Chapter 38 Wimbledon
WIMBLEDON
EACH GRAND SLAM has a unique energy. They’re all special in their own way, but Wimbledon’s just … sacred. It smells like old money and fresh turf. And when the crowd holds its breath? You feel it in your bones.
I tighten the grip tape with my thumb, even though I did it twice in the locker room, trying to pretend this is just another match. Like it’s not freaking Wimbledon and the entire planet isn’t watching.
Like Mom won’t be watching.
I still can’t believe she kept her promise and flew out here to watch me play a major for the first time.
I just wish she’d arrived sooner. She missed me taking down Serena Williams in the third round.
I thought that might be as far as I’d go.
She gave me a serious run for my money, coming back after a year away and still playing like that? I’m still shocked I beat her.
Mom arrived last night with Robbie since I made it to the quarterfinals.
Gemma has been here for a few days. The first thing she told me when I asked how it went in Korea was, “God, I can’t believe I’m admitting this.
I missed your brother like a complete idiot.
It was disgusting. Don’t you dare tell him. ”
I would never.
Robbie hasn’t admitted to missing her, but I know he does. Still, I can’t meddle. That’s for them to figure out.
I glance at our box. Robbie and Gemma are mid-conversation, weirdly civil. Maybe even friendly. Everyone’s there. Everyone except Mom. But I tell myself it’s fine.
Before I walked onto the court, Henry told me she’d meet them in the box once she was done with interviews. The media swarmed her the second she set foot on the grounds. Addison Freeman reemerging at Wimbledon? Of course they wanted a quote to slap on their headlines.
Knowing Mom will be watching and evaluating my every move, every serve, every twitch of my wrist, every moan that comes out too loud from the effort, makes me anxious. But I shake it off and focus on the thrill of being here again.
Sabine Lisicki’s a grass-court specialist with a brutal serve. I’ve never faced her before, but I plan to give it everything I’ve got.
Time for the coin toss.
The soft shuffle of feet, creaking seats, and murmured conversations fade into that solemn hush that makes Centre Court feel like church.
We approach the chair umpire at the net. He pulls a coin from his pocket and holds it up. Sabine chooses tails, and it lands on heads.
“I’ll serve,” I say without missing a beat. No way I’m letting Sabine’s serve set the tone.
She gestures to the left side. “I’ll take that end.”
We nod, part ways, and head to our baselines for warm-up.
I give the cameras a small, focused wave and start my usual routine: jog to the baseline, a few quick skips, a stretch, and deep, steadying breaths.
Sabine and I trade clean, steady groundstrokes across the net. I glance up at our box between points. Gemma and Robbie are quiet now, watching the warm-up. Henry and Tim are talking, and Dad’s already filming on his phone.
I focus on the rhythm, the ball, and the way the court feels under my feet, trying to get in the zone and drown out the weight of the silence … and the fact that Mom’s seat is still empty.
I keep telling myself she got caught up in interviews and will appear any minute now. Maybe she got pulled aside by someone important. Or stopped for coffee.
Or a drink …
I shake my head quickly as something twists low in my stomach. I can’t let it get to me. She could be here, just not sitting with the others. That has to be it. I can’t afford to let her absence mean what it always does.
Not yet.
The umpire calls time.
The first hit of adrenaline sharpens everything. I bounce on my toes and head to the baseline.
I NEHBL, toss the ball high in the air, and serve.
Game on.
This is one of the best matches I’ve played in my entire life.
One more game, maybe two, and I’ll be in the semis.
I haven’t glanced up at our box once. Not even as I towel off, sip water, and settle into the changeover bench.
But curiosity is crawling beneath my skin.
The match is almost over. What harm could it do to look? She should be here by now.
I’m sure she is.
But when I finally look up, Gemma’s still there, fists clenched in front of her mouth. Henry’s at the edge of his seat, his knee bouncing like he might jump down and serve the point himself. Tim’s next to him, arms crossed tight over his chest.
Wait.
My eyes sweep the rows, hoping Mom and Dad just shifted seats, or moved for a better angle … something. But no. They’re gone. Drew’s missing, too, but that’s normal. He has other clients to attend to and comes and goes as he can.
My heart skips a beat. Heat flashes up my neck.
What the hell is going on?
I slam the water bottle down and rise before the umpire calls time. If something’s happening, I’ll deal with it once I finish this.
I need to get off this court.
Now.
