Love. Set. Match.

by Taylor Lunsford

  “That doesn’t mean you should run this story. Why should this network continue to be on the level of tabloids and gossip blogs? We should be better than that. Set a better example for our contemporaries. Maybe then the top athletes wouldn’t avoid us like the plague.”

  “Please. If this story were about anyone else, you wouldn’t give a damn,” Bruno said. “This conversation is ridiculous. The news director already approved it to air. All I wanted was a comment from you.”

  Rob struggled to breathe. He wanted to scream or punch something or kick a hole in the wall. The train was barreling toward the cliff, and there was nothing he could do to stop it. Only one thing came to his mind.

  “Here’s my comment. If you run this story, I quit.” He straightened.

  Peter’s eyes narrowed, and he leaned forward in his chair. “Be careful, Ashton. You don’t want to say something in the heat of the moment you’ll regret later.”

  “I am being careful,” Rob said. “If you want to air invasive stories that have the potential to cause serious harm to someone, then I don’t want to be a part of it. And before you try to spin this, even if Emerson weren’t someone I care about, I would still take this stance given the stalker. Never mind the fact that this story is no one’s business but mine and Ms. Grace’s.”

  Tension crackled in the air, reminding Rob of a tennis match before the first serve was made. The moment where the outcome was uncertain, where two combatants faced off to see who would have the upper hand. Rob waited, hoping Peter and Joey would take the chance to rein in Bruno before he took things down a path Rob didn’t want to travel.

  “I’m sorry, Rob. We can’t pass this up. Our numbers need the boost, or the execs are going to start beating the war drums. If they were to find out we had this story but let someone else break it—especially after almost losing the exclusive on the stalker news—we’d be out on our ears and blackballed,” Joey said. “Bruno, you need to get to the studio. You won’t mention any of this in the broadcast. Say that Rob refused to comment.”

  The big man left without a word, but the cloud of smugness he left behind choked Rob.

  He glared at the people seated at the table. “You do realize what you’ve done, don’t you? No tennis player is going to trust this network. It’s not just me or Emerson. It’ll be everyone. They already hate Bruno. Running this story, where he violated my and Emerson’s privacy, simply cemented it. If something happens to Em because of this story? You’ll never get an exclusive with any of the top players again.”

  “Is that a threat?” Joey challenged.

  “No. Consider this my exit interview,” Rob said, struggling to keep his tone level. “Free advice if you will. Bruno’s just alienated a lot of important people, and your tennis coverage is going to suffer because of it. It’s simply a fact. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go pack up my things and be on my way.”

  Rob stormed out of the conference room, temper blazing. He was back in his office before his brain caught up to him. Tossing his belongings into a box, he dug out his phone and pushed the first number he came to.

  “Oh, it’s me.” He grabbed a picture of him and Maren, setting it in the box. “We’ve got a problem.”

  By the time he finished the story, Owen’s voice echoed through the room, cursing up a blue streak. “Fucking hell. This isn’t good.”

  “Understatement of the decade.” Rob collapsed in his desk chair. “You need to sound the alarm. Let the detective know, let Em know, and more importantly, you need to let the security firm know. The vultures are going to swarm, and no matter what Em says, you need to have them at the house.”

  Owen groaned. “Right. Shit. Thanks for the heads-up, man. You didn’t have to.”

  “Yes, I did. She matters. So much,” Rob said.

  “I know.” Owen ended the call, leaving a lot unsaid, but Rob could sense what his friend was thinking.

  His heart clenched. He didn’t want to think about what this meant for his chances with Em. He couldn’t begin to think that they were over for good. He’d waited so long, but after today, he could feel everything he’d hoped for slipping away from him in a way he hadn’t felt, even when Em kicked him out of her flat in London.

  ****

  Em sat on her couch, staring at the TV screen, shell-shocked. She hadn’t believed it when Owen called three days ago to tell her that Bruno had snuck around and found out about her and Rob. The media frenzy had been almost immediate. It came at her from all sides. There was still a flock of photographers camped outside her house, and more were staking out the practice courts.

