Chapter 21
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
When Leo used to play matches against Gabe, the man on the other side of the net was two-dimensional.
He was a flattened, simplistic rendering.
All Leo could see was the teenager who burned him back at BP.
Buried underneath that, of course, was Leo’s affection for Gabe, manifested through the breath that would catch in his throat without fail.
So focused on his resentment, so committed to the denial of his attraction to Gabe, so unbalanced by Gabe’s style of play, there was no way Leo could find it in himself to win a match against him.
But tonight, in the quarterfinals of the US Open, under the lights of the largest tennis arena on the planet, Arthur Ashe Stadium, Leo sees a three-dimensional man across the net from him.
He now sees Gabe for who he really is, in all his kindness, gentleness, and vulnerability.
He now understands their shared struggle to belong within a sport that has never carved out space for queer men. He now feels solidarity with him.
Leo thinks about the odds of them finding their way to each other, in this sport, in this world.
The odds of two queer men who have shared their full selves with each other playing a match on tennis’s biggest stage.
The odds feel infinitesimal. Certainly, they are far, far slimmer than the odds that this coin the ump has just tossed will land on heads, the side Leo has called.
“It’s heads,” the ump says, gesturing to Leo to choose whether he’ll serve or receive first.
“I’ll serve,” Leo says, and he can barely look at Gabe, knowing what they’re both thinking: “Tell me, Chambers, who serves and who receives?” It wasn’t okay when Sascha said it!
Fuck that guy! But okay, fine, it’s a little funny.
He can also barely look at Gabe because he’s so goddamn hot in his tight white shirt and red shorts.
“Stay as we are,” Gabe says.
“Good match, gentlemen,” the ump says before taking his place up on his chair.
American, Peruvian, and Pride flags wave in sections around the stadium. Leo and Gabe sprint back to their respective sides to warm up for a match unlike any other in tennis history.
Leo’s emotions during this match are entirely different from the one they played a year ago in the first round.
He now feels as if he’s playing in tandem with Gabe, rather than in spite of him.
They have grown together this season, and it shows in the free-flowing exchange between them tonight.
They are pushing each other to bring their best every point.
Both of them are refusing to give up any ground in the first set.
They respect each other too much to give anything but their all.
And just like when he played Chris Robinson in the previous round, even though Leo cares about his current opponent, he isn’t here to roll over.
(He’ll save that for the bedroom.) He won’t let Gabe end his run to the final. Not this time.
From the moment the match starts, it mirrors their meeting at last year’s Open.
The first set is a stalemate, both of them holding serve each game, and as the fans’ voices already grow raspy from their constant cheering, the ump’s voice comes over the microphone to announce where this set is headed.
“Six games all,” he says. “Tiebreak.”
Through the noise of the crowd, Brian and Johnny shout out encouraging words.
“Right here, LC, right here!”
“Point by point!”
There is no letup in the tiebreak. It’s a litany of aces and forehand winners and perfect volleys from both sides of the net.
There are no bedroom eyes to be found, only unwavering focus.
Finally, at 5–5, Gabe hits a slow second serve and Leo spots his opportunity, snapping into position and sending the ball screaming back over the net, right past Gabe.
“6–5, Chambers,” the ump says, the crowd hollering with excitement. Leo doesn’t take any time to celebrate. He has to remain focused. He has to get the job done now.
He steps up to the line. Bounce, bounce, bounce, bounce, bounce.
He tosses the ball up, his body following, his arm rotating around, and he smacks it across the court.
It lands long. Okay. He shakes out his body.
He looks across the court at Gabe, who’s moving in and keeping his eyes locked on Leo, prepared to pummel his second serve, to show no mercy for his man.
Don’t get the yips. Don’t get the yips. Don’t get lost in his eyes. Don’t get lost in his eyes.
Leo’s toss goes up. His arm comes down. The ball flies over the net and slices out wide. Gabe lunges for it—and smacks it into the net.
“Game and first set: Chambers,” the ump announces. “7–6.”
The parallel with last year’s match has split.
