CHAPTER 15
OLIVIA
It was one of those slow, golden afternoons where even the courts seemed to exhale. No whistles, no coaches barking corrections, no players sprinting like their lives depended on it.
I’d decided to meet up with the girls, my unofficial sanity squad on tour. For once, none of us was dressed like athletes.
Marta had swapped her usual hyper-competitive aura for denim shorts and a loose tee, looking like she’d accidentally wandered in from a summer festival.
Which was hilarious, considering this was the same Marta Rybnik, the woman who could intimidate a line judge just by adjusting her ponytail, the two-time Madrid finalist who trained like the world ended every Tuesday.
Seeing her dressed like a normal human felt almost illegal.
Elena, meanwhile, showed up in her classic “I literally rolled out of bed and still look better than everyone” outfit.
That was just Elena Roberts for you, world No.
12, serial breaker of hearts, and somehow still the only person on tour who could nap through a warm-up and then play like she’d been summoned by tennis gods.
Her brand of chaos had its own gravitational pull.
And me? Trainers and a hoodie, because comfort is my rebellion. In a room full of high-performance disasters disguised as people, I was the only one who dressed like she was here for the snacks.
We’d agreed to meet at the training grounds out of pure muscle memory.
Even on a day off, our feet apparently couldn’t be trusted to take us anywhere else.
Now we were just aimlessly drifting down the familiar paths, hands free, no racquets digging into our shoulders, no schedules snapping at our heels.
“You don’t look like you’re getting ready, Olivia,” Elena said, nudging me with a half-grin. “Wimbledon can’t be the peak, right?”
I shrugged, smiling. “I’ve been trying. You know how it is, train, play, repeat. But it’s nice to have you guys around. Makes it feel less… intense.”
Marta laughed. “Intense? That’s your life in a nutshell! But hey, bonding like this? Totally allowed. Even mandatory.”
We found a quiet corner café near the training complex. Elena immediately grabbed the window seat, and Marta started scanning through the menu.
“So, spill,” Marta said, leaning in conspiratorially. “What’s the latest tennis gossip? Anything wild from the tour?”
“Oh I know! Liv, care to explain maybe… a certain someone?” Elena teased.
“A certain someone?”
“Oh, don’t play innocent,” she teased. “Everybody here saw those pictures. You and Alex at lunch, she's actually smiling for once. That never happens.”
Marta gasped dramatically, clutching her protein shake. “Wait, Alex? As in Alexandra Cadiz? The Queen Broody Alex? Smiling?”
“Smiling,” Elena confirmed, delighted. “And not just once. Multiple times. You don’t get that out of her unless…” She let the sentence hang, her grin daring me to fill it in.
I shook my head, laughing nervously. “You guys are hilarious. Alex smiles plenty, you just don’t catch it on camera.”
Marta snorted. “Not like that. Even I noticed it, and I wasn’t looking.”
I tried to wave it off, cheeks warming despite myself. “It’s nothing. Just good timing and photographers desperate for headlines.”
Elena leaned back, smirk still plastered on her face. “Mm-hm. Sure. But if Alex starts grinning again tomorrow and you just happen to be around, I’m calling it.”
Marta perked up instantly. “You know Alex is basically married to her sport, right? No scandals, no dating history, no late-night pictures coming out of clubs. Just training, tournaments, repeat.”
Elena raised a finger, eyes glinting. “Well… not entirely true. There was that one rumor back. A couple of years ago, Alex was pretty much inseparable from a French triathlete, Cassandra Dubois. Gorgeous, ridiculously fit, you couldn’t miss her.
She was the youngest French Olympian. Everyone in the French Sports world knew her. ”
Marta’s eyebrows shot up. “Wait, really? Alex and a triathlete? I didn’t even know she liked girls.”
Elena said with a little shrug. “It never went public, not in the press anyway. But inside the athlete circle? The whispers were everywhere. Cassandra was getting flooded with attention, people sliding into her DMs left and right, but she barely looked at anyone. She was glued to Alex. So, who knows? Maybe Alex is just really good at keeping that side of her life private.”
Marta smirked, leaning forward. “And now… It’s Olivia who’s two steps away in all the pictures.”
Elena grinned slyly, eyes flicking to me. “Exactly. Which is why I’m not buying the ‘photographers desperate for headlines’ excuse. Not when the smile looks that real.”
I laughed nervously, tugging at my water bottle.
Marta tilted her head, curiosity flashing. “But wait, are they still… You know, together?”
