Page 147 of Through the Flames
Finally, I believed him.
Game after game, I pushed myself. Every serve was like a bolt of lightning, and every return was sharp and precise. I read thespin on her serves, faked my direction, and hit deep shots which forced her to stretch across the court. Then, I angled my winners into the corners.
5–4. My serve.Match point.
I bounced the ball three times, my heart hammering, tossed it and swung.
The racket cracked, and the ball screamed down the line, kissing the corner, just out of her reach.
Winner!
Game, set, match.
“Come on!” I screamed, dropping to my knees.
My racket clattered to the court as tears spilled hot and fast. The cheer of the crowd melded into a single hum, my name reverberating back in waves. Cameras flashed, hands clapped, voices screamed, and all I could do was laugh through the tears.
I’d done it.
A fucking grand slam.
I wasn’t just a player; I was a motherfucking champion.
I fought to create the life I wanted and fought for those who believed in me — and I won.
Forty Six
Epilogue: Hunter
It was the middle of the night, but a few guys stayed behind at the team facility to watch the live feed of the Australian Open.
They weren’t here because they cared about tennis; they were here because she was mine, and they wanted to see her dominate.
Most of them were half-asleep, slouched on benches or leaning against lockers, but the moment Ella appeared on the screen, they snapped to attention. I couldn’t take my eyes off her for one second.
I hadn’t traveled with her as much as I’d wanted to. Rookie season had me chained to meetings, practice, and film; every second was accounted for. But the feed was crystal clear on the big screen mounted in the corner, sound echoing faintly off the concrete walls.
And there she was.
Vivid red hair pulled back into her signature ponytail, her eyes sharp and her chest heaving with every point.
Every swing, every step, and every calculated risk reflected through the screen. All the matches she had fought her way through and all the rallies she had clawed her way back from came down to this final point.
Just as I’d known all along, her fears of choking were unfounded.
With a beautifully placed winning shot, my girl fucking made it and won her first major tournament.
The whole locker room exploded, like we’d just won the goddamn Super Bowl.
Shouts, whoops, high-fives, and elbows flew in all directions.
Lawson, one of our linebackers, nearly lost his balance and grabbed me mid-hug, practically shaking me in his excitement. I let it happen, letting their energy bounce off me, but my focus never wavered from her.
“Damn, did you see that?!” someone yelled.
“She crushed her!” Lawson shouted, nearly spilling his drink in the frenzy.
“Hell yes! That’s our girl!” Bronkowski, one of my fellow rookies, added, slapping a teammate’s back and earning a deadly glare from me.
