27. Kate
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Kate
I must’ve dozed off waiting for him, the telly still on mute, replaying his match for the hundredth time.
My cheeks ached from smiling so much. We’d parted ways in the tunnel hours ago.
I told him to go soak it all in, be a bloody champion.
Of course, I wanted to be there with him, living every second of it.
God, I so did. But in that moment, I think we both knew even that might’ve been too much for the world, too soon.
Still, the second I heard his key in the door, my body came alive.
He stepped in looking completely wrecked. Shirt half untucked, hair a mess, bag slung from one hand, velvet trophy box in the other. His eyes found me on the couch, and something in his shoulders seemed to let go.
“Hey, champ,” I said with a grin. “Late evening?”
He didn’t answer. Just let out a breath as his shoulders sagged with relief. He dropped everything to the floor.
I patted the cushion beside me. He was with me in two strides, collapsing into the sofa like his body had finally run out of adrenaline.
I reached for his hand, pulled it into my lap, and rested my head on his shoulder. He tilted his head back, eyes on the ceiling, silent. Breathing like he was still catching up to everything.
I let the quiet settle for a moment.
“Jordan,” I said softly, my cheek brushing his shoulder. “…Did you just win Wimbledon?”
A low laugh rumbled in his chest. “Yeah, babe. I think I just fucking did.”
I turned to face him, my eyes already welling up again. “I’m so proud of you,” I whispered.
He looked at me, and I could’ve sworn I saw the glassiness in his eyes, too.
“I can’t believe I did it,” he said before pausing. “But do you know the best part?”
I shook my head.
“You were there.”
His lips met mine slowly at first, then he pulled me deeper, like everything that had been held back all day snapped loose in him the second our mouths met.
I let it deepen further, one hand sliding into the damp hair at his neck, the other gripping the front of his shirt.
He broke the kiss just long enough to breathe. “Ten days without you. How am I meant to survive that?”
I nodded, breathless against his forehead. “Ten days. You’ll live.” Tomorrow morning I was leaving him here, heading back to Cardiff to tie things up before I took a giant leap of faith.
“What if I die of neglect?” He pouted.
I let out a laugh that was a little shaky, letting a tear spill down my cheek. He wiped it with his thumb, eyes fixed on mine like he was trying to create a living memory of me that would last the ten days that would feel like a lifetime.
“You’ll survive,” I teased. “Barely.”
I stood, tugging him gently by the hand. “Come on.”
He let me pull him up, looming behind me, warm hands finding my hips like muscle memory.
“I’m going to need to tell Moira at work on Tuesday that I shagged a Wimbledon champion.”