Love. Set. Match.

by Taylor Lunsford

  “Me? Carrie Webster?” Dera burst out laughing. “Carrie Webster would bore him to tears within a day, especially after almost six months of dating you. And while he’s a very charming, attractive man, Rob and I could never be more than friends. It’s you he wants.”

  Em didn’t speak for several beats. The words bubbled inside her, threatening to spill out. God, why couldn’t they get wasted and laugh hysterically like those girls in the movies and talk about how awful her ex was? It would be so much easier than this.

  “I want him too, Dera. But I can’t have him.”

  Dera set her drink down. “Why the hell not?”

  “Because he left me once before. Seven years ago, he let his dad talk him into breaking up with me, and, and—”

  “And deep down you can’t bring yourself to trust him.” Dera sighed, flopping her head against the back of the couch.

  Em slowly nodded, reaching to pour herself some more vodka. “It’s not just that. I—he’s a distraction. His dad was right back then. And now I’ve given up my chance with him. It doesn’t matter if everyone knows about us. I need to move on. I need to move on and fix myself, and maybe someday I won’t be such a mess anymore.”

  “Oh, cherie. You’re not a mess. You’re human. And you should be with the man who appreciates you for who you are.”

  “It doesn’t matter!” Em’s voice grew louder than she’d intended as the hollowness inside threatened to consume her. “I can’t look back. I can only look forward. I need to focus on my career, not on what I’ve given up.”

  It was the only way she’d survive. Even through the haze of alcohol, she knew she couldn’t keep wishing she’d done something differently. All she could do was ignore all the outside bullshit and make sure she was in the best shape of her life going into the US Open. She’d worry about the rest of it later.

  Chapter 18

  “Oh, so now you’re unemployed you find you have time for your mother?”

  Rob rolled his eyes, leaning down to kiss his mother’s cheek. “I always have time for you, Mama. You know that. I just have more of it now.”

  “Oh, Älskling. It’s so good to see you.” Brigit’s hug eased some of the pain that pounded at Rob since the end of Wimbledon. “You’re too thin, though. And you haven’t been getting enough sleep.”

  Rob followed his mother into the house, setting his duffle bag down by the door. She was wearing a bright-green tennis dress, her long hair pulled back in a sleek tail, a visor shading her face.

  “I’m fine. Don’t fuss. Did I catch you at a bad time?”

  “Not at all. You caught me at the perfect time.” She studied him. “Your father had to go out of town unexpectedly, and I need some help at the academy today. Did you bring workout clothes with you?”

  He narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “Yeah. Why?”

  “You’re going to help me teach a clinic we’re hosting today. Go. Hurry and change. We need to leave in five minutes.”

  He opened his mouth to argue, but his mother didn’t give him the chance. Before he knew what had happened, she had him standing in front of a group of short people, a tennis racket in hand.

  “Mr. Rob! When are we going to get to play?” one of the bigger kids asked. She couldn’t have been more than nine, but she was scrawny as hell, and her eyes said she’d seen more than her fair share of sorrow in her short life.

  All the kids were part of the Miami foster care system. Some of them lived in group homes, but others lived with foster families. They all came to the Ashton Academy as part of an outreach program his mother had launched a few years ago.

  “Well, let’s see. Does everyone have their rackets?” Rob looked around, knowing full well they did. He’d helped his mom hand them out as the kids arrived and were checked in by the harried-looking social workers assigned to chaperone.

  “Yes, sir!” the kids shouted, wiggling with anticipation.

  “Does everyone have a tennis ball?”

  “Yes, sir!”

  “Okay. Let’s get started.”

  He sectioned them out by age, letting the older ones who had been here before go meet his mom on one of the far courts, while he stuck with the littler guys.

  None of them were very skilled, but they all had a boundless energy he envied. An hour into the clinic, and he was wiped.