Leo shuts his eyes in utter relief as the crowd goes wild.
When he opens them and looks to his box, they’re cheering like he just won the whole tournament.
He shakes a clenched fist at them. While Johnny claps furiously, Brian yells to him, “Let’s go, LC!
Let’s go!” His mom looks like she can breathe again—for now, at least.
Leo doesn’t look at Gabe as he walks by to his bench. He can’t break his concentration.
“Second set,” the ump says as Gabe steps up to the line. “Montoya to serve.”
Shifting his weight from left foot to right foot, Leo prepares for the next point.
He barely blinked during the changeover, determined to bring the same intensity into this set.
If he can clinch this one, he will only have to win the third to be in the semis.
It’s a tall order, but the momentum is with him and he plans to keep it that way.
Gabe lifts his shirt a little as he bounces the ball before his serve, the habit that has always driven Leo to lustful distraction. He does his best to resist.
The serve comes flying down the T. Leo shifts to his left, getting out on his front foot, and flings the ball through the middle of the court with his backhand. Gabe smacks the ball back to Leo’s left, targeting his backhand like he’s been doing all match, avoiding his lethal forehand.
Leo sends a strong backhand crosscourt.
Gabe hits a curving slice.
Leo slices it back.
Gabe slices it again.
Leo hits a sloping drop shot.
Gabe slides into it and slices it to Leo’s right.
Leo slides into and lobs it up and over Gabe’s head.
As Gabe runs sideways to try and position himself under the lob for a smash, his feet get tangled up in each other—and he rolls his right ankle. His racket flies from his hand and makes a cracking sound as it falls onto the court.
“Carajo!” Gabe groans, wincing.
Leo and the ump both immediately run over to where he’s sitting on the ground, clutching his ankle. Behind them, the medic standing by rushes out to treat him.
“I can barely walk on it,” Gabe says, sitting on his bench with Leo, the ump, and the medic huddled over him.
“It looks like it’s just a sprain,” the medic says. “Stay put. We’ll get you crutches and take a closer look off court.”
When the medic leaves to get the crutches and a temporary wrap for Gabe’s ankle, the ump gives Leo and Gabe some space.
“I am so sorry,” Leo says. He tries to ignore the incessant clicking of the cameras on the sidelines, snapping their images for the wires.
“Why?” Gabe asks, looking genuinely confused. “You didn’t push me. I tripped. Like a fucking idiot. Puta.” He rubs his temples.
“You’re not an idiot,” Leo says, and he wants to put his arms around him, kiss him on the forehead. “This happens to players all the time. I’m just glad it’s not broken. But this does fucking suck. I really wanted to beat you fair and square.”
He hopes it’s not too soon for teasing.
After a beat, Gabe glances up at him. “Guess it takes me spraining my ankle for you to get through me.”
“Um, okay, short-term memory,” Leo says. “Who won the first set?”
“I would’ve made a comeback,” Gabe says.
“I guess we’ll never know,” Leo says, and turns as he sees the medic coming back out of the corner of his eye. “Hey, I know tonight didn’t exactly go as planned, but um, I’ve never been so proud to play you. Just want you to know that.”
Gabe gives a half-smile.
“Actually, I’ve never been proud to play you,” Leo jokes. “Tonight was a first for me, really.”
“Oh, fuck off, Leonardo,” Gabe says. “Look, I’m probably going to be lying low for a little while as I get my ankle treated. There’s a lot of physical therapy coming my way. So, keep those camera notes coming, all right? I’m really sorry.”
“What are you sorry for?” Leo asks.
“That I won’t be here to watch you win the whole thing,” Gabe says.
“All right, I’ve got your crutches,” the medic says as she approaches. “Let’s get you back to the locker room.”
The stadium gives Gabe a standing ovation as he walks off the court and into the tunnel, Leo watching on, gritting his teeth so his tears don’t fall.
As he steps up to the camera screen, he wonders if people will make the connection that all his messages have been for Gabe, not just this one. But he doesn’t care. He’s just happy it doesn’t have to be a secret this time.
He writes “Get well soon” and draws a heart.