Chapter 20
CHAPTER TWENTY
Leo Chambers has found his form in New York again.
With his dad back on the team after a month of rest and now showing support for the creativity Brian has been fostering in his game, Leo has been feeling confident, instinctual, fluid.
He also looks damn good in his retro kit: a white polo with black and light-blue stripes down the sleeves, white short-shorts, tube socks with black and light-blue stripes around the top, and white sneakers.
The only thing missing is Gabe.
With more headlines and cameras and expectations on Leo this year—and the increased attention on Gabe, too, as he competes at his first US Open as a publicly gay player—they’ve decided to heed Esme’s warning and keep a low profile in press-heavy New York.
They’ve stuck to their usual knowing smiles and furtive fingertip brushes in the locker room, but they aren’t meeting at each other’s hotels or attending each other’s matches.
Leo wishes he could look up to his player’s box and see Gabe there, and vice versa.
Merely sending texts to Gabe as he’s made it through each of the first three rounds of the Open hasn’t felt nearly special enough.
So, even if Leo can’t shout to the rafters of whatever stadium he’s playing on that he’s in love with Gabe, he wants to show him that he’s thinking of him during every one of his matches.
After he wins and shakes hands with his opponent and the ump, he picks up the marker to write his message on the camera screen, and he sends Gabe a secret note, there, in plain sight.
The fans watching at home around the world might not understand his messages yet, and he’s certain Serving Looks is enlisting its followers to try and decode them, but until Leo is ready to share that part of himself on his own terms, he can start with this.
He can tell Gabe exactly what he means in front of everyone, and if the fans—and his dad, who still doesn’t know—think it’s about the New York crowd, so be it.
After his first-round match, he simply wrote, “Couldn’t do this without you.”
After his second-round match, he wrote “You make me so proud” and drew some flowers, calling back to the romance novel they read to each other and giving Gabe his flowers as he breaks barriers at the tournament.
After his tough third-round match, he referenced their bartending gig at Delray, where their own romance began to blossom: “Could use an Orange Slice after that one.”
When he heads back into the locker room after his matches to cool down, shower, and attend the post-match press conference, he first checks his phone and there’s always a text waiting for him from Gabe, who must have been watching to see what the latest secret message to him would be.
Each time, he sends Leo a red heart emoji.
If the first week of the US Open was smooth sailing for Leo, the second week is sure to be choppier seas.
The competition will only get stiffer from here to the final, and the round of sixteen has already thrown him for a loop.
In an all-American matchup, his current opponent is Chris Robinson, the sixteen-year-old teen titan.
Last year, Chris got into the main draw here with a wild card, but this year, he’s in on his own, having staked his claim in the top one hundred, which secures players their spot in a Slam.
This past week, he’s been lighting up the crowds with his youthful fearlessness, ensuring the fans and his opponents won’t forget his name.
In the first set of their match, Chris came out guns blazing.
He couldn’t miss, and the wheels on this kid are out of this world.
He’s everywhere on the court. In a blink, he won the set 6–2, leaving Leo feeling bewildered in his chair afterward.
He stared straight ahead, taking measured sips from his electrolytes as his mind went over each point, assessing what he could have done differently.
He’s never played Chris before, so he’s had to figure out where the weaknesses are, and like Chris told him when they met at BP last year, his backhand is just like Leo’s, too.
With both of them leaping into the air, their bodies stretching open as they swing out to a flowing backhand, it looks as if they’re performing a ballet at Lincoln Center, not a tennis match at Louis Armstrong Stadium.
The fourteen thousand-person crowd has been rapturous.
It’s been unnerving for Leo to see this next-generation superstar on the other side of the net—the kid who will surely succeed him at the top of American tennis—with the very same backhand Leo has mesmerized crowds with for years.
Make no mistake, he wants to see Chris do big things in his career, and he’ll be there to mentor Chris whenever he wants.
But he’s also here to take him down. He’s not here to roll over.
He’s not here to pass the torch. He’s here to win. This is Leo’s year.
Over the course of the next two sets, the weakness becomes clear.
In the first, Chris was running on the pure adrenaline of being in the round of sixteen at the US Open.
