Slammed
Page 31
“I sent her to get some lunch,” Dr Huppert explained. “She has been here too much without looking after herself. Not good after all that exertion on Saturday.”
“When do I go under?” I asked.
“Soon. One more round of tests and then we’ve booked you into the private wing of a much bigger hospital. Safer that way, better facilities. Have a think about questions. You can ask them all then.”
Toni came back then, a salad bowl in hand and some bottled juices tucked under her arm.
“You’re awake,” she said. “They want to operate today. Parisa is already on it, making plans.”
“You’re so pretty,” I told her, and let myself drift back off.
I got clearance to fly to New York just in time for the final, a journey beset by delays and strikes and unexpected closures. Despite all that, despite still walking on crutches, I was there in the players’ box at Flushing Meadows to watch my soon-to-be-wife lift her first Grand Slam trophy. I couldn’t have been happier if I’d won the damn thing myself, and it was like a dam bursting somewhere inside me. I could have all that competitiveness, all that will to win, but I could relay it through Toni as a healthy outlet for it.
The photographers couldn’t get enough of us together at the reception afterwards, and Toni barely left my side. I hadn’t told her I’d be there, just told her in our calls to focus on winning, to get the slam that was rightfully hers. Her face when she’d first seen me courtside was one I could never forget.
I pulled her close when the crowd around us finally calmed, almost everyone having already expressed their congratulations.
“I’m so proud of you,” I said, and we both heard the ‘I love you’ that was woven right through it.
“All packed?” I asked from the doorway of our bedroom, watching Toni move the same three pairs of shorts back and forth between two bags. “Or do we need to get a professional in here?”
“It’s fine, it’s ready. I’m not going until next week,” Toni pointed out.
“Yes, but I don’t want a week of boxes lying around our bedroom,” I replied. “It’s great that your kit sponsors love you so much, but that is a lot of clothing for one human lady.”
“Melbourne is really far away,” Toni said, pouting at a hoodie. “You sure you don’t want to come?”
“I’ll be out for the second week,” I reminded her. “You make sure and stay in for that. Is there any chance you’re fixating on the packing because you’re nervous about tomorrow?”
Toni got up off the floor quickly when I said that, vaulting over the bed to join me. “No way, not even a little bit. Tomorrow is the good part. Everything else feels like the big distraction right now.”
“Good.” I kissed her, sweet and tender. “You should feel that way about our wedding. I like that you do.”
“And the honeymoon is all booked for after?” she asked, fussing with the strap of my tank top. “We leave straight from Melbourne?”
“Mmhmm. Just a little delay to play the tournament in between. Think how much more you’ll enjoy the honeymoon with your first Aussie in the bank, right?”
“Well, it’s a long way to twenty-three, so I better start racking them up,” she teased. “No, wait. Twenty-four, if I’m going to break it. Equalling is for runners-up. I win slams now.”
“It’s just a relief New York didn’t go to your head. Have you cleared enough space in here yet for us actually to have sex in our own bedroom? Not that I minded the kitchen, bathroom, or either of the guest rooms, but really.”
“I was just testing that your hip has fully healed,” Toni argued. “Can’t do that in just one location. Science, babe.”
I groaned. I was marrying a nerd. But a damn cute one, it had to be said.
The opening ceremony in Melbourne included a brief statement, read by Celeste. In it, she thanked the GTA for their new drug-testing policy, a system that would be transparent and fair for all players. It was followed by the president making his apology for the unfair treatment in recent years and promising to do better in the future.
It wasn’t perfect, but it was a victory for Celeste, Keiko, and so many more of our friends. Toni still felt uneasy on the subject, but Xavi had been banned from the sport for life once the doping allegations were proven true.
I watched Toni’s first-round match on television over dinner with Alice and Todd, her latest boyfriend. This one seemed completely head over heels, so there was a chance he’d stick for a year or two at least. Maybe we’d even double date the weeks Toni wasn’t on the road. I saw her wedding ring, or more accurately the white tape covering it, and touched my matching one with my thumb. We were so far apart, and yet I’d never felt closer.
This was the first major tournament since I’d finished my recovery, when technically I might have been fit enough to explore playing again. I wondered if the regrets would finally come. I held my breath as the first serve flew across the net, fresh from Toni’s racquet, and waited to see what my heart would do to me.
Nothing. Relief, more than anything. A jolt of pleasure as Toni claimed her first point. I didn’t miss it, not like I thought I might, but I didn’t hate it either. I could be a fan, an interested party, and no longer pick up a racquet every day.
“Did you want to grab a drink when she’s done?” Alice asked, paying more attention to the screen than she would have any other time.
“Okay,” I said. “That sounds good.”
When Toni won, we slipped out to the bar across the street and I ordered a martini while Alice and Todd bickered about what to have. Taking a sip, I raised the glass for a moment in a silent toast to my wife.
“Just one drink,” I whispered under my breath. “And look what it got me.”
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
First and foremost, to my wife Kaite. Not just for literary inspiration and being generally amazing, but for riding out the 6-month resurgence of my teenage crush on Steffi Graf. If only I’d known that’s what it was at the time…
A big theme in this book is family, and I’m so grateful for the support from my mum and dad. I’ve been thrilled while writing this to meet my newest niece, Beatrice, and to see James become a lovely big brother to her.
I don’t know where I’d be without my friends, who’ve also been my biggest supporters. I hope Lande will appreciate this book most of all, since she’s lived through daily Wimbledon and French Open chats with me this year and so many years before.
Writing buddies and advisers have kept me sane, including Annie, James, Michael, and Ricky. The Discord squad of Ashton, Bianca, Rachel, Molly, Urska, Andrea, Shad, and Kendrick have pushed me to new levels and been the best of company. Love always to Laura and Jo for making me laugh every time we talk.
As with so many things, this wouldn’t be possible without the support of the good folks at Ylva. To Astrid, Zee, Sandra, Alex, and Amanda: Thank you for all that you do.
And to the four cats that have interrupted, sat on my laptop, cried for food, and generally tried to halt all progress? You’re lucky you’re cute!
ABOUT LOLA KEELEY
Lola Keeley is a writer and coder. After moving to London to pursue her love of theatre, she later wound up living every five-year-old’s dream of being a train driver on the London Underground. She has since emerged, blinking into the sunlight, to find herself writing books. She now lives in Edinburgh, Scotland, with her wife and four cats.
CONNECT WITH LOLA
Website: www.lolakeeley.co.uk
Facebook: www.facebook.com/lolakeeley
E-Mail: divalola@gmail.com
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Slammed
© 2019 by Lola Keeley
ISBN (mobi): 978-3-96324-276-2
ISBN (epub): 978-3-96324-277-9
Also available as paperback.
Published by Ylva Publishing, legal entity of Ylva Verlag, e.Kfr.
Ylva Verlag, e.Kfr.
Owner: Astrid Ohletz
Am Kirschgarten 2
65830 Kriftel
Germany
www.ylva-publishing.com
First edition: 2019
No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to locales, events, business establishments, or actual persons—living or dead—is entirely coincidental.
Credits
Edited by Zee Ahmad and Amber Williams
Cover Design and Print Layout by Streetlight Graphics