Elena gave a knowing little shake of her head. “Given the fact that they suddenly weren’t seen together anymore, and then Alex switched fully to tennis? It doesn’t take much to put two and two together. The talk was that things ended between them, and that’s when Alex left triathlon for good.”
Marta let out a low whistle. “Damn. That’s… intense.”
I shifted in my seat, trying not to picture Alex with some beautiful French Olympian. The thought twisted something sharp in my chest, and I quickly looked down at my bottle cap, pretending to fidget with it.
Elena, of course, noticed. She leaned in with a grin that was all mischief. “Ooooh, look at Olivia pretending she doesn’t care. Relax, Liv, if it’s over, that means you’ve got a chance.”
“Exactly,” Marta chimed in. “I mean, come on. Alexandra Wilson-Cadiz? Hot, talented, and that face card?”
She nudges me. “And judging by the way she smiles only when you’re around… well, maybe you’re the upgrade.”
I could feel the blush blooming before I even had the dignity to stop it. I cleared my throat, eyes darting anywhere but Marta and Elena’s knowing stare. “Right. Okay. We’re not doing this,” I muttered, more to the pavement than to them.
“Anyway. Enough about me.” I waved a hand as if I could swat the entire topic out of existence. “What’s the latest on the girls’ matches? Any drama with doubles partners or crazy rallies?” I asked, practically shoving the conversation in a different direction.
But the heat in my cheeks refused to go anywhere.
Elena and Marta traded stories as we packed up, wild tie-breakers, unexpected upsets, someone smashing a racquet so hard the strings snapped mid-point. Their laughter filled the air, the kind that made training aches blur into the background.
Eventually, we gathered our things, the evening creeping in around the training complex. We said our goodnights with quick hugs and waves before splitting off toward our hotels.
By the time I slipped my keycard into my room door, I kicked off my trainers, let myself fall onto the bed, and stared at the ceiling.
My muscles ached pleasantly from the day, my chest still light from all the laughter.
For a brief moment, it felt like the noise of the tour had quieted down just enough for me to breathe.
And then inevitably my thoughts drifted to Alex.
It was absurd, really, how my mind kept circling back to her, how a single smile, a single glance, could still tug at something in me I couldn’t quite name.
I’d dated before. I’d cared before. My ex had been good to me, steady even… but it had never been this. Not the way my pulse behaved around Alex. Not the way her voice threaded itself into my thoughts long after she was gone. Not the way a single memory of her could tilt an entire evening.
For a brief moment, in this quiet pocket of the tour, it felt like the world had stilled just enough for me to finally admit it. Whatever this was with Alex… it wasn’t something I’d felt for anyone else. Not even close.
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The next morning, I was already on court with Coach Dani, working through a baseline drill. My wrist was taped for extra support, and sweat was already stinging my eyes.
“Feet quicker, Liv,” Dani called out, tossing another ball into my strike zone. “And keep that follow-through snappy.”
I obeyed, but my mind kept drifting. I couldn’t even pinpoint what was distracting me, until Dani suddenly blew her whistle and walked over.
“You’re somewhere else today,” she said flatly.
I frowned, panting. “No, I’m fine. Just a little sluggish from breakfast.”
She raised a brow. “Really?” Then she pulled her phone from her pocket, tapped the screen a few times, and held it out to me.
It was a social media post. Actually, several. All of them featuring Alex and me from our lunch in Ohio.
“Those are what’s distracting you,” Dani said, sliding the phone back into her pocket. “If you’re happy, fine. But if this is noise, cut it out. The US Open isn’t the place to be carrying extra baggage.”
I swallowed hard, shaking my head. “Alex and I… It’s not like that. We just had lunch.”
“Then make sure it stays just lunch,” she replied crisply. “Because the way those pictures look? Everyone else is going to write their own story. And you don’t need to be caught in someone else’s plot right now.”
I nodded mutely, watching her stride back to the baseline, my grip tightening on the racquet.
She wasn’t wrong. Something had been tugging at me, pulling little threads of my focus until they unraveled at the edges. I hated that she could see it.
We rolled through drills for another thirty minutes before I finally slumped into the chair courtside. Maddie walked over and handed me my water bottle.
“You’re distracted because of her, aren’t you?” she said.
I sat up straighter, scoffing as if the idea were absurd. “No. Absolutely not.”
Maddie raised an eyebrow. “Oh, come on, Liv. I’ve been watching you carefully.”
I felt my cheeks heat up instantly, and I hastily looked away, trying to hide my fluster. Okay, too obvious, I thought, kicking myself internally.