62. Jordan
Chapter Sixty-Two
Jordan
There was always a split second, right before I walked out, where the world held its breath.
Where the tunnel thudded like a heartbeat. Where I could hear the squeak of rubber soles ahead of me, the thrum of applause waiting on the other side of the gate.
It was a moment I used to crave, used to live for. But this time, it wasn’t nerves I felt. Not even adrenaline. It was something else. Something heavier. I clenched my jaw and closed my eyes. I took one deep breath.
Let’s go. Let’s give ’em a show.
And then the roar hit.
I stepped into the light.
The sun slammed into me like a spotlight, baking down across the court. A stadium full of strangers was on its feet, clapping, shouting, chanting. For me. For the comeback.
And all I could think was, where is she?
Every match started the same way now. Not with the warmup or the coin toss. With her. It was my ritual that once I found her, I could breathe again. It was stupid, maybe—but it worked.
She was there beside Chris and Maggie, my parents just a row behind. The blue dress skimmed over her bump, sunlight catching in her hair. When her hand drifted to her stomach, I felt the breath catch in my throat.
Because I remembered her sitting in the Wimbledon stands, quiet and alone in the early days. Watching me lose in America, silently carrying something inside her I hadn’t even known about. I remembered the hurt in her voice when she said she wasn’t sure I wanted any of this.
Now she was here. Wearing my ring. Carrying my child. Still showing up, still choosing me even when she’d had every reason not to.
I felt the air shift around me, bringing me back to the reason I was here. The grip of my racket, the bounce under my shoes, it all came flooding back.
But this time, I wasn’t playing for redemption. I was playing for her. For us. For that little life she was holding under her palm. I nodded once, eyes locked on hers. Gave her a wink. Then turned, racket in hand, and stepped to the baseline.
The first point felt like electricity.
Ace.
Down the T.
Clean.
The familiarity in the sound of the ball hitting the service box, the way it sang, sent something sharp right down my spine.
The crowd roared, but I barely heard them.
Because I was already lining up the next one.
I didn’t look up at her again right away. I knew if I did, I might fall apart.
Instead, I sank into the rhythm. Serves. Rallies. Footwork. Reset.
The heat rolled off the court in waves, the sun bouncing off the surface like it wanted to burn us both alive.
I was staring down Tyler Reed yet again.
He was younger, fast, left-handed, and relentless.
But I was sharper. Quicker. I’d lived this.
Every movement, every strike, I felt it down to my bones. I was back.
More than that—I was steady.
Not chasing ghosts or swinging at old wounds.
I was home, right where I belonged.
And I knew why. I could feel her eyes on me, the same way I felt the racket in my hand. Every time I turned toward the players’ box, I found her there. Leaned forward, elbows braced on her knees, lips pressed tight like she was holding her breath just for me.
That look—steady and unshakable—hit me harder than any shot I landed. It made me want to dig deeper, push harder, to give her everything I had.
Every point I played, I played like I had something worth protecting. But that thing wasn’t a title or a ranking. But my life. My real life. The one sitting in the front row, falling in love with the man I was finally letting myself become.
I won the first set 6–3.
Second set 6–4.
And by the time the third was winding down, the noise inside the arena was almost unbearable.
Match point.
The whole place was on its feet. I bounced the ball twice and looked up just one last time. She was already standing, her hand pressed to her mouth, and I swear I could see the tears forming in her eyes.
This is for you, I thought. For everything I never said. For everything I’ll never stop saying.
I served.
Flat. Wide. Fast.
Unreturnable.
Game. Set. Match.
I didn’t celebrate right away. I just dropped to my knees, hands on the court, heart pounding through my chest like it was trying to break free.
The noise crashed over me like a wave. Cameras flashing. People screaming.
And I stood up, turning to the box.
She was crying and laughing all at once, whilst trying to join in with the applause.
I couldn’t help myself. I ran over, jumped the seats, and kissed her.
In front of everyone. And yeah, I knew. Right then.
This was never going to be just about tennis again.
It was about belonging. And I had everything I ever wanted.
The sweat was still dripping down the back of my neck as I tried to make my way off court, towel slung over my shoulders, racket bag over one arm, heart still hammering like I was mid-rally.
The adrenaline was ridiculous. My body buzzed, my hands still trembling slightly, but my grin hadn’t left my face.
Then I heard the voice I knew was coming. “Jordan! Quick word before you head off.”
The on-court interviewer, mic in hand and a polished, camera-ready smile gestured me back toward centre. The crowd hadn’t gone anywhere. Neither had Kate. I could see her, still in her seat, still watching.
I adjusted my cap backwards, pushed the towel off my neck, and stepped back onto the court, rubbing the back of my neck.
“Jordan Taylor, congratulations! That was one hell of a comeback performance. Straight sets, dominant play, not a single break point faced. How does it feel to be back?”
I chuckled, breath still short. “Pretty bloody good,” I said, grinning into the mic. “Haven’t played a match like that in a while. I’ve missed this.”
There was a huge cheer from the crowd.
“But Jordan,” the interviewer continued, “you’ve been off the tour a few months. Speculation was wild, injuries, rest, personal time. Can you talk to us about what changed? What’s lit this fire in you again?”
I glanced over my shoulder directly at her.
She raised her sunglasses slightly and gave me a look that screamed behave. But it was too late for that.
I turned back to the mic, smirking.
“Well…there’s been a lot happening off court. Some big life stuff.” The crowd murmured. “But it’s the good kind. The kind that gives you perspective.”
There was a moment, and then I dropped it. Completely casual, but entirely on purpose.
“We’ve got a baby on the way.”
The stadium erupted with cheers, gasps and applause.
“And yeah, I have to give a certain someone a lot of credit for getting me back to the place I’m in now.”
More cheers. More camera flashes.
“Wow,” the interviewer laughed, “congratulations! That’s quite the off-season.”
I shrugged, trying to play it cool, but I was grinning like an idiot. “Best few months of my life, honestly.”
“Can we assume she’s here?”
I didn’t even hesitate. “Front row. Blonde. Definitely out of my league.”
The camera cut to Kate. Her cheeks turned a bright shade of pink, one hand over her mouth, laughing. When she caught my eye, she shook her head as if to tell me, you’re in so much trouble. I loved that look.
“She’s also the reason I’m back out here,” I said, turning back. “She believed in me when I didn’t.”
The crowd melted. Literal awws. I couldn’t help myself. I jogged away from the mic toward her, grabbed her by the back of her neck, and pulled her in to kiss her in front of the whole world.
I signed a few balls, waved to the stands, and jogged off court as if it were nothing.
Back in the locker room, Chris threw me a bottle of water.
“You know you’ve just blown up the internet, right?”
“Did I?” I ask, trying to look innocent.
Chris tilted his phone toward me. Kate’s name was already trending. What seemed like a hundred screen grabs of me kissing her in the stands had already made their way online.
I didn’t care.
We’d kept it quiet long enough. But now?
We were doing this our way.