  All she wanted to do was hide from the world. She’d ended things with Rob so she could focus and eliminate the risk of discovery—to avoid this exact situation. Now she didn’t have him, and she was alone in the storm. Her grandma and Owen tried to make things easier where they could; her grandparents had even offered to let her come and stay with them, but she refused. This was her own mess, and she couldn’t bear the thought of them being caught up in another public scandal that was caused by her. She’d have to ride this one out on her own.

  A knock echoed through the empty house, and Em’s phone started to vibrate. Dera’s face smiled up at her from the display, and she immediately answered.

  “Hey, Dera.”

  “Open the door, cherie, before these vultures pick my bones clean,” Dera said cheerfully.

  Em got to her feet. “What? What are you doing here?”

  “Open the door, and I’ll tell you.”

  Jogging to the door, she opened it cautiously. To her surprise, the reporters were standing on the curb, and Dera was alone on her porch. She tugged her friend into the house before throwing her arms around the taller French woman. Dera’s arms closed around her immediately, the bag dangling from her hands hitting Em’s back softly.

  “I can’t believe you’re here. You should be at home practicing.” Em gave her friend a final squeeze before pulling back.

  “I was here for an event with my charity, and I couldn’t leave you on your own. And I brought vodka to help keep us company.”

  Em’s eyes teared up a little. She hadn’t expected to see anyone tonight, let alone have her best friend show up with exactly what she needed—a lot of alcohol. “You shouldn’t have.”

  “Cherie, I should have been here two days ago. I can’t believe this is happening.” Dera led the way into the living room, pulling two bottles of vodka out of the bag and setting them on the coffee table.

  “It’s…a nightmare. I thought I was through with all of this. Now it’s ten times worse.” Em collapsed on the couch, letting her legging-clad limbs flop onto the footstool she’d pulled up to the couch.

  Dera snorted. “I can’t believe the audacity of that bastard Bruno. It takes a lot of balls to dig into someone’s life that way, especially when that someone is your colleague.”

  “This was exactly what I was afraid of, D. I didn’t want to get into this—this thing with Rob, because I didn’t want this to happen.” She grabbed the vodka closest to her and opened it, then took a swig straight from the bottle.

  Dera went to the kitchen and came back with two large glasses. She took the bottle from Em and poured until the tumblers were half full. “It’s called a relationship, darling. I realize you didn’t want to think of it that way, but it was. You need to accept that.”

  “Relationship, affair, whatever you want to call it, it shouldn’t have happened.” She bolted down some more vodka, enjoying the sting of the alcohol as it slid down her throat to fill the hollows inside of her.

  Dera studied her, gold-brown eyes serious as she sipped her own drink. “Before you broke up with him, I thought Rob might be the best thing to come out of the last year.”

  Sniffing, Em burrowed deeper into the sofa. She’d thought the same thing, so many times over the last few months. As scared as she’d been that someone would discover them, she’d been content, even happy with Rob. All the fire and passion, mingled with
the cozy familiarity, the sense of rightness that came any time they were together. Now it tore at her heart to think of it.

  “God. It’s been a seriously sucky year, hasn’t it?” Em slugged back more vodka, staring at the muted TV. Thankfully, they’d moved on from her and Rob, and they were talking about pre-season football training or something. She couldn’t tell.

  “Oui, I suppose. Your grandmother’s illness was a terrible blow, to be sure, especially after your Papa Vic.” Dera made a very French gesture, stretching her long legs out, her short shorts riding up. “That nonsense with Kole—abysmally unfortunate. I still want to wring his neck every time I see him.”

  Em shook her head, sipping her vodka. “He’s apologized for the photos, and I’ve forgiven him. Mostly. Okay, not really, but I’m on my way toward forgiveness. As shitty as it was, all of that was a series of bad shit piling up at once.”

  “He still should have called his press team off. They fanned the flames. He has a shark for a publicist, and it’s not going to do him any favors in the long run.”

