moment Kate's pupils seem to shift slightly until they lock onto her. "I'll be right here, like always. You've already won, Kate—whatever happens out there, making it to the final with everything you've been carrying is already a victory."

Kate nods. Her eyes are bright and wet, but there's a determination in her gaze, a kind of cold calm, that leaves her coach in awe. For the first time in weeks, Diane sees no fear in her—just that still, icy resolve that sends a chill down her spine.

"Go on," Diane says, kissing her cheek and resting a hand at her waist to nudge her forward.

The PA calls her name and the whole stadium rises. Since she announced her retirement the support has been overwhelming, and it gives her an extra jolt of energy she's going to need. Her back doesn't hurt—not even a faint twinge—and if it does, her brain isn't processing that pain, because inside her chest there's another kind of pain, far more intense, that she's also choosing to ignore because it cost her so much to get here. For her this isn't just the final of one of the most important tournaments in tennis—it's also her final with a sport that has been part of her for as long as she can remember, and her goodbye, for lack of a better word, to the woman on the other side of the net.

She hadn't expected to face Leire if she made it this far. Some part of her had assumed a divine force would spare her this match, but apparently her fate is to say a proper goodbye to Leire in the same place where she met her: a tennis court.

Kate walks out onto the court with a tight throat, waving to the crowd while she bites her lips to keep from falling apart before it even starts. She knows they're not cheering only for the excitement of the final—they're cheering to say goodbye to her too. She leaves her things at the bench and walks toward the net at the same time as Leire, who's already reaching a hand out before she arrives.

"Good luck," the Spanish woman says.

The handshake is firm and lasts a couple of seconds longer than it should. Kate feels the tingle from the contact travel up her whole arm and detonate in the pit of her stomach—something very close to what Leire is feeling too, and she watches her exhale sharply before they let go and turn to take their positions.

During the first game, Leire double-faults twice in a row, which surprises everyone given that her serve has always been one of her strongest weapons—but it doesn't surprise Kate. Her opponent's head is somewhere else entirely, unable to focus on the match without other thoughts pulling her away. It's never happened to her before, but her mind seems to have hit the limit of what it can hold. She can only keep track of that red ponytail moving on the other side of the net—and not to track her shots, but to watch her movements, every line of that body she won't see again.

Unlike Leire, Kate has managed to clear everything out of her head, letting herself push all the noise aside so she can play her last professional match at full capacity—savoring every movement, letting the crowd's roar raise the hair on her arms, drinking in every second of a match she knows she'll remember for the rest of her life. Her opponent is irrelevant, even if that opponent is Leire; she's barely aware of each clumsy error the Spanish woman makes. Kate is so locked in that she seems to know where the next ball is going to land before it even comes back.

Leire drops the first set almost without a fight. Her backhand—another one of her strengths—isn't doing her much good, because when she doesn't hit it long, the power she puts behind it isn't enough to make Kate work to get there.

Her concentration is so far gone that at one point during the second set she gets an easy ball—a short drop shot she just needs to nudge over the net; if she does, there's no way Kate can reach it. But instead of watching where she should and calculating the right amount of force and distance, her focus scatters, and in the last second she looks at her ex-lover instead of the ball, hitting it with so little power that it barely grazes her racket before bouncing on her own side.

There's no celebration for the absurd point Kate just won. She simply turns and walks back to the baseline to keep playing the same way, as if every decision she makes on the court is coming from the same place as the one to leave Leire—the one to stop living her life waiting for someone else to be brave enough to choose her. She deserves to be happy, and if it's not with Leire she'll have to find her own way to get there.

As she bounces the ball to serve, she thinks, with a quiet clarity that surprises her, that despite the pain it caused, she did the right thing. She feels light, as if her body is finally free of the invisible weight that had been pressing her feet into the ground and making it so hard to move forward.

She can see that the woman across the net isn't the best version of Leire—what she sees on the other side is a woman just trying to return the ball. She's winning easily in the match that should be the hardest of her life, but tennis isn't only physical; it's deeply mental, and in this final, Kate's mind is back where it belongs and she's unstoppable.

The last point—the one that gives her the win—comes from a serve so powerful that the ball flies past Leire before she can even move.

The stadium explodes and Kate stands frozen at the baseline, racket in hand, staring at the other side of the court as if she can't quite believe it. Then she lets the racket drop and brings both hands to her face, curling her body until she's crouching on the ground. The tears hit her all at once—not just from joy, but from the sadness of knowing she just played the last point of her career.

The crowd keeps chanting her name, over and over, until it shakes through her whole body. Making a tremendous effort, she manages to stand, wipes her face with her wristband, and starts walking toward the net.

Leire is already there, waiting for her—face just as wet with tears, and not because she lost the match, but because she knows she's lost her.

They meet in the center, and what should be a ten-second handshake and a quick congratulations turns into something else the moment their fingers touch. Kate feels the soft pull from Leire and lets her body move forward until they fold into each other's arms, like each of them has fallen into the other after being cut loose from the wire holding them up. They're both trembling when Kate breaks again, and now she doesn't even know why she's crying—only that she needs to keep going, and that Leire's hands on her back and the nape of her neck give her the calm she's been looking for, as if that's the only place she feels safe, and also the only one she can't have.

"Congratulations, baby," Leire whispers against her ear, her voice so broken that Kate hiccups harder when she hears it. "You deserve this, you played so well and—" she stops, unable to think straight. "I need to talk to you, Kate, please. Just that—just talk."

Kate pulls back just enough to look at her. Her eyes are red and swollen, and she wipes them with her palms before finding enough stillness to answer.

"I don't think there's anything left to say, Leire. This is my goodbye to all of this," she murmurs, glancing toward the stands, "and to you."

She gives her one last smile and turns to walk back to her side, finding refuge in a hug with Diane before continuing with the ceremony.

"It's okay, sweetheart," Diane says—she's crying too—and Kate nods through a smile.

The ceremony is a blur for Leire. She picks up her runner-up trophy and holds it for the photo without really seeing it. When the microphone is brought to her so she can say a few words, all she manages is to thank the crowd and her team in a voice that doesn't feel like her own, because the only thing in her head is Kate's last sentence, lodged in the center of her heart like a splinter. She steps aside and lets Kate through, feeling a countdown start inside her—one that is pulling her away from this woman forever, and it terrifies her more with every second.

Kate lifts the trophy and raises it first to the crowd, then to Diane, who has been her greatest pillar in getting here. The stadium roars and gradually falls quiet as the microphone is brought to her. She looks at it like it might bite her.