51. Kate
Chapter Fifty-One
Kate
Since October, Jordan had been in full beast mode for the Australian Open.
It was his comeback plan, and he was taking no prisoners.
I was in the flat, finishing up a Zoom call, when I heard the door open.
The radiator was on full blast, rain smeared the windows, and the sky outside looked about as inviting as a wet sock.
But in walked Jordan in shorts and a wet T-shirt that clung to him, like it was the height of summer in Sydney.
I’d learned that shorts were a three hundred and sixty-five–day commitment for him, apparently. Even in the middle of December in London. Not that I was complaining.
He dropped his gym bag by the door, reached over his shoulder, and peeled off his sweaty, rain-soaked T-shirt, his muscles flexing with the effort. Honestly, it should’ve been illegal.
I angled my laptop just enough to keep him out of view. They didn’t need to see my boyfriend undressing like some sun-kissed Aussie stripper behind me. He was lucky I was just finishing my call.
After we’d packed up my house, I’d picked up a few consultancy hours.
Some remote locum work, flexible enough to do from anywhere.
It made me feel like I still had one foot in the world I’d built, not just someone’s girlfriend.
I knew once the baby came, it would all change again, but I wasn’t ready to let go of the version of me that could still hold her own.
“Do you want to check if I’m off a call before giving me a private Magic Mike show?” I asked, raising a brow, pretending not to be deeply affected by the fact that he was glistening. Glistening, I tell you.
He flexed his biceps and grinned, that irresistible dimple flashing. “Can’t help it if you’re obsessed with me.”
I rolled my eyes, smirking. Bastard. He knew it was true.
My raging hormones weren’t doing me any favours lately.
I was either sobbing in the snack aisle because they’d sold out of pretzels, or dragging him to bed the second he walked in the door which, ironically, was how I’d ended up in this predicament to begin with.
“Tough session?” I asked. I already knew the answer; it was written all over his face. He looked wrecked, but wired. He had that post-training buzz that only came when he’d pushed himself to the edge. He was relentless lately. Like something had lit a fire under him.
Maybe it was me. Maybe it was us. Or maybe it was the tiny human growing inside me who would someday call him Dad.
In the whirlwind of heartbreak, reunion, even before the shock of two pink lines, he’d pulled out of the US Open.
Officially, it went public to the media as an injury.
Behind closed doors, we’d been barely holding each other together.
It had all happened so fast, too fast for either of us to catch our breath.
He never blamed me for any of it. If anything, I was the one nudging him back into focus. Because I knew who he was. Who I’d fallen in love with. And I wasn’t about to let him forget it.
We’d told Chris and Maggie early. We hadn’t even tried to hide it.
We were useless at keeping secrets from them.
Not only that, Chris had already been dragged into the wreckage.
The night Jordan left Cincinnati, they’d had a proper bust-up.
Chris had been furious about him walking away from the tour, and all he knew at the time was that Jordan had lost the match, blown up, and that I’d vanished.
He’d never seen Jordan like that before, so reckless, hollowed out, unreachable, and it scared the hell out of him.
So when we finally told him the truth, the weight behind Jordan’s decision, it was as much a confession as it was an explanation.
Chris called us lunatics, he stared between us, aghast, then shook his head with a disbelieving laugh.
“You two are out of your minds.” Maybe we were.
But for the first time, it was the kind of madness that made sense.
Maggie, meanwhile, burst into tears the second the words were out. She hadn’t stopped hugging me since.
Now, it was all eyes on Melbourne.
His parents had cried when we told them.
Proper happy tears, the kind that came with joy so big it bowled you over.
I swear his mum was already knitting by the end of the call, making plans for us to fly out as soon as his schedule allowed.
She was halfway across the world, and still managed to make me feel like I had a second mother in my corner; warm, practical, already dreaming about tiny jumpers and first visits to the beach.
His dad had looked at Jordan like he was ten years old again, pride written across his whole face.
They’d made it feel like the opposite of making a mistake.
Like we were safe and less alone in all this.
My parents…well, that had been more complicated. Slowly, they were coming around, and Mum had even asked for a picture of his scan to show her friends. It might not sound like much, but for her, it was huge.
I figured Jordan had gone to shower, but a minute later, I heard the suitcase wheels clacking against the wood floor. He emerged from the bedroom dragging a suitcase like he was about to hail a taxi to Heathrow.
I stared. “Jesus. Changed your mind and kicking me out already, have you?”
He barely blinked, ignoring me. “How many bikinis you got?”
I blinked back. “Eh?”
“Bikinis,” he repeated. “You’re gonna need at least four.”
“Jordan Taylor, you confuse me at the best of times. What the hell are you talking about now?”
He leaned against the doorframe, arms folded, mouth fighting off a smile. “The Maldives,” he said, casual as anything. “We leave the day after tomorrow.”
I just stared at him.
“Maldives?” I echoed.
He crossed the room and wrapped his arms around my waist, all warm, sweaty skin and cocky certainty. “Yeah. You, me…” His hand moved to my belly, which had finally popped enough that I didn’t just feel bloated anymore. “And this little one.”
I looked up at him, speechless.
“We need a break,” he said. “The last few months have been insane. Between the press, training, your job, my schedule, telling everyone and their dog…we haven’t had a second to be just us. No cameras. No alarms.”
He kissed me slowly until I felt like I was about to forget my own name.
“Just us,” he murmured.
I melted against him. “You really booked it?”
“Private villa. Our own pool. Ocean views. No one can find us unless we want them to.” He had a wicked grin on his face now. “A week of just us. And me doing a lot of filthy things to you.”
Jesus. That had my stomach doing somersaults, and not in the morning sickness way. I ran my hands over his bare chest. “Now this I could get used to.”
He nuzzled my neck, stubble brushing my skin. “Good. ’Cause I’m not just taking you on a holiday, Katie. Apparently it’s called a babymoon. Thought we’d better make it count before the chaos starts.”
I laughed. “You’re ridiculous.” And he was. This ridiculous, perfect, golden retriever of a man who’d turned my whole world inside out.
He pulled back, eyes shining with that familiar spark. “That’s because I’m in love with you.”
Right then, in our little London flat, rain trailing down the windows, the radiator rattling, the future unfolding between us, he looked like everything I’d never dared to dream of.
As he turned away, grabbing his bag, he smacked my arse with a grin. “Now go pack. And find the green one. Your arse looks sensational in that one.”
God help me. I was never going to survive the Maldives.