Chapter 23
They walk through the tunnel in silence, tense, hands locked together with an almost desperate force, eyes glassy.
Other players still lingering at the tournament intercept them before they reach the locker room.
Congratulations come from faces they know and some they don't, from staff along the way.
Kate is somewhere inside a fog, unable to say anything beyond a nod and a half-smile as they move, grateful that Leire hasn't let go, because she feels a little dizzy under the weight of everything a tired body and an exhausted mind have been carrying all day.
When they finally step inside the locker room, the quiet is a relief, and Leire exhales as she pulls the door shut.
She knows they have to talk about a lot of things—saying she's in love with Kate doesn't erase everything that happened, doesn't wipe the slate clean—but she can't start any of it right now, not the thing about her father, not the two of them, because the Australian is trembling from head to toe and has no idea how to hold all of this at once.
"Let's sit down before you pass out," Leire whispers, steering her toward a wooden bench.
The moment they sit, Kate breaks again, gasping as if she can't catch her breath. This is the end of her career, and she needs a little more time to feel it—to believe she won, that the crowd adored her all the way to the last point, that Leire is standing right here beside her and not hiding.
"Let it out, sweetheart…" the Spanish woman whispers, pulling her close when Kate folds into her.
She holds her against her body, one hand moving slowly up and down her back, lips pressing into her hair.
Kate cries for several minutes until finally her body calls it enough and she begins to settle.
When she lifts her head, her face is wet, her bangs plastered to her forehead, loose strands from her ponytail sticking to her neck, her eyes red and swollen.
Leire makes sure she's okay, then gets up to grab some tissues.
"Do you want water?" she asks, crouching in front of her.
Kate nods, and Leire pulls the bottle from her bag and hands it over.
"Here—drink slowly, small sips, so you don't get the hiccups."
The redhead does as she's told, takes a couple of gulps, and gives the bottle back. She lifts her gaze until her green eyes meet Leire's light brown ones for the first time since they left the court.
There's so much in that look that Leire loses her breath, her heart slamming against her ribs.
"How are you doing?" she asks, and Kate just nods to say she's okay.
At that moment someone knocks—a firm, clear knock—and waits a few seconds before opening the door.
"Can I come in for a minute? I just want to see how she is," says Diane, who knows Kate well enough to have suspected she'd fall apart.
The coach closes the door behind her and crosses the room to them, settling beside her player on the bench while Leire stays crouched, hands resting on her knees.
"All good, sweetheart?" Diane asks, and Kate's chin wobbles just slightly before the tears come again.
Again, a few minutes pass before she steadies, and this time she drags one wristband across her nose and the other across her eyes.
"I'm so overwhelmed," she says at last, raising her hands a little. They're still trembling, as if something's vibrating beneath the skin.
"That's completely normal," Diane says. "Way too much for one day." She glances sideways at Leire, who hasn't taken her eyes off Kate for a second. "What do you need? Do you want to head out now and shower at the hotel?"
Kate shakes her head.
"I'm a mess." She runs her fingers under her eyes and swallows. "I'll shower here and then we'll go."
"Okay." Diane kisses her on the cheek and stands. "Just so I know—are you two leaving together, or…?"
"Together," Leire answers immediately, then looks at Kate. "If that works for you."
"Yes."
"Great. Where to?" Diane presses.
"My hotel." This time Kate speaks first, and Leire simply nods.
Diane leaves, and when they're alone again, Leire takes Kate's hands in hers.
"We have a lot to talk about—but when you're ready. Should we shower and get out of here?"
Kate nods, and they both undress and step into the same shower, simply because Leire needs to know that if Kate breaks down again, she'll be right there to hold her.
When the car drops them off in front of the hotel entrance, there are almost as many journalists as there were outside the stadium, and Kate can't help glancing at Leire one more time, still a little stunned by how steady she is.
As they climb out of the car, Leire waits for her and holds out her hand, and they walk into the hotel with their fingers interlaced—just the way they walked out of the stadium.
"Are you okay?" Kate asks. She's calmer now.
They've just stepped into the elevator, and it's as if only now the full weight of what Leire did is landing on her, and she's worried she might crumble, or even regret it.
"I'm perfectly fine, baby. I'm exactly where I'm supposed to be. Where I should have been a long time ago."