  “Good job, Ivy. But I want you to try holding the racket like this.” He repositioned the little girl’s hand on the racket grip, smiling at the intense concentration furrowing her brows. Her dark braids and fierceness reminded him of what Dera Calvet must have looked like when she was six or so.

  The little girl took a swing and bounced on the toes of her worn sneakers when the ball bounced over the low-slung net. “I did it! I did it, Mr. Rob! Did you see?”

  The sense of pride that washed over him surprised him. He’d never expected to feel this way again. Since his surgery, he’d written off any hope of feeling this level of accomplishment again, like he’d done something worthwhile. He’d enjoyed his job at TWW—at least he thought he had—but it hadn’t satisfied that deep part of him like playing tennis had.

  “I saw. That was great. Before you know it, you’ll be up forty to love at Wimbledon,” Rob said. “Okay, Juan. Let’s see what you’ve got.”

  He turned his attention to the seven-year-old boy who was next in line, chuckling at his enthusiastic “practice” swings that had him spinning in circles from the force of them.

  He helped the boy adjust his arm placement, showing how to move so that the ball came into contact with the racket at the right time, in the right spot. They were cheating a little, using a bounce serve instead of an overhead, but with how little they were, their arms wouldn’t reach high enough.

  “All right, Denny. I want you and Juan to stand on the two white lines and practice hitting the ball to each other. Ivy and Sally, you stand here and practice.” He set each pair up seven or eight feet apart, giving them room to swing their rackets and hit back and forth a bit.

  Leaning against the fence, Rob watched them for a minute. They made up for any lack of skill with their determination. He went and corrected a few of them before he went back to his post.

  “How’s it going over here?” his mother asked, coming to lean beside him.

  “Pretty well. They’re hard workers.”

  “Did you see, Mr. Rob? Did you see? We hit it five whole times before it stopped,” Ivy cried.

  He nodded, smiling at the girls. “You did great, shorty. Try going for six this time.”

  When he looked over at his mother, the smile on her face almost blinded him.

  “What’s got you grinning like the Cheshire cat?”

  She shrugged. “Can’t a mother enjoy being right about her child?”

  He frowned at her. “What? What are you right about this time?”

  “You. This. You’re meant to do this,” Brigit said.

  “To do what? Ride herd on munchkins?” He didn’t know what he was meant to do anymore. He didn’t regret leaving TWW for a second, especially not after the media frenzy set in, but he was at loose ends. Hiding in his apartment brought him back to those awful days after his surgery. He’d gone to visit Maren and Cruz in California for a few days, but once the photographers found him, it was time to move on. Besides, he’d needed this. His mother managed to soothe a lot of his hurts, even though she hadn’t been there to do so when he was little.

  “No. Coach. Teach. You’ve always had a knack for it. Ever since Maren was little,” Brigit said. “You’re great with kids especially. Much more patient than your father. He has a tendency to become a bit…”

  “Intense?” he supplied. “I remember. He and Gramps almost came to blows a few times when Dad tried to teach me.”

  She giggled. “I recall that as well. Your father’s excellent for our teenage students who are more serious about the game, but he doesn’t do so well with the little ones.”

  “They need some encouragement and a smile.” He winke
d at Juan as he did a victory dance for hitting the ball past his partner.

  “Älskling. It’s so much more than that. It takes someone special to work with the children. We need someone like you here, Rob. You’re a brilliant coach, with such a warm heart, and you could be such an asset to this program.”

  Here. His mother wanted him to teach here? With her and his dad? Rob almost immediately rejected the idea. Working alongside his father would lead to World War III or worse. Then his attention returned to the kids, and he hesitated. They all beamed with pride as their skills started to develop, and it gave him another little kick of satisfaction.

  “I don’t know, Mama. Being here with Dad? It doesn’t sound like the best idea.” His jaw tightened when another thought occurred to him. “And I don’t know that I can stay here, so close to Em—not when things are so messed up between us.”

