Love. Set. Match.

by Taylor Lunsford

  Bobby glared at his son. “You really wanted her here? She’s the reason you’re in that hospital bed. There were security guards everywhere, Robert. Why the hell didn’t you let them do their jobs?”

  “If it were Mama, would you have sat back and trusted a bunch of strangers to protect her from a guy you knew was trying to hurt her?” Rob asked.

  “You’re really going to compare that woman to your mother?” Bobby scoffed.

  “Enough, Bobby.” Brigit’s icy words had both Ashton men flinching. “Do not presume to know your son’s mind or his heart.”

  “He doesn’t know what’s best for him, sweetheart. Look at him. He’s in the hospital because of that girl.” Bobby began to pace. “Our son could have died because of her.”

  Rob slammed his fist onto the tray table, the flimsy plastic clattering and almost tipping over. “I would have died if something happened to her. Don’t you get it? I don’t want someone like Carrie and Chessa or whoever you want to throw at me. She’s it for me. You’re not going to change my mind again. I’m not some dumb kid anymore. When are you going to understand that?”

  Bobby continued to bluster, but Rob was distracted by the entrance of a nurse.

  “I’m sorry to interrupt, Mr. Ashton, but this was left at the front desk for you.” She handed him a sheet of paper, her eyes wide at his father’s ranting.

  “Thanks.” Rob gave her a reassuring smile before letting her escape. He opened the folded sheet of hospital stationery, his heart leaping when he recognized Em’s handwriting.

  Rob,

  I can’t tell you what I felt when I saw you get stabbed. My heart shattered into a million pieces a hundred times over until you were moved into your hospital room. I only hope I’m not too late to tell you the truth about how I feel. I’ve been so stupid ever since you sat down on that plane beside me. I let years of pain and bitterness cloud my judgement, and I fought too hard to keep my walls in place. You hurt me when you listened to your father that day, when you let me go—you broke me, and that feeling has haunted me every day since.

  I didn’t want to trust you, to let you in and share my life with you after everything I’d been through with you, with my dad, with Kole, but there you were, so steady and sure and constant. I began to realize that maybe last time timing or the universe hadn’t been on our side, but they could be now. You made me feel again, and that scared me. A lot.

  So I was selfish. I pushed you away, and I’ve regretted it every day since I left London. I wanted to call you so many times, but I let my pride get in the way. Again.

  Seeing you, bleeding in my arms, was the worst moment of my life.

  I don’t deserve to be with a man as wonderful as you, but I can’t stop my heart from wanting you. I wish I could have stayed by your side until you woke, and stay there now, but I have to finish what I started. The second I can get away, I’ll be back. I’m going to fight for us this time.

  I only hope you’ll be mine as I am yours,

  Em.

  He read the note again. And again. And again.

  “Robby, what is it?” Brigit asked.

  He struggled with what to say, his mind racing. Staying in this bed was not an option. Missing Em’s win tonight was not an option. “I have to get out of here.”

  “What?” Bobby looked at him as if he had two heads. “You had surgery two days ago. You can’t go anywhere.”

  Glancing between his mom and his sister, Rob pleaded with them. “I have to get out of here. I can’t stay here and miss it.”

  “Miss what?” Bobby demanded.

  “Dad. The woman I love is playing in the US Open finals tonight, and she’s going to win.” He pushed himself into an upright position without the support of the bed. The twinge in his side wasn’t as bad as what he’d felt after his shoulder surgery. “I can’t not be there.”

  Maren pressed a hand to her lips as she squealed with delight. “You’re going to get her back?”

  “I think I already have her,” he said, holding up the note. “But I need to be there tonight. Mama, will you help me?”

  Brigit’s eyes shone with tears, and her smile was warm enough to melt Bobby Ashton to mush. “Of course. Let’s find that doctor. We only have a few hours to convince him to let you out of here. We can’t miss my future daughter-in-law’s first Grand Slam victory of many.”