Still acclimating to the tremendous endurance it takes to play round after round at a Slam—physically, mentally, and emotionally—the teenager’s stamina simply doesn’t match his opponent’s.
Leo takes the second set 6–4 and the third 6–3, Chris’s level dropping as the match progresses, Leo’s rising.
By the fourth set, Chris is stretching out his legs and going to his towel box between every point, and attempting to end every point early by going for risky winners and drop shots.
Leo knows this can only mean one thing for a young player: cramping.
While he empathizes, having been there before, he knows this is his moment to pounce.
This is his moment to expose the weakness.
Standing firm on the baseline, he gets Chris on the run, sending him back and forth with a relentless stream of forehands and backhands.
By the fourth shot, Chris can’t keep up with the pace, forcing him to watch Leo’s winners whiz by him.
Leo’s plan to tire him out is working—and it earns him a match point.
In a one-two punch, he sends a 140 mph serve careening out wide, which Chris reaches out for, bunting a backhand that lands right in Leo’s strike zone.
His forehand punishes the weak return, sending it flying past Chris in the opposite direction.
“Game, set, and match: Chambers,” the ump announces, “2–6, 6–4, 6–3, 6–1.”
The Honey Deuce-soaked voices of the crowd howl for Leo, American flags waving around the stadium as he looks to his box and shakes a clenched fist. His team, including his mom, are up on their feet, celebrating Leo booking his ticket to the quarterfinals.
Leo smiles as he approaches the net, where Chris is nodding his head like, You got me.
“Too good,” Chris says as he clasps Leo’s hand. “I ran outta gas.”
“I have a feeling I’ll be seeing you in the final here someday,” Leo says, and pats him on the back as they walk toward the ump to shake her hand.
“Thanks,” Chris says with a half-smile. Before turning for his bench to gather his gear and bid farewell to this year’s Open, he bumps Leo’s fist and tells him, “I’m rooting for you.”
After the fans cheer their heads off for Chris as he exits the stadium, they direct their applause to Leo, who’s taken the court to speak with one of the announcers.
“Leo,” the announcer says, and that’s all he can get out before the fans raise the noise level even higher. “You know the New York crowd loves you, obviously. They had two Americans to cheer for tonight, though. What did it take to get the win on Robinson tonight?”
“I mean, it took a lot of patience. He came out swinging for the fences, and I thought it was curtains for me the way he was playing. But I knew if I waited, got him on the move as much as I could, I would get the momentum in my favor, and that’s what I was able to do.
It was the fans, too, like you said. You all give me the energy I need to keep pushing.
This is my favorite tournament every year.
There’s nothing like this New York crowd. ”
The announcer interjects another round of applause and whistles.
“There was a lot for the American fans to cheer for tonight. I’m sure you know, but Gabe Montoya wrapped up just before your match.
I don’t know if you’re the type of player to look ahead at the draw, but you’re taking on the winner of that match.
And in his first-ever quarterfinal appearance here at the US Open, you’ll be facing Montoya! ”
It’s a good thing the crowd has gone berserk again, because Leo needs a moment to collect himself.
He knew, of course, that Gabe was still in the tournament, but just like he’s kept away from social media this year, he’s also kept away from the draw.
So, this news is breaking for him right now.
He knows that somewhere among the feelings racing around his body is excitement for Gabe over this momentous achievement for him.
There’s no doubt they’re both motivating each other to bring their best this year.
Leo’s trying not to jump for joy on the court. But he’s also, well, panicking.
“That’s going to be, um, quite a rematch from last year,” he manages to say through his dizzying emotions. “I better go start warming up now.” He fakes a laugh, knowing this is probably going to be the toughest match he will ever play.
“Well, I’ll let you get to it,” the announcer says excitedly. “A rematch between two Americans, and between two friends, awaits! Give it up one more time for Leo Chambers!”
Leo packs up his stuff, slings his big red Wilson bag over his shoulder, and walks over to the camera. A neon-pink Sharpie in hand, he writes on the screen: “See you soon.”
As Leo walks into the locker room, he checks his phone, and there’s the red heart. He sends back, Better bring your A game.
Gabe responds, Never needed to before.
Leo sends back his own red heart.
It’s the last time they speak before their rematch.