I clutch the last game by the throat and don’t let go. I don’t even give the final point a chance to settle. The second it’s over with an ace down the T, I skip the fist pump and the theatrics. I walk, racket in hand, pulse pounding, and meet my opponent at the net for a quick handshake.
“Good match,” she says. I nod but don’t answer.
I’m back to scanning again.
The crowd’s roaring.
Camera flashes blind me.
But I’m still searching for my parents like a kid at a school recital, craning her neck for familiar faces … and finding none.
I smile and wave mechanically to the crowd, then head to my bench. I barely register the applause as I grab my things. I shake the umpire’s hand and walk off like I’ve been hunting for hours and the dogs have finally started howling.
My limbs are jittery, and my breath comes short and ragged as I head for the tunnel.
“Belén!” someone shouts. I pretend I don’t hear. Because if I stop moving, I might unravel right here on Centre Court.
She promised.
She fucking promised to be here and only made it as far as the venue. It’s ridiculous. It’s rude. It’s not okay.
I keep believing her. Keep thinking she might come around and show up for me … for once.
The corridor is quiet and cool as I follow my host, bypassing the media as I previously requested, a stark contrast to the screaming, sunlit arena I just left behind. My clipped footsteps echo against the floor. I keep walking, my jaw clenched so tight it burns.
“Bells!” Henry’s voice echoes behind me, a little breathless. “Wait!”
I stop but don’t turn around right away. I’m not ready to face the crude reality yet. I know he’s here to let me down easy, and I’m not sure I’m strong enough for a disappointment this big. It’s letting myself believe that makes me feel stupid. Like I’m nine all over again.
“Where’s Mom?”
Other players, VIPs, and staff brush past us, muttering apologies. I’m clutching my towel like it’s the only thing tethering me to Earth.
Henry steps in front of me and gently wipes away the tears I hadn’t realized were falling.
He swallows, steps closer, and hugs me, pressing a kiss to my sweaty head.
“She fainted,” he says. “Your dad got a call from the medical tent after you won the first set. Someone found her passed out in the bathroom. Your dad left right after the call and rushed her to the hospital.”
The world tilts. I blink hard, trying to make sense of what he’s telling me, unable to decipher how it makes me feel.
“Is she okay?” I blurt, panic rising. “Will she be okay?”
“She’s okay,” he says reassuringly. “She was severely dehydrated, but they’re taking good care of her at the hospital.”
“Take me to her,” I say.
Henry nods and reaches for my bag.
“Don’t you dare.” I point at him, stepping back and yanking the thick strap higher on my shoulder. “I’m more than capable of carrying my shit. I’ll report you to Dr. Rivera if you try that again.”
I’m not even kidding.
He lets out a laugh, but it comes out mostly sad and worried.
“Why don’t you gather the rest of your stuff from the locker room first?” he says. “I’ll let the others know we’re leaving and meet you in the parking lot.”
“Wait,” I say, and he stops. “Who am I up against in the semis tomorrow?”
“Tim will text you the name as soon as he knows,” he says. “Like he always does.”
I give him a sharp nod and rush toward the locker rooms.
We arrive at the hospital. Robbie came with us, but Gemma stayed behind to give us privacy and said she would meet me later at the hotel.
Robbie calls Dad to ask where we can find them. He gives us the floor number and tells us to meet him in the waiting room.
The elevator doors can’t open fast enough. I dash out and find Dad hunched in a chair, elbows on his knees, face buried in his hands.
“Hey, Joe,” Henry says.
Dad flinches at the sound of his name and shoots up from his seat.
He looks wrecked. Worried. Hollow. The saddest I’ve ever seen him.
“How is she?” Robbie asks.
“She’s awake,” Dad says. “Doing better now that the IV’s rehydrating her.” He looks at me. “And asking for you.”
My brows knit.
I take a deep breath and clutch Henry’s arm like it holds all the answers.
“She wants to see you,” Dad says, looking away.
I can see he can’t stand what’s happening, how he refuses to accept this as his reality.
“I know you’re upset and have every right to feel that way.
But she’ll understand if you’re not ready to talk to her.
I know I’m not.” He says that last part softly, like he didn’t mean to say it out loud.
Dad presses his lips, and I can see how hard he’s working to reel in the turmoil. It breaks my heart. For him. For me. For her. For our family.
“She’s in 506,” he says. “The doctors want her to stay the night just to be safe.”
Robbie presses a hand to Dad’s shoulder. He’s never been great with words for situations like these, but he’s always present and supportive in his own way.