Page 68 of Risky Match
I jump to my feet, cheering as loudly as anyone in the crowd. He threw his whole body into it, losing his balance but winning the point. It was a spectacular shot—almost superhuman.
But he’s still on the ground. Why doesn’t he get up?
“No!” I clasp my hands over my mouth. He’s writhing in pain.
I stare as people rush to his aid. He drank a lot of liquid between games. It could be muscle cramps from dehydration. Or he may have sprained an ankle.
The crowd is eerily quiet. All eyes are on Blake. He’s not moving.
I glance toward the Royal Box where the princes were. Their seats are empty.
Minutes pass. Medics surround Blake. They’re not tending to a twisted ankle or helping him to his feet. My concern soars.
Helplessness washes over me. I want to go to him, but I’m not allowed on the court. I could go to the tunnel waiting area. My player’s ID card will get me that far. He’ll have to pass through there when he leaves.
Picking up my bag, I turn to leave, but a collective gasp ripples through the crowd. My head swings back to the court where everyone is pointing. Medics are wheeling out a gurney.
I’ve never seen an injury require this level of attention at a tennis match. He must have hit his head or broken a bone. I have to go now.
Moving to the aisle, Erin joins me. She’s been watching from a standing area a few rows behind where I was sitting.
She says, “This woman has a message for you.”
I turn to the woman wearing an official Wimbledon staff shirt. She says, “Your Royal Highness, please follow me. Arrangements have been made for you to travel to the hospital where they are taking Mr. Knight.”
Erin clears the way for us to follow. We’re led to a private exit where a royal vehicle is waiting.
“Please take a seat inside with his Royal Highness,” Adrian’s driver says, motioning for Erin and me to join Prince Adrian in the back.
As soon as the door shuts, I ask, “What’s going on? Do you know what happened to Blake? Did he break something?”
My stomach churns. My hands won’t stop shaking. He has to be okay.
“They haven’t said yet. But he’s on the way to hospital. I assumed you would want to be there. We’ve arranged for a private waiting room.”
“Thank you. That’s exactly where I need to be. I couldn’t tell what happened. He went for the tough shot and fell, but it didn’t look like he hit his head. It just doesn’t make sense.”
“I’m sure he will be fine. They’re probably taking him to hospital as a precaution. The local hospitals are excellent.”
“That’s reassuring. But I’m not family. They won’t tell me anything about his condition.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll take care of that. I’m known to have a little influence in this country,” he grins, lightening the tension.
“Touché.”
How did I not remember he’d just pull his prince card?
Thanks to Adrian,we enter through a private door and are led to a small room, avoiding the press at the main entrance. It’s bleak and sterile with a white table, four plastic chairs, and a wall clock with giant red numbers.
We wait. And wait.
It’s been an hour and four minutes. I’ve watched every single second tick by. So far, no news.
Josh, Noah, and Natalie arrived half an hour ago but are stuck in the main waiting room. For security reasons, Erin and Adrian’s bodyguard insisted we wait here. I wanted Blake’s team to join us, but there’s not enough space.
Unfortunately, we can’t discuss our mission because there are cameras everywhere—even in this tiny waiting room. The last thing we need is a nosy security guard reading our lips and selling the story to the tabloids.
So, we sit in silence, sipping tea Erin managed to find while Adrian’s guard stands watch.
