20. Kate
Chapter Twenty
Kate
Jordan spotted me first. He was sitting on a bench in a quiet corner of one of the tucked-away lounge areas just off the courts, legs stretched out, cap pulled low. Chris was next to him, scribbling something onto a notepad. The second he saw me, Jordan stood. “There she is.”
I raised an eyebrow as he crossed the space toward me. “Bit formal, calling me in like this.”
“Reckon we needed our secret weapon.”
Chris looked up. “Hi, Kate. Chris,” he said, offering his hand.
“It’s lovely to meet you properly,” I said with a smile.
He returned it. “Jordan’s told me you’re bloody smart.”
I flicked a glance toward Jordan. “Did he now?”
“Did I lie?” Jordan asked innocently, grinning as he winked at me.
I rolled my eyes and sank onto the bench next to them, folding my hands in my lap. Chris laid out the match plan. Tomorrow’s opponent was German, heavily favoured, aggressive from the baseline, a relentless returner. The kind of player who didn’t win by outplaying you, but by outlasting you.
“He’s a monster,” Chris said bluntly. “But I know Jord can beat him. I just think we’re missing a piece.”
I leaned in, eyeing the scribbles. “What’s his error pattern? Forehand or backhand? And…does noise throw him off?”
Chris blinked.
Jordan was beaming. “Didn’t I tell you?” Jordan asked. “She watches like a bloody hawk.”
“Backhand,” Chris muttered, scribbling fast. “And yeah, now that you say it, he loses rhythm when it gets loud.”
I studied the clips on his tablet. It didn’t take long—one physical, one psychological review. The lip chew when he second-guessed a serve. The way he paused if an opponent delayed between points.
“You’re kidding me,” Jordan murmured. “How the hell do you see that?”
I shrugged. “People always give away who they are and how they tick, if you know how to listen.”
Chris leaned back, visibly impressed. “You ever thought about doing this professionally?”
I blinked. “Doing what?”
“This,” he said, gesturing between us. “Psychology for athletes. Pre-match prep. You’ve got a hell of a read on patterns under pressure.”
Something twisted in my stomach.
“I work in educational psychology,” I said slowly. “Mainly with children. But…I guess it’s not all that different. I just sort of…enjoy this.”
Chris nodded. “You’ve got a knack.” I looked down at the screen in my hands. Huh. That wasn’t something I heard often. Not like that. Not without disclaimers, or caveats, or someone trying to reframe it as something unimpressive.
Jordan nudged my knee gently with a look of pride on his face.
“Told you.”
Heat rushed to my cheeks. I bit my lip, smiling down at the tablet like I hadn’t just felt my entire chest ache with the weight of being understood.
I’d headed back to Gwen’s for the rest of the afternoon after leaving Jordan and Chris at the courts.
He had a mountain ahead of him tomorrow.
The kind that could change his life forever.
He needed time, space to process. Even if he didn’t know it, I did.
I didn’t offer to come over that evening.
He hadn’t asked. And I wasn’t some giddy schoolgirl orbiting someone who hadn’t made room for me in his world.
To the outside, it probably looked like we were going full throttle, too much, too fast. Maybe we were.
But there was no denying the pull between us.
It just felt so completely consuming. And that terrified me.
Because what if it wasn’t real? What if it was just adrenaline, and lust, and the blur of his world?
What if, once the dust settled, I was just… a footnote?
I curled up in the guest room, knees tucked under my chin on the bed. Gwen and Tom had just come home from work, their voices drifting up the stairs mixed with faint giggles from Lola. I was grateful to be alone with my thoughts…until they started to spiral.
Monday, I’d be heading back home. Jordan would be…gone. Airports. Matches. Cities I couldn’t pronounce. A life I’d never belong to. I didn’t want to say it out loud, but the thought had started to scratch beneath my skin.
How long did this last? Was I just a sweet chapter in his Wimbledon story?
And then, like a slap in the face, another thought landed: When was the last time I actually let myself have something I wanted, without overthinking it to death?
I’d spent years being sensible. Respectable. Picking the right man, the right job, the right everything…until it all blew up anyway. So maybe I deserved to stop playing it safe. Maybe I deserved this. Sod the world. Sod my old life.
My phone buzzed, slicing straight through the spiral.
Jordan:
Why aren’t you here?
God. That hit harder than I expected.
He hadn’t asked. He’d assumed. Like I already belonged there.
My breath caught.
Me:
Because you’ve got the biggest day of your life tomorrow. You need to focus.
I told myself that I was mature. I was being sensible, supportive. Not coming on too strong. Not being a complete hanger-on.
But it tasted like deflection on my tongue.
Another buzz.
Jordan:
I’m trying. But it’s too bloody hard. I need you here. Come over, Katie.
Katie.
He’d barely called me that before.
There was something about it that was so familiar, so mine, that caught me off guard.
Like I was fifteen again, falling for someone I didn’t stand a chance with.
I was already halfway packed before I even realised what I was doing.
To the outside world, it would seem impulsive and irrational.
But this wasn’t about logic. This was about the way his voice settled the chaos in my head.
The way he looked at me like I was already part of his story.
I threw my things into a bag, grabbed my phone, and headed for the door.
Of course I was going. I’d go anywhere for him.
And maybe that was what scared me most of all.