Chapter 39
Rori
Winning Cincinnati, the last tournament before the U.S. Open in New York, has me back on track in terms of my tennis. As I hoist up the trophy on the court, my confidence clicks fully back into place. U.S. Open, here I come.
Plus, Tessa’s gone from the picture. She’s gotten what she deserved. There’s lots of grateful locker room chatter about her ban.
Up next, a few days at home. I fly back with Julie, and she’s brimming with pride as we debrief about the tournament.
“You shook off all that drama and took care of business,” Julie says. “First time you beat Ilsa, and frankly, she never had a chance. Let’s find ways to keep you in the zone.”
A big group of us from Pinnacle have dinner the next day at Maggie’s house. Everyone’s headed to New York in the coming days to start their own U.S. Open journey. The chatter across the group is excited and upbeat.
“Rori, I told you, this is going to be your first win at a Slam,” Peter says, his arm around Maggie. “I feel it.”
“Totally is,” Maggie agrees. As I nod and walk to the kitchen for more water, I notice them move to a full embrace, Maggie whispering something in Peter’s ear that makes him follow up with a kiss.
In another corner of the room, I see Malcolm talking with his girlfriend Sarah while rubbing softly on the back of her neck.
I’m happy for all of them, truly. But watching the couples canoodle shoots a wave of longing through my chest.
I’ve told no one—who could I even talk to about this—but I miss Landon terribly.
I miss talking to him after matches.
I miss laughing with him at dumb TV shows.
I miss the way he made my body feel.
I miss the safe feeling I had with him, someone that really had my back.
And I miss the warmth in my heart that I felt our last few weeks together, when it seemed like I’d found the one person who embraced everything about me and my life.
I start a conversation with another player who’s snacking on some veggies and cheese, but I can’t even follow clearly what she’s talking about. I’m just trying to avoid thinking about Landon.
On the drive back to the cottage later, I reflect on what Dad said when we were at the old house, which was so similar to Aunt Mandy’s comments a couple of months before.
Finally ready to receive what they suggested, it clicks for me that I’ve relied on my tennis to feel fulfilled for a long time. A crutch to fill gaps in my personal life.
When tennis made me feel whole and successful, I didn't need to be vulnerable with other people. Didn’t need to take risks or expose myself to loss.
The problem is that tennis is not making me feel whole right now.
Instead, there’s a Landon-shaped hole in my chest. Like Maggie said, I didn’t even know what I was missing in my life until he showed me.
I’ve had more time to think about the media stuff too. When Julie and Dad came to ask for my blessing in making a statement about being together, Julie said something that connected for me later—that she’d moved past being worried about public opinion.
Wasn’t that exactly the thing that had me so stuck? Letting myself be distracted by fears of what people thought, what they talked about? Letting my emotions be steered left or right by press coverage?
Looking at everything that’s happened, I can admit that’s what I have been doing. Why should I care? If I’m not going to let what Tessa says bug me, why should I care about a gossipy headline, especially if it costs me the man I want?
Sleep that night is fitful as I can’t stop thinking of Landon, second-guessing everything I’ve done. I wake up still feeling uneasy and out-of-sorts.
Do I want him back?
Damn, I think I do. I do.
I really messed this up. I acted out of emotion in Toronto instead of giving our situation time to breathe and the chaos around us to calm.
This is my mess to fix. I own it. And the only solution I can think of is terrifying—reaching out to him, potentially having my heart crushed. Or maybe he will ghost me, like I ignored him at the beginning.
I have to try, though. I have to push through that fear.
I’m playing the dynamics out in my head all morning.
During my court time with my hitting partner, I go through the motions.
Luckily, I’m feeling physically great, and my body’s so attuned to our drill sequences that my tennis is passable.
I’m not meeting with Julie until this afternoon, and this morning’s hit is meant to maintain my rhythm on the court.
After finishing the morning session, I bump into Maggie in the facility’s locker room.
“Hey friend, how we doing?” she asks, sitting on one of the benches, rewrapping one of her racquet’s grips.
“I’m okay. Not a terrible day on court, but I’m struggling with something else,” I say, taking a sip of my water. “About you know who.”
Maggie’s hands pause. “Do tell. Maybe I can help?”