  Em smiled at her friend. Dera’s loyalty went bone deep. She didn’t let people get too close, but once someone was in, they were in. She never wavered in her support, and she’d fight tooth and nail to protect her people. It felt so good to have that kind of support now.

  “You’re right. But that’s a lesson he’ll have to learn on his own.” She gulped down more vodka, pulling her knees to her chest. “Just like I’ll have to learn that celebrity and relationships don’t mix, at least not for me.”

  “Oh, Emmy.” Dera reached out and squeezed Em’s hand. “I know this has been hard for you. I can’t imagine going through what you went through, let alone trusting someone after all the shit your father’s done. But you can’t write off relationships forever.”

  Em pulled her hand away from her friend, curling tighter into herself. Dera didn’t know what it was like. She’d grown up with both of her parents. They’d loved and spoiled her, taking her with them everywhere. They still talked three or four times a week, and they all went out of their way to visit each other. She never had to ask herself why her father never stayed, why he put a job ahead of her every chance he got. She didn’t know what it was like to see another man put his career before her. She hadn’t had to see her private life blasted all over the Internet and newspapers and social media after seven years of not trusting a man.

  “The hell I can’t. I don’t exactly have a lot of opportunities to meet a guy who isn’t part of the tennis scene. Even if I do, how would I find a guy who could look past those damn pictures even if he does get over the fact that I’m a professional athlete?” Em stared at her hands. “I certainly can’t date someone associated with tennis again. It’s a disaster. If we’re not being followed around by awful photographers, we’re having to sneak around, avoiding the photographers and keeping everything so secret that it feels like we might suffocate.”

  She’d been the one to suggest the secrecy with Rob, and it’d made sense at the time, but now it felt so futile.

  “Besides. Men are a distraction I can’t afford right now. It’s my year, remember? The year I’m supposed to win a Grand Slam, and I only have one more chance.”

  Dera didn’t say anything then. They both sat there drinking for a few long moments before Dera switched the subject. They argued about who had better movies, the Americans or the French. After a heated argument about whether escargot was disgusting or delicious, they briefly considered ordering a pizza before dismissing the idea and downing more vodka.

  As the evening went on, Em’s body went blessedly numb and her head pleasantly swimmy. “I can’t remember the last time I drank this much,” she mused, staring at the now empty vodka bottle. “I didn’t drink this much when Kole and I broke up, did I?”

  Dera shook her head, unable to lift it off the back of the couch where it rested. “Nope. You kicked him to the curb, remember? We had a few girl-power drinks, but no getting drunk.”

  Em frowned, her thoughts floating around, unable to settle on the single thought she wanted for a moment. Then it came to her. “But I kicked Rob to the curb. So why are we drunk?”

  “Because you were stupid to break up with him.” Dera immediately clapped a hand over her mouth, giggling hysterically. “Oops. I did not mean to say that.”

  Blinking at her friend, Em tried to make sense of it all. “But he was—he was distracting me. I’m supposed to win big. Gotta make my grandparents proud. Show my dad he’s a dummy for thinking I should be something boring like an accountant.”

  “Maybe it’s not Rob.” Dera blew out a long breath. “Maybe it was the sneaking around and the secrets that have gotten in your way.”

  “What d’you mean? Without the sneaking, we would have been in this mess sooner.” She gestured toward the front door, the only thing keeping them from the horde of photographers.

  Dera snorted. “Maybe. But it wouldn’t have been this bad. They would have made a fuss for a week or two, then you could have gone about being a normal couple. It’s the secrets, though. They’re what drag you down, distracting you from your goals.”

  “How would you know?” Em scoffed, setting her empty glass aside.

  “Because I’ve been there, Emmy.” Dera’s eyes grew heartbreakingly sad. “Keeping your private life secret tears at you a bit more each day until you’re in shreds.”

  Her words cut through the haze of alcohol. She liked to be flippant about her personal life, but Em knew there was a lot her friend kept locked away behind her free-spirited facade.

  “What happened to you, D?” Em asked quietly.

