Page 9 of Best Year Ever
“Ohhhhh you did it, sweetheart,” Dad says with pride filling his voice. He’s a gentle giant, at least with me. At six foot six, he was a standout college basketball player before moving into the “real world,” building a career in financial services.
When my mom died, he became my rock, keeping his own mourning quiet while he tended to my devastated eight-year-old self. As my tennis progressed, he left a big financial services firm and struck out on his own so he could stay flexible as Itraveled to tournaments. Now he has a solid book of clients, but that was never assured at the time.
I must have inherited my fearless side from him.
He also gave up much of a personal life. As far as I know, he hasn’t dated seriously in the last twelve years. People assume that money managers are all-business, but my dad’s a softie and always there to pick me up on bad days. We never even attempted to have him step in as my coach, unlike so many other young stars, because he’d hate to be critical of me as a living.
Julie proves this point with her next reply.
“Rori has more to do,” she corrects him with a smile. “But that was amazing.”
A top 100 American player who never could quite stay healthy, Julie found her calling when she turned to coaching. I was lucky to have snagged her last year as I got ready to return from my injury.
“Do we know yet who I’m playing?” I ask as we start walking down the hallway to the exit.
“Yes, Hanna Savchenko,” Julie answers.
Ugh, the world #1. And someone I’ve never beaten. Hanna’s hardcore, with a single-minded focus, and currently performing at her peak. She’s also a cold character in the locker room. An ice queen, some call her. I’m not easily intimidated, but her demeanor is off-putting. In general, we try to stay friendly on the tour because we live so much of our lives together. Hanna doesn’t take that approach, however.
Julie starts to launch into a high-level match strategy discussion, but I interrupt her. “I’m starving. Can we start focusing on Hanna after I eat something? Preferably a lot of somethings?”
She laughs, and we walk to the car, ordering room service on the way back to the hotel so it’ll be waiting for us when we arrive. Later on, we talk deep into the night about my game plan for the match after I’ve loaded up on food.
Well…
The game plan doesn’t work. Two days later, Hanna beats me once again, and my tournament is over. Victory—ice queen.
After Hanna comes to the net to shake hands, I take stock of my emotions. Last Australian Open, I was still in recovery from my surgery. I thought my career might be over. But after fighting, day after day, to get back to my best, I made it to my first semifinals in a Slam. And I feel damn proud.
Taking a deep breath, I peer over at my player’s box in the crowd. Julie and Dad, along with my publicist Taylor and a couple of friends from the tour, are all looking at me anxiously, as if they’re worried that I might be disappointed.
I throw a big smile toward Julie, and she starts to nod and clap. She knows what it took to get here. The rest of the group follows her cue and relaxes into cheers and more clapping.
Breaking eye contact with Julie after a few seconds, I turn back to pack up my gear. As I grab my extra rackets, a little girl’s high pitch shout cuts through the mumbling crowd noise.
“I love you Rori!” comes her adorable voice. I look up instinctively, following the sound to a spot on the opposite side of the court to my team’s box. The little girl is about seven, wearing my branded workout gear released late last year by one of my sponsors. I respond with a grin.
But then something else catches my attention.
Twenty rows up from the little girl is a man. Standing up, his eyes are focused on me. A small smile on his face.
Looking exactly like Landon.His curls shorn down, but if I’m not just seeing things in my post-match fatigue, I think it’s him?
A younger version of the man is standing with him. Didn’t he mention his brother was traveling with him?
Memories of our night start flashing in my mind—his gravel-textured voice as he whispered my name in my ear, his large hands moving on me everywhere, his delicious cologne making me feral. How genuinely he seemed to be interested in getting to know me and my world.
How he made me come more times than any of my past random hook-ups by a magnitude of four.
It couldn’t be him, right?
I spin around and grab a towel to wipe off the sweat that is running down my forehead into my eyes.
And when I turn back to see if I can spot him again, the seats are empty.
CHAPTER 4
Landon
