Page 60 of Breakpoint
When she got back to her apartment, it was well after midnight, though the city of New York was still buzzing with energy. But every part of Jaz’s body ached. Her back and calves felt like they were on fire. Scott had dug into them with firm precision for a solid forty-five minutes, but it failed to relieve the pain. If this wasn’t another reminder that it was time to hang it up, she didn’t know what was.
Tonight had taken so much out of her. As she walked towards the net when that final point landed in, yes, she was still a bit salty that she lost, but she felt free in her decision. Even though it was scary, she knew it was the right time to walk away.
After her retirement announcement, the roar of the crowd was deafening and still echoed in her ears, a bittersweet symphony of cheers, applause, even tear-streaked faces. There was only one way to describe it: fucking insane. Fans pressed against the barriers, their cries echoing through the tennis center. She never realized how much she meant to people until that moment. When she was saying goodbye.
When she disappeared into the player’s tunnel and into the press room, the frenzy intensified and was no less chaotic. The room, usually buzzing with a low hum of activity, was now a roaring vortex. Cameras flashed, microphones thrust forward, and the air crackled with anticipation. Every eye was on her as she took her seat at the podium, the clicking of cameras a constant, percussive soundtrack.
Seated on the raised platform, she looked out at the assembled media, her expression calm. No anxiety about what they were going to ask. “I’m sure many of you are surprised by tonight, but for me it was time,” she began, her voice steady, if a little hoarse. “I’ve given everything to this sport over the last twenty years, and it’s given me a lot as well. But there are other things that I want to accomplish in my life. As most of you know, I don’t like the spotlight. So I didn’t want the whole farewell tour or to make a big deal of anything. It’s just time to walk away.”
She looked around the room, at the shocked faces, and realized that was the most that a lot of them had heard her speak at one time. After a beat, hands shot up, a frantic wave of desperate pleas for questions, and while others just shouted their questions. It came in a barrage: “What’s next?” “Who is your love?” “What about Slam number nineteen?” “Did you say ‘woman’ and just come out?”
She learned a long time ago to only answer the questions that she wanted when they came in like a firehose. Plus, she no longerhad to talkto the press about anything anymore. “I’m going to say this once, and it will be the final statement I’m going to make about it. I’ve never talked about my personal life before and won’t startnow. But yes, I’m in love with an amazing woman. But I’m going to keep everything else between us. Thank you.”
Every hand in the room shot up to ask more questions, but for Jaz, there was a calm relief that unraveled in her chest at finally saying it out loud. To acknowledge her love for Dani to everyone. Some of the press tried to probe more about her relationship, but she continued to reply with a ‘No comment’ or ‘asked and answered.’
When she finally finished her press commitments, showered, did a short cool-down, and finally had a glorious massage. She saw on the television in the locker room that news outlets flashed, breaking news alerts with her dual announcements of retirement and coming out. On loop, they replayed her final match, close-ups of her emotional farewell, and her statement in the press room. Kira told her social media had exploded, trending hashtags bearing her name.
Now that she had stepped away from the spotlight, she was getting even more attention. But for some reason, it wasn’t suffocating. She actually felt free. Free from the expectation to win. Free from trying to be the best. Free from trying to be what everyone else wanted and needed her to be.
She finally fished out the key and turned the lock. She pushed the door open, the weight of a long day settling on her shoulders. Trying to remember where the overhead lights were in the unit, she finally gave up and turned on the black lamp that she knew was at the end of the entryway. The lamp created a soft glow, illuminating the small, meticulously organized living room.
When her eyes adjusted to the light, her breath hitched, and her whole body froze.
Curled on her velvet couch, a soft yellow blanket draped haphazardly over her, was Dani. The woman, who over the last two weeks she missed with a raw, aching intensity, slept peacefully. Her body didn’t move, rooted to the spot, her eyes fixed on the sleeping figure on the couch. The sight of her, so vulnerable, so beautiful, sent a wave of conflicting emotions crashing over Jaz.
Jaz hadn’t been in the same room with her since their fight. In this very room. Every word of that day was still etched into Jaz’s memory, on a cruel, repeating loop. She replayed the conversation countless times, searching for a different outcome, a way to rewind and unsay certain words.
Dani’s soft snores filled the quiet room. A stray dark curl fell across her cheek, and Jaz’s fingers instinctively twitched, wanting to brush it away. She remembered the way Dani’s skin felt under her touch, the warmth of her body pressed against hers.
She was afraid to get too close because this scene was surreal. Was it a dream woven from longing and regret? And if this was a dream, she didn’t want to wake up and ruin it.
Finally, she couldn’t help herself, and slightly stroked Dani’s cheek. At the touch, Dani opened her eyes and smiled at seeing Jaz. Having that smile directed at her never failed to send a rush through her.
“Hey,” she said quietly.
“Hey,” Dani whispered back. They stared at each other for a beat, neither one knowing where to go next.
Jaz finally broke the intimate bubble they were in. “What are you doing here? I mean, how did you get in?”
“Brandon. He let me in.” They both smiled because this was one time they could appreciate that he had no boundaries. Brandon said he would always be there for her and was proving it even now, and it meant so much to Jaz.
“Of course he did.”
Dani moved to sit up on the couch. “I knew you would be dealing with a lot after your double whammy of an announcement. But I needed to talk to you.”
Jaz sat down beside her, and every part of her body ached, but she pushed the pain to the back of her mind because every part of her also wanted to focus on this moment with Dani. She ached to be near her again after not being in her presence for what felt like forever, but in reality was only thirteen days. She had so many things she wanted to say.
“Okay, let’s talk.”
Dani turned to her. “You retired?”
“Yep,” she replied flatly.
Dani’s eyebrows rose to her hairline in shock and confusion. “Just like that?”
Jaz nodded. “I told you once that you have to play this game for yourself. But I realized I wasn’t following my own advice. For so long, I’ve been playing for Brandon, to make him proud, to support my family, and to prove the doubters wrong. But it was getting harder and harder to get motivated every single week to be out there when I wasn’t doing it for myself. Same thing in and out, and same routine for years and years. And when the fire isno longer there, then what’s the point? For a check? Professional tennis is grueling, and I’ve been pushing my body to the edgeevery single weekfor twenty years. I no longer had the desire to be this insane individual who just doesn’t stop. Because other things became more important.”
Dani looked skeptical. “Like what?”
