Page 181 of Break Point
“You did it!”
I hold her at arm’s length and nod. She looks over my shoulder, and I follow her gaze.
Henry.
He’s hanging back, waiting. Patiently. And only walks over when I catch his eye.
“Kiss me,” I tell him when he slides his hands around my waist and pulls me flush against his chest.
“Say it again, and I might.”
He lifts me off the ground and kisses me. The crowd hoots and whistles, but he sets me down quickly. We’ll have all the time in the world to celebrate after this. It can’t be hurried or condensed by the rush of the moment.
“I’m so—” he cuts himself off to let out a sharp breath through his mouth, shaking his head as if he had previously vowed not to cry, but still did. “Infuckingawe of you.”
He kisses my hair.
“You brought me this far,” I say, cupping his face, unwilling to let go. “You?—”
“Nope,” he says, shaking his head like theneciohe is.
“Okay, fine.Wedid. Take a little credit.”
Henry stares at me and parts his mouth like he’s ready to keep arguing. But it’s like something hit him. This is bigger than me and him. It’s about us. About what we can achieve together. About how far we’re both willing to go for each other. About showing up no matter what.
His eyes wrinkle, and the corners of his mouth lift into a smile. He nods, slowly, and everything around us dies down and blurs out.
“It’s you and me against the world, Bells.”
EPILOGUE
HENRY
JULY 7, 2013
THE APPLAUSE HITSbefore the final point even lands. It crashes in sharp, thunderous waves before I register the ball flying long.
“Game, set, match, Mitchell. Three sets to one: 4–6, 7–6, 6–3, 6–4,” the chair umpire announces, his thick British accent slicing through the noise.
I drop my racket, a personalized neon green Neel Ultex model that hits the stores next month as a limited edition, and just stand there. Chest heaving. Arms at my sides. Staring up at the pale gray London sky.
The Wimbledon crowd rises to its feet.
No fist-pump. No roar. No falling to the grass like I always imagined. I’m frozen. Silent. Stunned. Because two years ago, I wasn’t sure I’d ever set foot on a court again, not as a player. And definitely not at a Grand Slam.
And now, I’ve secured three Grand Slam titles and a string of other ATP trophies since my debut at the Australian Open last year. And yeah, the shoulder held up. Better than anyone expected, including me.
Roland Garros, 2012.
Australian Open this year.
Today, Wimbledon.
After today, my trophy will sit next to Belén’s Venus Rosewater Dishafter her win yesterday. It still doesn’t feel real. It’s like being in a dream, terrified to blink and see it all vanish.
A hand claps my back, snapping me out of it. The sound of the crowd floods back in.
“Well done, Mitchell,” Theo says, breathless and grinning. “Nice to see you finally live up to the hype.”