“Maybe,” I say. “Obviously I shut down Landon pretty hard while in Canada, right?”
“Yes, you and your stone-cold heart,” Maggie says, only half joking. “Making boys suffer since we were 14.”
I take that comment at face value, knowing there’s some truth to it.
“You’ve been pretty quiet about it since it first happened though,” she observes. “I haven’t wanted to be annoying and pry, with everything going on with Julie afterwards too.”
I work up the nerve to admit the direction of my feelings out loud for the first time.
“What if I were to tell you I think I made a mistake with ending things with Landon?”
She nods, clearly not surprised by my confession. “And?” she says.
“I think I want him back,” I say out loud, also for the first time.
She places the racquet down on the bench. “Girl, you’re so good at tennis and so bad at life sometimes,” she says with an exasperated tone.
“UGHHHH,” I say, dropping my head in my hands. “I know. I told him that I didn’t want to see him anymore because I thought I was losing Julie, losing hold of my focus. But that was dumb.”
She sighs. “It’s okay, you made a mistake. It’s allowed.”
I look up at her again. “I don’t like my days without him. I don’t like never being able to talk to him. It feels wrong to have him missing from my life.”
“Well,” Maggie says. “You know that you need to talk to him in order to see if he will give you another chance. Have you reached out to him?”
“No,” I admit. “I haven’t gotten that far yet. Honestly, I’m scared to. Scared he’ll be so angry or not want to talk to me.”
Maggie’s eyes light up, as if an idea has sparked.
“Let’s text him now, while I’m here for you. I’ll help you be brave.”
A jolt of panic goes through me, but it quickly dissipates. Maggie’s suggestion isn’t a bad one. I need the accountability to get out of my own way.
“Okay,” I agree, grabbing my phone. I stare at our last text chain. “It’s unoriginal, but how about ‘can you talk’?”
“Yes, fine, that works to get the ball rolling,” Maggie says. “Do it now, before you chicken out.”
So I do.
RORI: Hi. Can you talk?
Maggie and I stand in silence, watching my phone for a solid minute. No reply comes.
“He could be in the middle of a ton of stuff, don’t think too much of it,” Maggie says. “Put the phone away and watch him reply then.”
I nod and try to quell my unease. Maybe he will ghost me. Turnabout is fair play, and all that.
I go about my afternoon session with Julie and try to stay focused on tennis. It’s now only five days before I leave for New York. Happily, everything does seem to be clicking on court again this afternoon.
“Strong session, stay in this headspace,” Julie says.
When I get home though, it’s Landon that occupies my mind. He still hasn’t responded. Whether out of anger or disinterest, I have no way of knowing.
Going a little crazy with sitting here in the cottage thinking about it, I call Maggie.
“Mags, he still hasn’t responded,” I say after she answers.
“Well, shoot. Hmmm. Okay,” she says, clearly unsure of what my next move should be.
“I hate this,” I say. “I know I messed up, and I want the chance to at least tell him that, you know?”
“I get it,” Maggie replies. “If there was only a way you could see him, force the issue. But I’m sure it would be hard to figure out where he’s going to be or make it happen with your schedules.”
Suddenly, a bell goes off in my head, inspired by Maggie’s words. A quick Google search confirms that what I’m considering is a possibility.
“Mags, oh my god. I have an idea.”
I proceed to explain what I’m thinking.
“Do it, do it, do it. You’ll regret it if you don’t try,” she says. “This is so un-Rori like and I kind of love it.”
We quickly get off so I can try to make it a possibility.
First step, I text Taylor: Can you get Grace Battle’s cell phone for me?
Within an hour, Taylor has texted me the phone number as well as a follow-up message: “Not asking any questions, but Landon’s publicist was kind enough to share it.”
Okay, now for the start of the really hard part. This next step could work, or it could go down in flames. It all depends on whether Grace already hates my guts for ending things with Landon.
I take a bite of some pasta salad leftovers that I’m eating for dinner and decide to go for it before I get too nervous.
RORI: Hi Grace, this is Rori Reilly. You may not want to hear from me, I’m sorry. I really messed things up with Landon, and I want to fix it. I could use your help, if you think there’s a chance. Can I call you with an idea I had?
Several minutes later, a reply comes through.
GRACE: Yes, I’m free now.
I click on her name and hit connect.