Chapter 15
These last few days, Kate has the feeling she's living in a body that doesn't belong to her, moving through a life that isn't hers. It's been almost a week since she found out about Leire's renewal with Costel—and not from her lover.
She'd woken up with her lower back a little stiff, though noticeably better since she'd been on the island, resting and focused on her recovery exercises.
The numbness lasted a few seconds—the same time it took her body to realize it was awake and needed to move.
She sat on the edge of the bed, letting the discomfort fade, and picked up her phone to check the news about the tournament the Spanish woman was playing.
She opened one of the two sports apps she used for that, and the first thing that came up was a photo of Leire on the court, racket in hand, gaze turned to one side.
A candid shot that existed only to put a face to an article—one that made Kate feel her heart rise into her throat and the blood drain from her cheeks.
It was a straightforward post, and she only read the headline: Leire Cobos renews her contract with Costel for five years and fourteen million euros.
She looked at the photo of the tennis player again and realized they'd used that particular one because it showed the brand's logo perfectly—on her shirt, her socks, and her wristbands.
She closed the app, unsettled, and then noticed she had a message from her.
I'm guessing you won't read this before the news breaks. I wanted to tell you over the phone, but Isaac put it out without asking me. I'm sorry—call me when you wake up and we'll talk.
Kate didn't know what she felt right then, but the last thing she wanted was to talk to her.
So she left her phone in the bedroom and went downstairs to have breakfast with Diane and Rachel, who, despite having only been at her place for a couple of days, was spending far more hours with Kate than the two Diane had promised.
And she didn't mind; she was comfortable with that woman, felt understood by her, and that helped her open up.
On top of that, she found it useful to listen to her stories and her strategies—what she did when she missed competing, how she fought her frustrations, how she learned to manage anxiety attacks.
Kate had become a sponge, soaking up every word from the former swimmer and storing it away for when she'd need it, because she was certain she'd go through something very similar.
"It's like grief," she'd told her the night before over dinner. "Like someone you love deeply has died and you have to get through it—except it's not a person, it's your career."
She realized Diane was paying close attention too whenever they were together, and then it hit her that with the end of her own career, her coach's was ending as well—Diane had decided it was time to retire.
She walked into the living room and found them sitting across from each other. She said hello and took her seat at the head of the table.
"Leire renewed with Costel," she said without looking up from her glass, which she was filling with juice.
"I know, sweetheart, I read it a little while ago," Diane answered.
Nothing more was said about it, as if everyone at the table had reached a silent agreement that it was better to leave the subject for another time.
Eight days have passed since then, and Kate can no longer say exactly what it is she has with Rachel.
What started as a couple of hours to talk and get some advice has turned into a kind of companionship—not just for her, but for her coach as well.
The woman spends mornings with them while Kate does physical therapy and through her training exercises too.
Usually during those hours it's Diane and Rachel who talk to each other, sometimes about things that have nothing to do with sports and other times helping Diane think through all the options she'll have afterward, so she doesn't end up feeling idle.
Kate just listens; the conversations always interest her, and no intrusive thoughts push their way into her head while she does.
After lunch is when Rachel dedicates herself to Kate alone.
Not once have they sat down in the living room to talk; they're always doing something.
A couple of afternoons they went down to the coves along the north coast, where the water was so cold that Kate—the only one brave enough to get in—could barely breathe, while Rachel waited with a look of horror on her face and a towel ready to throw over her.
They've also driven with no destination along narrow roads and stopped in villages the Australian hadn't had the chance to visit yet.
They don't always talk about tennis or about Leire; they talk about small things too—news, hobbies, whatever comes up.
But what surprises Kate most is that she's been sleeping deeply in a way she hasn't managed in a long time.
In fact, the first night she slept straight through, she woke up startled, convinced she'd overslept, so completely relaxed that for a second she even forgot where she was and thought she had a match.
Diane burst out laughing when Kate told her over breakfast, and Rachel gave her a slow nod, lips curved in a smile that sometimes throws the tennis player off.
It's not the way Rachel looks at her, but simply that she looks—that Rachel doesn't care about being seen with Kate, doesn't hide when they're walking through a village and Kate gives her a light nudge as a protest against some teasing comment from the swimmer, and she doesn't hesitate to put an arm around her shoulders and pull her close when Kate sinks into one of those low stretches that suffocate her.
Even though there's nothing between them, Kate can't help comparing her to Leire in a lot of situations, because Rachel is the woman she's been spending the most time with since her story with the Spanish woman began.
And every time an ordinary instant passes between them, the redhead's mind reaches for the same thing with Leire—she looks for the times where Rachel doesn't lower her voice when she talks to her if someone's nearby, and she catches how the woman opens a door and walks through it without glancing left or right first.