  Chapter 21

  Em wiped at the sweat sneaking past the band of her visor. They’d barely been on the court for twenty minutes, but already the early September heat had her dripping. The sun crept low in the early evening sky. Around her, the crowd quietly buzzed, waiting for her to set up her next serve.

  Two games in, and they were tied. She’d struggled during the last game a bit, letting Chessa get a few points she should have won, but she couldn’t let that get in her head. She needed to focus. Chessa was a wily player, unpredictable and deadly, but Em was determined to beat her this time. She’d done it before, but never on this scale. Chessa led their matchups, sixteen to six, but half her victories were on clay. On hard courts, Chessa had won five to Em’s three. Not great odds, but not terrible either.

  Out of the corner of her eye, Em saw movement coming from the direction of her box. Turning, she watched as her grandma and brother and Zoe moved over to allow a group to join them.

  Rob.

  All at once, worry and jubilation crashed over her. What was he doing here? He should be in the hospital. While he looked normal, she caught the wince of pain as he eased into one of the seats. His skin wasn’t as pale as it’d been when she saw him earlier that morning, but he still shouldn’t be here.

  She still hadn’t recovered from seeing him laid out on the hospital bed, unconscious, hooked up to a dozen different machines, nurses bustling in and out all day. The fear of losing him gripped her and hadn’t let go until she came by his hospital room that morning and saw him awake.

  Had he read her note? Was that why he was here? God, she hoped so.

  Pushing down her worry, she zeroed in on the fact that he was here. Right now, every person in the world who mattered was here to watch her, to support her. Tennis might be an individual sport, but today she wasn’t alone. The thought overwhelmed her at the same time it filled her with a renewed sense of purpose.

  Winning today wasn’t just about her or about proving something to her father. Winning was about showing the people who supported her that their support did more for her than anything. They’d all been there for her over the last year, seeing her through the worst days of her life. Even though Papa Vic was gone and her dad couldn’t care less. Gran, Owen, Zoe, Maren, Dera, and Rob—they all stood at her back, cheering her on even when she couldn’t cheer for herself.

  Turning her attention back to the game, she bounced the ball on the vivid blue surface of the court. Across the net, Chessa crouched, ready to spring into action as soon as Em let her serve fly, her bright-red skirt and top a taunt in the otherworldly quiet of the stadium. Tossing the ball in the air, Em brought her racket crashing down on it, sending it hurtling over the net. It hit with perfect precision, firmly kissing the corner of the service box farthest from Chessa’s racket, without any chance for the Croatian player to return it.

  The crowd cheered as the umpire boomed out the score of fifteen to love. Some of the nerves tightening Em’s muscles left, and she settled in, pulling another tennis ball out of her pocket to prepare for her next serve. This one Chessa managed to return, but Em won the point after a handful of returns. Before long, Em won the game without Chessa scoring a single point.

  After a short break, it was Chessa’s turn. Em studied her every move, watching for telegraphed signs of where the blonde would send her first serve. Barely waiting for the echoing thunk of Chessa’s racket making contact with the ball, Em bounced off the balls of her feet, easily moving to meet the fluorescent green projectile and send it back across the net. This game cost a bit more effort than the last, but Em kept pace with Chessa until the umpire announ
ced “Deuce”—she’d managed to tie up the score forty to forty.

  Both of them scrapped for the next point, but Em won the advantage. Break point. If she won this, she’d be two games ahead of Chessa going into her next service game—a comfortable place to be. She couldn’t let up. Chessa’s serve was wicked fast, but Em was ready for her. Using her backhand, she sent the ball hurtling across the court to the opposite side from where Chessa currently stood. Long legs ate up a lot of ground, though, and the ball came flying back toward Em. She beat it back again and again until she managed a passing shot that won her the point and the game.

  The crowd roared, and Em looked over in her box to see the beaming expressions on the faces of her family. Rob gave her a nod of encouragement, his blue eyes steady on her from under the brim of his ball cap. He’d shaved since she saw him this morning, and his dimple winked at her.

