Page 106 of Off Court Fix

“I had to remove myself before I did something stupid.” Crosby sighs, his breath rolling up my skin. “You just look so goddamn beautiful.” His words kiss the thin chain of the necklace holding ashes, one I haven’t taken off since he gave it to me before Wimbledon. Crosby loosens his hold to skim his hands up and down my back. “It’s torture to have to watch you and not touch you.”

I rest my chin on top of his head and squeeze my eyes shut. I want it to be easier, this need to not justbewith Crosby but to exist beside him as a part of each other’s lives. I want that more than I want to be faulted for it.

Crosby shifts, and my bad foot knocks into the back of the driver’s seat. I think back to the doctor I visited, who told meyou need to accept that this is your normal and go from there.

Normal means less strength and mobility. It means I’ll always be the woman down, the one who has to fight harder to just be equal on the court, let alone better.

But it doesn’t mean I have to go down, to be down, without a fight. And I know I have one more in me, and it will take place at the US Open. And what comes after that, I can handle. Because it can’t possibly be as hard as everything I’ve gone through already—a mountain of suffering in silence. And maybe, what comes for Crosby and me can’t be as hard—or painful—as it’s been already. Maybe we can get through it if we’re smart and patient for a little longer.

“We did nothing wrong,” I say confidently. “But there will be an investigation.”

Crosby lifts his head, hazel eyes muddled with confusion. He shakes his head, but I continue, “I can’t say it’s worth it right now, all the work I put in. But I know trying is, and I have to try. If this is the end of the road for me and tennis, I’m not going out without a fight. A big one. It’s selfish for me to ask you to wait, but I promise if you do, you’ll find me ready to be yours no matter what people have to say about it. But we’ll have to fight.” If I’m putting everything on the line, especially myself, I need to know Crosby will lie down with me.

And little did I know, he already has.

“I resigned from my umpireship.”

“What?”

“I love that chair. I love this sport. But I love it from the side, and you love it from center court. There’s a huge difference in how tennis makes me feel versus it being a part of you. You shouldn’t have to give that up.” Crosby takes a deep breath. “I resigned, and if us becomes an issue, then my resignation will be explained as the truth. I fell in love with you this summer,afterIndian Wells—after you joined the club—and I couldn’t, in good conscience, umpire a match for any player without it being a conflict of interest when you’re the only player of interest for me.”

I scan Crosby’s face, crease lines and freckles, his thick lashes I don’t always appreciate when they’re behind his glasses that are now somewhere in the front seat.

“You’d give that up for me?” I ask, my voice a half whisper of disbelief.

“I’d give up anything for you.”

His words pull a small, happy cry from my chest. I know, though, it won’t be so easy.

Crosby clears his throat. “I told you wins with no effort are meaningless. The same goes with talking about things as if they’ll happen on their own. Talk without action is cheap, Maxine. That’s not me.”

I release a shuddering breath. “You need to be ready. What people will say about us—aboutme—it won’t be kind. And they’ll be looking into—”

Crosby cups my cheek, pressing his thumb to my lips to quiet me. “I’ll comply with any investigation that comes up, and I’ll defend you against anyone, and I’ll cheerloudlyat every match you play next season.”

A tremble rips through me, and I grip his forearm to steady myself. For the first time, there’s a man in front of me not taking anything, asking for anything, pretending like he’s giving me an opportunity. What Crosby is doing is letting me make the opportunity for myself, and the profound difference is overwhelming.

Andthrilling.

“I love you,” I say against the pad of his thumb.

Crosby traces my lips before he tilts my head to his. “I love you too.”

Another dozen or so deep breaths are shared between us when Crosby finally releases his hold. “I’m sorry about before. I got really in my head—”

“Don’t,” I interrupt him. “Don’t apologize for anything. We should go back though.” I tongue my cheek. “I didn’t tell you this, but I kind of accidentally became the surprise keynote speaker.”

“Kind of accidentally?”

I shrug, and Crosby takes my hand, kissing the top of it. “You should go back first.” He relinquishes his hold and runs his hand along my cheek. “I ruined your makeup.”

My fingers find my lips, still stunned by the intensity of the kiss. I followed Crosby out of the cocktail hour because I could practically feel the energy radiating off him through the gowned women and men in black tie. I thought it matched my own—frustration over the situation at hand, another night we couldn’t enjoy together, a beautiful night where he looked so unbelievably handsome but had to stay out of reach.

But it didn’t take me long after I got in his car, Crosby’s lips moving nearly violently against mine, that I realized he was feelingsomuch more—despair, helplessness. And me, now? I feel guilty.

“What about your Mom?”

“I’ll go out there first thing in the morning. I’ve already authorized the paperwork, that was done when she first became a resident.”

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