"Where did you go?" Rachel asks, waving a hand in front of Kate's green eyes.
Kate turns toward her and opens her mouth without knowing what to say as her mind comes back to the present. It's late, and they're sitting on the edge of the pool with their feet in the water, looking for relief after nearly three hours of hiking.
Kate tries to speak, but nothing comes out, because after all that time turning over her relationship with Leire and the comparisons she's made with the hours she's spent with this woman she already considers a friend, she's reached a conclusion: for three years she's been living convinced that love is something you manage in hotel rooms and hide from everyone else's eyes.
"I sold myself pretty short, didn't I?" she asks suddenly, hands pressed against the edge of the pool.
Rachel glances at her sideways before answering. She doesn't need context; she knows exactly what she's talking about.
"I wouldn't put it that way, but let's say yes—I do agree that you've settled for very little."
The redhead looks down at her own legs and runs a hand along the back of her neck.
"Would you have done it?"
"I'm not in your situation, honey," Rachel says.
"Pretend you are," Kate says, her tone hardened—nothing more than frustration coming through.
Rachel thinks for a few seconds, imagining her ex-wife had been deep in the closet when they met.
"Probably yes—maybe I wouldn't have held on as long as you have, but I would have waited. I was very in love with her and I'm sure I would have been patient. But what I wouldn't have put up with is the limbo you're in, Kate, where you don't even know what you have with her."
"I do know."
"Do you really? Are you two a couple? Have you ever talked about having a real relationship? Even a hidden one—but real."
Kate realizes they haven't. That everything between them has always been something they took for granted without either of them ever naming it.
They've avoided the serious conversations the whole time, and what she has is a secret relationship with no real commitment except the one she's decided to hold herself to.
A small, humorless laugh escapes through her nose when she remembers that Leire asked her not to leave the last time they talked—and they don't even have something to leave.
"Maybe that's the first thing you need to work through, Kate," Rachel says, taking her point as settled.
"You need to know what you have with her, understand what it is you're sacrificing so much for—because if neither of you is fully committed, if there's no plan and no shared goal, you're fighting for something that could turn to nothing overnight. "
The tennis player swallows and for a second considers sliding under the water and letting the noise in her head go quiet.
"I'm in love with her," she admits in a whisper.
"I know." Rachel places a warm hand on her back. "And from everything you've told me, I'm more than convinced she's in love with you too."
The redhead tilts her head and gives her a sad smile.
"I don't want to lose tennis and her at the same time. I don't think I could handle that." Her voice comes out tight.
Rachel, in an automatic movement, brushes a strand of hair from her face, which sparks a few seconds of tension between them.
"You need mental stability, Kate—especially now, when one of the hardest stretches of your career is coming," the former swimmer continues, breaking the brief discomfort they both felt.
"Talk to her. Put your feelings on the table—both of yours—and what you're each willing to do to keep going.
That's the only way you'll be able to decide if you want to keep fighting for something that, right now, gives you little more than sex every now and then. "
Kate goes quiet, turning over what she's just said.
She's already made a decision: if things with Leire don't move forward by the time the US Open is over, she'll end what they have and try to start over—despite the deep pain she knows she'll feel.
But Rachel is right about this; she can't take that step, knowing it'll break her, without first having a real conversation with Leire.
"Let's change the subject," the former swimmer suggests. She seems to have a gift for sensing the exact instant when Kate is about to fall apart.
She's spent many hours with the tennis player and knows every shift in her expression, and although Kate has cried in front of her a couple of times because she couldn't hold it back, she knows the athlete feels uncomfortable being that vulnerable.
"To what?" Kate smiles, eyes glassy, grateful that Diane brought this woman into her life—someone who sometimes feels like she can read her mind.
She reaches again for the comparison with Leire and can't find it.
Not because she doesn't have that connection with her—she knows she does, has known it from the beginning, felt it the first time Leire looked at her and touched her at the same time.
She felt something move through her that went beyond physical desire; it was something else, the sense that it was her—that the absolute ease she felt with a woman she barely knew was a sign that she was her person.
And the only reason she hasn't had times like this one with her is that they've never let themselves have them.
"The first day, I told you to think of things you'd like to do that you hadn't gotten to because your schedule never allowed it. Have you come up with anything yet?"
Kate feels the heat rise in her cheeks and touches her scar with her index finger as if she's scratching it.
"Honestly, no," she admits, embarrassed.
"So you're completely ignoring me," Rachel teases, and Kate lets out a small laugh that loosens her muscles a little.