She squeezes Kate's hand tighter, and the doors open. Kate has to breathe in sharply to fill her lungs after a burst of butterflies—different from any she's felt before—floods her chest. She's used to it after a brush of skin or a kiss from Leire. Not from just hearing her speak.
Inside the room, she drops her sports bag on the floor and walks straight to the bed, first sitting on the edge, then letting herself fall back—feet still on the floor, back against the comforter. Leire lies down beside her, turned on her side, head propped on her hand, elbow on the mattress.
"I don't want to talk about anything right now, Leire," she murmurs, staring at the ceiling. "I don't think I could hold on to any of it—I can't focus."
"That's okay. I get it."
The Spanish woman runs the back of her hand along Kate's cheek, then trails one finger up to her brow, tracing the scar very slowly.
"Why don't you try to sleep for a while? You look exhausted."
Kate can't say she's exactly sleepy, but there's a heaviness settled through her whole body, and her eyes are so swollen from crying that keeping them open makes them itch.
"Will you stay? Will you be here when I—"
"Wake up? Yes. I'll be here as long as you let me."
The redhead swallows, still not quite believing it, and shifts up the bed until her head reaches the pillow. Leire follows and lies down beside her, tucking her knees behind Kate's as she curls onto her side.
"Go to sleep," Leire whispers, draping an arm around her waist.
Kate finds her hand, their fingers lace together, and she closes her eyes—letting out the first genuinely peaceful breath she's taken all day.
She wakes up to the smell of food. When she blinks her eyes open, Leire isn't in bed—she's across the room, lifting the covers off plates that have apparently just arrived.
"Did I wake you?" Leire's eyes go wide the instant she sees Kate sitting up, because she tried so hard not to make a sound.
She had slipped out of the room quietly and gone down to the restaurant to order in person rather than call from the room, not wanting to have to talk and disturb her; then she'd waited in the hallway until the food arrived so she wouldn't have to knock.
"No—I don't think so," Kate answers, genuinely unsure what finally opened her eyes.
"I'm sorry, I tried not to make any noise. I just wanted you to have food when you woke up. How do you feel?"
Leire walks toward the bed.
"Starving," Kate smiles, still a little disoriented. "I didn't think I was going to fall asleep—what time is it?" She rubs her eyes. "God, it feels like I have two balloons for a face."
Leire laughs, cups Kate's chin, and makes an exaggerated grimace.
"You kind of do. They're swollen and red. Go splash cold water on your face and I'll finish setting the table."
"You still haven't told me what time it is."
"You slept about four hours."
Kate, who had just gotten to her feet, spins around to look at her.
"Four hours?" Her expression is so comically stunned that Leire can't hold back a laugh as she nods. "Why didn't you wake me?"
The lightness leaves Leire's face.
"Because you needed it. Today was…" She glances up for a second, searching for the word.
"A lot. You went through so much. Having to say goodbye to tennis because of an injury—that has to be devastating, Kate.
And lately I haven't exactly helped." Her expression darkens.
"Actually, I haven't helped at all. I've only made all of this harder for you. "
Kate looks at her and bites her lip as she nods.
"Yeah. It has been hard," she confirms.
"I'm so sorry."
"I know." Kate rubs her eyes and turns toward the bathroom.
They eat without touching the big topics, talking instead about moments from the match, about what they felt while they were playing.
"That was probably the worst match of your career," Kate says, taking a sip of her sparkling water.
"I know. I couldn't focus. I swear I tried, but it was impossible. I'd look at you and just go blank—this fear settled into my body and I couldn't react."
"What were you afraid of?" Kate asks, trying to understand.
"The match ending. I was living every point like a countdown—terrifying, like up until that moment I hadn't let myself actually grasp what I'd lost, hadn't understood how much it mattered.
And there I was, knowing it was the last time I'd be that close to you, and the fear got right into my bones.
Suddenly I could see everything so clearly—more clearly than I'd ever let myself before.
" Leire can't eat; her stomach has closed.
"What did you see?" Kate eats for both of them, like her body has been running on empty for days.
"That my life without you doesn't make any sense. That I love you, Kate. I know I've said it before, but I never did anything to show it—the opposite, actually. Everything I did pushed you away."