Epilogue
YANA
Seven months later
The crowd is loud, a cacophony of cheers and applause, but my world has narrowed to the grass beneath my feet, the racket in my hand, and the neon green ball. My arm burns, and sweat stings my eyes, but I push away the sensations. Point after point, game after game, I stay locked in.
Since the Australian Open at the start of the season, I’ve played better and better.
My stats have never been this good. I’ve fought for every point, working hard to prove—mostly to myself—that last year’s slip was a one-time thing.
That I can play at the championship level.
After the semifinals in Melbourne, I won in Madrid and Rome, then finished with a quarterfinal in Paris.
That’s progress I’m beyond proud of. I started at number eight in the WTA rankings, and now I’m sitting at number six.
I bounce the ball three times, my hand steady even though my pulse is racing. Match point. One more serve, and I’ll close this out. I breathe in, then toss the ball high, exhale, and drive it down the T with everything I have left.
Müller stretches for it but barely clips the frame, and the return flies long. For a moment, I stand frozen in place as the roar of Centre Court crashes over me.
I’ve earned my spot in the Wimbledon semifinals.
Bozhe moyi. Ya v polufinale1!
I smile, taking in the thunderous crowd, searching for my men.
When I find them, my heart flips. Logan stands tall in the stands, clapping like his life depends on it, his grin brighter than the sun.
Beside him, Camden stands with his arms crossed.
His expression is sharp, but his eyes are locked on mine, burning with desire.
For half a heartbeat, the noise falls away, the fans disappear, and it’s just us—me and these two gorgeous men. My gorgeous men.
Camden mouths, “Focus,” snapping me out of my reverie. With a shake of my head, I turn my attention to the crowd and wave. Their support has been phenomenal, and I couldn’t be more grateful for their encouragement.
After one more wave, I head to the net and give Elke a quick hug. “You were amazing,” I tell her.
She smiles, her eyes watery. “But not as amazing as you.”
“Maybe next time.”
“Really looking forward to it,” she says as we both stride to the chair umpire to shake hands.
The next thirty minutes are a whirlwind. When I find myself in front of the press, I’m hit with question after question about the match, about the tournament, about my opponent. Then comes a question I’ve had to answer many times since Australia.
“How much of this success do you credit to your boyfriend, Logan Reid?” an American journalist asks.
I keep my smile in place, but it tightens. “Logan is incredibly supportive of me and my career, just like I am of him,” I say calmly. “But when I’m on the court, it’s just me, my racket, and the ball. No one else can score points for me.”
A few chuckles ripple through the room, and a pang pierces my chest. Why does it always take this turn? I had a successful career before I met Logan, but suddenly, the world thinks I’m only winning because of him? As if without a man in my life I’m not worthy of such accomplishments?
Ironically, the press never asks Logan whether he thinks our relationship is the reason he had his best season yet.
Another reporter chimes in, studying me with a tilt of his head. “Still, your boyfriend had an amazing season. The Thunders lost in the finals, just one step from lifting the Cup. I can’t imagine having him here doesn’t help. Do you think you play better when he’s watching?”
I let out a slow breath, balling my fists, and keep my tone even.
“I think I play better when I remember who I am and what I’m capable of.
When I trust myself.” I pause, relax my hands, and put my palms flat on the table in front of me.
“I’m happy when my boyfriend has a chance to see me play in person.
It’s great to have his support, but that support doesn’t go away when he’s not here.
He watches my matches on TV when his team is traveling, and I do the same for him.
Our relationship is a partnership, based on love and respect.
Logan knows I appreciate his support and how much it means to me.
I don’t need an interview to prove it to him. ”
That shuts them up, at least for today.
By the time I head down the hallway of the hotel, my jaw aches from forcing so many smiles. All I need is them.
Only being in the presence of Logan and Camden can help me.
When I push open the door of my room, soft music reaches my ears. Familiar music. Lips twisted into a smile, I shuffle to the living area, where Logan and Camden are sprawled out on the couch. The Lord of the Rings is playing on the TV, and the two of them are focused on the screen.
I tiptoe closer and wrap my arms around Logan’s shoulders. “I missed you,” I murmur in his ear.
“Goddammit!” Camden yelps, bolting upright. “When did you get here?”
Laughing, Logan pulls me over the back of the couch and into his lap. He holds me close, the warmth of his naked chest slipping under my skin. “How was the press conference?”
“You don’t wanna know,” I mutter, cuddling into him. “While most of the journalists are great, there are always a few who think I’m only playing this well because you’re my boyfriend.”
Camden snorts. “What, they think he dicks you down so well that it leads you to victory?”
So many things have changed since we decided to be together after our snowed-in Christmas.
My family knows about our relationship. Logan’s too.
They don’t always understand, but they are supportive, and they all love Cam.
Because what’s not to love? Especially when he puts his guard down and lets everyone see the real him—a kind and caring guy who wants the best for his closest people.
My best friends Karina and Chloe know too, and the latter keeps saying I’m living her dream.
The guys from the Thunders know, and with how close they are—there’s zero judgment.
As for everyone else? We don’t care. We’re happy and in love, and that’s the only thing that matters.
And even though Logan is my official boyfriend, Camden owns me just as much as he does, and he’s fine with it. Though he keeps insisting that if we ever decide to have a baby, the first one should be his. But…that’s not in our plans. At least for a while.
“I guess. Or maybe that winning is contagious. That I caught it from him.”
Camden breaks into a wicked smile. “Little do they know that you have two hockey players fucking you so hard that some days you can’t even walk straight.”
I kick at him, but he catches my foot and holds it in his lap. When he massages my heel, I moan and melt into Logan.
“In all seriousness, don’t pay attention to those assholes,” Logan says softly. “They’re idiots if they can’t comprehend the idea of a woman earning success without the help of a man. You were phenomenal on the court today, and you deserve that win more than anyone.”
“That last match point left me speechless.” Camden adds more pressure as he continues working his magic on my foot. “And you know that doesn’t happen often.”
“Thank you so much. Both of you.” I smile at Camden and then look over my shoulder at Logan. “You’re my lifesavers.”
I settle in for the second half of the movie, lounging in Logan’s arms, my hand in Camden’s. Occasionally, Logan presses his lips to the top of my hair, whispering about how proud of me he is. And just as often, Camden flashes me a smile, his eyes softening in a way they only do for me.
Later, in bed between them, I can’t help but think about the dinner where I met them. About the cabin in the woods where we were forced together.
Being snowed in like that was like a match point. We aced it, using the time to our advantage. And we won the greatest prize of all.
Us.
If I had the chance to do it all over again, I wouldn’t change a thing.
1 Oh my God. I’m in the semifinals!