  He didn’t wait for his mother to respond. Pushing down the pain that hit him every time he thought of Em, he returned his attention to the kids. They continued practicing for another hour or so before the chaperones rounded up the worn-out kids and loaded them into the worn-down vans. Rob waved them off, smiling at the little faces pressed against the windows.

  “Are you happy, min son?” Brigit asked as they repacked the kids’ rackets.

  The question blindsided Rob. He froze, unsure of how to respond. If she’d asked him three weeks ago, he might have said yes. Even though they’d been keeping their relationship off the radar, he’d had Em and there was hope for something more. He’d had a job that he thought he could stick with long term, and he was able to do something to help his friends and make sure the sport remained the focus instead of their personal lives.

  Now all of that was gone. He had his family—such as it was—and a few friends, but he’d lost his job, and more importantly, he’d lost Em. Or rather she’d left him.

  “How can I be happy? My life’s gone to shit—again—only this time I don’t even have the hope of getting Em back,” Rob said, his voice rough.

  “Are you sure about that?” Brigit asked, closing the plastic bin that housed the rackets.

  He snorted. “Pretty sure. She kicked me out, refused to answer my calls, and now the whole world is watching us, which proves her point. No matter how much I care about her, how much I want to be with her, she’ll only see me as a distraction.”

  “A distraction?” She frowned. “How could you be a distraction? You love her, yes?”

  “Of course, I do. I told her as much, but it didn’t matter.” His heart still ached at the memory of that night in London.

  She bent to pick up the ball basket. “But love isn’t a distraction. Real love could never be a distraction. It’s strength. Protection. Comfort. Hope.”

  He thought so too, but Em…she couldn’t see that. “Maybe she doesn’t love me, Mama. Or maybe it’s not me that’s the distraction. Maybe it’s all the baggage that comes with me. I—I don’t think I realized how much I hurt her when I ended things with her all those years ago. I was stupid to let Dad persuade me to break up with her, to leave her there, waiting for me to show up. I don’t know that I blame her for pushing me aside. I put my career before her last time; now it’s her turn, I guess.”

  Her lips pursed, and he could hear the wheels turning in her head. His father might bluster and roar, but his mother was the one with the real temper in the family. It took a lot to chip at the ice around it, but once she let lose, his mother could burn down the road.

  “I love your father. He’s been the center of my world for so long, but sometimes he is a jackass.” She slammed the ball basket down on a loose ball, scooping it up and moving to the next one. “He should never have interfered with your relationship. I told him so back then, but he thought he knew best.”

  “Dad always thinks he knows best,” he muttered. “Did you know he told Carrie Webster to call me last week? He fed her some line about me saying I’d wanted to get in touch with her.”

  Huffing, she collapsed on the nearby bench. “That man. If I hadn’t lost my heart to him thirty-five years ago, I might strangle him. He’s had it in his head for years that you and Carrie belong together.”

  He joined her on the bench. “Believe me, I know. Carrie’s a nice woman, but she’s not…”

  “She’s not your Emerson.” His mother linked her arm with his. “I understand, min son. My parents weren’t too fond of your father, either. Not at first. But they saw how much he cared for me, and they grew used to having a brash American around.”

  Chuckling, he looked out over the court. He enjoyed this, being here with his mother. He’d missed so much time with her growing up, but they’d always shared this love of tennis.

  He studied his mother, realization only beginning to dawn on him. His mother had been his rock over the last eighteen months, but she’d had his back for a lot longer than that. Brigit Ashton’s backbone of steel was the secret of his parents’ marriage. She’d given up so much for their family, but she always made the best of it, finding her own place in the whirlwind that surrounded their family.

  “Are you happy, Mama?” he asked. “Do you ever wish you’d put your career first?”

  She reached up and brushed his hair off his forehead. “I have a talented, beautiful daughter, a charming and handsome son, a husband who for all of his bluster loves me to the moon and back, and I have this academy. I couldn’t be happier. Playing tennis professionally was a wonderful part of my life, but this, what I have here? It’s so much more fulfilling. The roar of the crowds, the thrills of the win, all of that faded once I fell in love with your father and realized my place was with him.”