  For a long while, Dera didn’t speak; she stared into space, her jaw flexing and her breathing labored.

  “I dated someone. Recently. Well, it’s been almost a year, I suppose.” She swigged down some more vodka. “We kept things quiet because she asked me to, and it tore us apart.”

  Em’s heart twisted. “What happened, D? Who was she?”

  “She…I can’t tell you who she is. She’s still pretty deep in the closet. She’s not on the tennis scene, so seeing each other was difficult, but we managed it.” Dera shifted, curling more tightly into herself, tumbler dangling loosely from her fingers. “She’d fly in to wherever I was playing, using business as an excuse, or I’d go see her when I could get away. Since no one knew she was interested in women, it was a little easier for us than it probably was for you and Rob, but merde, Emmy. I wanted to shout from the rooftops that she was mine. I wanted to take her dancing and kiss her whenever I felt like it. But she…she wouldn’t let me.”

  “Why?” Em reached to rub her friend’s arm, doing what she could to reassure her.

  Dera shrugged, her features twisting into a very French look filled with bittersweet remorse. “Her parents. Her friends. Her job. What the world might say. Je ne sais pas. Mostly? I think she was scared to admit who she was. Who she could be. And to a certain extent, I think she wanted to keep a buffer between us. I was merely a fantasy to her. A youthful indulgence she allowed herself before she took her place as a proper wife to some blue-blooded American millionaire.”

  “Oh, Dera. I’m so sorry.” Em moved to wrap an arm around her friend, tears burning her own eyes. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  Dera leaned her head against Em’s shoulder, tears streaming down her brown cheeks. “It all happened while your grandpa was sick, and I didn’t want to burden you. Besides, I—I was ashamed of myself.”

  “What? Why would you be ashamed?” Em knew that Dera had struggled with her sexuality when they first stepped on the tour, but she’d long since become confident and comfortable with the fact that she was attracted to both men and women.

  “Because I let myself be her dirty secret. I didn’t even tell my parents about her. I think that’s what eventually broke me. None of the people who mattered, who’d supported me for so long, knew that I was falling in love.” Brushing at her cheeks, she straightened a little, pulling away to look at E
m.

  “You are the sister of my heart, Emmy, but I think you’ve been stupid when it comes to Rob. Keeping your relationship a secret has done you both more harm than good. Look at you—my beautiful, kickass friend—turning yourself inside out because of a man you could have easily had.”

  A lump grew in Em’s throat, and she drank more vodka to try to push it back down. Hearing how badly her friend had been affected by her lover’s need for secrecy only made Em’s guilt worse. She’d thought keeping things secret was best for both her and Rob—but what if she was wrong? Their situation was different. They didn’t have the same stigmas to worry about—at least not to the same degree. Her background had always been there between them, but in this day and age, it wouldn’t break them as it might have thirty or forty years ago. But they would still be the target for more attention than Em ever wanted off the tennis court. So she pushed him away.

  “I could have had him—I did have him. But I didn’t deserve him, Dera. I—we’re not meant to be together,” she croaked.

  “Bullshit. You two were perfect together,” Dera retorted. “I love you, and I’m all about being a supportive friend, but anyone with half a brain could see how you and Rob are together.”

  Perfect. God, she hated that word. That’s what she’d tried to be for so long. The perfect daughter. The perfect granddaughter. The perfect tennis player. The perfect girlfriend. That last one had been what got her into this mess in the first place. Amir had convinced her that she and Kole would be perfect together, and now look at the mess her life had become.

  “I’m not, though. Look at the mess I’ve gotten us into. I’m not perfect for anyone, Dera. Rob should be with someone who isn’t such a train wreck, who his family actually likes.”

  “Like who?” Dera demanded. “Who on earth do you think would make him as happy as he’s been with you?”

  Em took another big gulp of vodka, wishing that it still numbed the pain wrenching through her at the thought of Rob with anyone else. “Carrie Webster. You. Anyone who doesn’t come with a seven-forty-seven full of baggage and a bad reputation to boot.”