  The match continued under the bright stadium lights as the sun fell and a cool breeze drifted into the court. Em won the first set six games to three, but Chessa rallied in the second set, winning in a tie breaker. Em refused to let it faze her. She won her service game, then Chessa’s then hers. Chessa battled back to win her next service game with some nasty shots, but Em kept going. Soon they were at the breaking point: one set each, five games to four in the last set. If Em won this game, she took the match. If Chessa won, they’d have to go at least two more games, risking a brutal tie break.

  Thanking whatever god made this situation fall on her service game, Em set up to serve. Every muscle in her body ached, especially the knee she’d injured almost a year ago. They were well into their second hour of play, fast approaching the third. This was what she’d trained for, what she and Zoe and her team had spent hours preparing for. She couldn’t give in to the fatigue now. She had to push through.

  The little smirk on Chessa’s face spurred Em on. Chessa didn’t believe she could win this, still had the arrogance to think she could win the match.

  Not this time.

  Em went into an almost fugue state as she played through the last game of her US Open finals match. Her instincts, her years of training, and muscle memory took over. She put every last ounce of energy she had left into that game, hitting the ball as hard as she could, giving it the right spin at the right time.

  It finally came down to match point. Em served the ball, but it didn’t make it over the net, bouncing limply along her side of the court. A ball girl ran out and grabbed it.

  She served again, this time sailing it perfectly into the service box. Chessa returned the serve, but Em was ready for it. Stroke by stroke, she moved forward, making it a little harder for the world number one to hit the ball back to her.

  Em went in for a drop shot, flicking her wrist in a neat little move that had the ball barely clearing the net, bouncing once, then twice.

  Before it bounced a third time, the stadium exploded. Cheers and shouts echoed around Em as she sank to her knees in disbelief.

  She’d won.

  The US Open title was hers.

  For a second, she knelt on the rough surface of the court, letting it all sink in. After more than twenty years of work and training and fighting, she’d won a Grand Slam. Tears welled up in her eyes, and she tilted her head up. The softly fading light tinged the sky purple and hazy pink, but that wasn’t what she was looking at. Somehow, she knew with absolute certainty that Papa Vic and her mother and her maternal grandparents were all up there somewhere cheering along with the rest of the crowd.

  Getting to her feet, she went to shake Chessa’s hand after she brushed the tears away. It didn’t take a genius to know the Croatian was pissed as hell, but Em couldn’t bring herself to care about anything but the unrestrained jubilation and giddy disbelief coursing through her.

  She’d finally won, and she worried she might explode out of her skin. Keeping her cool until she shook hands with the umpire, Em gave a little bounce of celebration, waving both hands at the still roaring crowd. Turning in a slow circle, she accepted the applause until she spotted the people she really cared about.

  Ignoring everything else, she climbed the stands, and hands reached out to help her as she made her way to her box. Her brother’s hands closed over her arms, pulling her up and over the edge of the box and into another man’s chest. She’d know that eucalyptus and mint scent anywhere.

  Rob.

  Reaching up, she cupped his cheeks, pulling his mouth down until it met hers. The crowd went wild, hooting and hollering, but she couldn’t care less. Kissing Rob again after everything, after all that had passed between them, after seeing him bleeding in her arms two days ago, felt like she was waking up from a nightmare. He tasted so good, of joy and Rob with the faint underlying sweetness of soda. She clutched at him, desperate to feel if he was real or not because none of this felt real.

  Rob pulled back, his forehead resting against hers. “You did it, Em. You did it.”

  Emotions clogged her throat, and long, callused fingers brushed wetness off her cheeks. She didn’t even realize she was still crying. Staring into Rob’s eyes, she saw so much that made her hopeful, but she didn’t dare believe it yet. They had so much to say to each other, and no time to say it now.

  Unable to speak, she moved to the next person waiting for her. Her grandmother.

  “Oh, my girl. You were magnificent,” Gran whispered fiercely.

  Owen joined the hug. “We’re so proud of you, Squeaker.”