  He nodded. “What would you have done if you were in my position? Would you have let Dad walk away?”

  “Never. And your father wouldn’t have let me walk away either.” She tightened her arm around his. “When you love someone, you fight for them no matter what. You respect their need for space and for time apart, but you don’t give up. You’re an Ashton; it’s not in your blood to give up, especially when it counts.”

  When it counts.

  Em counted. Being with her meant everything to him. But he needed more than his love for her. Maybe his mom had a point about coaching. He didn’t think his shoulder would let him coach at a professional level, but he could do what he’d done today. He could foster the love of tennis in the way his grandpa had done for him, the way Zoe did for Em. If things went well, he could even look at expanding the program. Even if he lost Em, it might be enough for him.

  Losing her wasn’t an option, though. He’d give her time and space, but at the end of it all, he wanted her sitting here beside him, sharing in the peace and quiet after a day spent doing a job that made a difference.

  Chapter 19

  Rob moved through the crowds at the Billie Jean King National Tennis Center, tugging his hat farther down until the brim met the top of the sunglasses. The beard he’d spent the last two weeks growing itched in the late-summer heat as the New York sun beat down on his back, but he didn’t mind it.

  What he minded was the torrent of memories flying at him. The last time he’d set foot in this place was the day his life changed forever. When he first took the job at TWW, he’d dreaded this tournament and the memories it brought back. His shoulder twinged a little at the thought of his last game here—or maybe it was the training session he’d had yesterday with five eight-year-olds from the Ashton Foundation. His mother had insisted he get in one last session before he came up to New York for two weeks. He didn’t mind the small twinges that came with his new job. He finally felt accomplished, like he was doing something satisfying again.

  “Rob? Is that you?”

  He froze for a second, before relaxing when his mind recognized the lightly accented voice of his best friend. Cruz stood off to one side, his tennis bag resting on a bench behind him. Thankfully, he wasn’t surrounded by the entourage that usually followed him around during tournaments.

  Rob hurried over to
his friend, clapping him on the back. “Good to see you, man.”

  Cruz flicked the brim of the hat. “What’s with the lumberjack routine? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you go more than a few days without shaving.”

  “Trying to blend in.” Glancing around nervously, he adjusted his hat again. “The last thing I need is every reporter in the place following me around everywhere.”

  The Spaniard raised an eyebrow. “Since when does press attention bother you? They used to follow you everywhere except the toilet.”

  “I’m not here as Rob Ashton, former tennis star. I’m here as Rob Ashton, supportive big brother.” He shoved his hands into the pockets of his pale-blue Bermuda shorts, keeping his eyes down toward his boat shoes so as not to catch anyone else’s attention.

  “And supportive boyfriend?” Cruz prodded.

  Cheeks burning, he shrugged. “If you’re asking am I here to watch Em’s matches, then the answer is yes. But I don’t want anyone to know. The press has just started to lay off both of us, and I don’t want to give them anything more to work with. She wants to focus on her game, so I’m letting her focus on her game.”

  Cruz let out a low whistle, motioning for Rob to follow him through the crowd. “You’re really here to support her after she broke up with you?”

  In his darker moments, he’d asked himself the same thing. After breaking up with him, after what she’d said, he shouldn’t still want her. His heart should be ripped to shreds, but he couldn’t give up hope. Not yet. “Em’s been through a lot over the last year. She’s pushed me away because she’s fixated on winning a Grand Slam this year. I can’t—I can’t give up on her until all the craziness dies down, and we have a real chance to talk. And until then, I want to be there for her, even if she doesn’t know I’m there.”

  “Amor. Dios save me if I ever lose my head over a woman the way you have,” Cruz scoffed, keeping to the sides of the crowd so as not to draw too much attention.