  “Thank you,” she said, her voice choked, both from joy and from missing the other person who made up their little family. “Thank you both, for everything.”

  She quickly accepted hugs from Dera and Maren and Owen, before she finally came to Zoe.

  “This isn’t just my win,” she told the redheaded Amazon who’d stood by her side for every step of this journey. “It’s ours.”

  “You did this, Emmy. You and no one else.” Zoe kissed her cheek. “Go enjoy your victory.”

  Before leaving her box, Em returned to Rob one last time, wrapping her arms around him.

  “I’m so glad you’re here. I—I don’t know if I could have done this without you,” she said, her lips pressed to his ear. “There’s no one else I wanted to see in my box as much as you.”

  “I couldn’t miss it,” he said. “I’m only sorry your dad’s not here to see this.”

  She shook her head. “It doesn’t matter. I don’t need his support or approval or whatever. I’d rather win a thousand titles without him than to win one without you and my real family there to watch.”

  Giving him one last kiss, she pulled away and made her way back down to the court. The cheers hadn’t yet subsided, but the stadium staff were preparing for the trophy ceremony. Taking a moment as she packed her gear back into her bags, she pushed the tears back.

  It was…overwhelming to finally achieve the goal she’d worked so hard for. Joy blazed through her, along with anticipation. She glanced back at her box to where Rob stood, his skin a little pale as he clapped and cheered with everyone else. Winning the Grand Slam had once been everything to her, but now, winning the heart of that man meant more than a thousand wins. She only hoped her letter had really done its job.

  Chapter 22

  Rob stood outside the women’s locker room, bouncing on the balls of his feet, waiting for Em to emerge. Thankfully, the security was still tight, even though they’d caught the nut job who stabbed him, and they’d kept the reporters outside the building, giving him a place to wait in peace.

  “Robby, you should go home and rest,” his mother said from beside him. She’d been fretting over him since the match ended, trying to convince him to go back to the hospital or at least go back to his apartment.

  “Mama, I’m fine. I swear. You go find Dad and Maren and go to dinner. I’m not going anywhere without Em.” He kept his gaze fixed on the door across from him as his mother walked away, muttering about stubborn, lovesick boys who didn’t listen to their mothers.

  It felt like days since
he’d kissed Em in the player’s box with the whole world watching. Maren had shown him the pictures that spread across social media like wildfire. Everyone was saying how romantic it was, what a fairy-tale romance they had. They all seemed to forget that only a few weeks ago, they’d been lampooning Em and insinuating all sorts of things about her character.

  He didn’t give a damn what the rest of the world said, though. All that mattered was seeing Em and reassuring himself that she’d really meant what she said in the letter. That kiss had certainly felt like she meant it, but he needed to hear the words from her. He’d waited so long to hear them.

  He’d never been more proud than when he watched Em hoist that trophy over her head. It erased the lingering pain that hit him every time he stepped into that stadium. His new life, the one where he was a coach for kids who needed him and—God willing—Em’s partner, really started in that moment. He no longer missed his career or the thrill of the win. He’d finally made peace with himself and his father’s expectations.

  After a good twenty minutes more than he felt necessary, the door of the locker room opened, and Em emerged, her eyes down, staring at the screen of her phone.

  Fuck, she was gorgeous. It never ceased to hit him in the chest every time he saw her. She’d showered and taken time to style her hair, the black silk falling in gentle waves around her face, kissing the tops of her shoulders. She wore a loose dress that fell across her body, kissing her curves, the fabric dotted with bright mixes of turquoise and blue in abstract shapes. The dress bared a great deal of smooth, long legs, leading down to the low wedge sandals he knew she wore for comfort rather than fashion.

  “Most people would look like hell after playing as hard as you did today, but you manage to look like the most beautiful woman in the world. Not sure that’s fair,” he said.

  Her head shot up, and her eyes widened. “Rob. What are you—? I mean, I didn’t expect you to still be here.”

  “Where else would I be?” He pushed off the wall to walk toward her. It took all his self-control not to crush her in his arms and kiss her silly.