74. Kate
Chapter Seventy-Four
Kate
Wimbledon Men’s Final, Centre Court—July
The walk through Wimbledon felt a little heavier these days. Not just from emotion and anticipation, though there was plenty of that, but from the physical weight of little Noah Taylor, now almost two months old and fast asleep in the carrier against my chest.
It still didn’t feel entirely real.
This time last year, I’d walked these same grounds feeling like a stranger in my own skin, heading to the final, not even sure if I was Jordan’s girlfriend.
I didn’t know what we were, just that I couldn’t stay away from him.
And now, somewhere on Centre Court, a crowd was waiting for the man who had changed everything.
The scent of fresh-cut grass mingled with champagne and excitement. The quiet murmur of the crowd swelled behind us as we were ushered through the narrow corridors of Centre Court.
I held Noah a little tighter, the weight of him warm and reassuring, his soft breaths syncing with mine.
I wasn’t here to get lost in the matches anymore, to switch off from the world. This was my world now. We were here for him.
I felt the stares again, but this time they weren’t laced with razor-sharp judgement or speculation. They were warm and kind. Almost in awe.
The whole world had seen the chaos unfold. It didn’t take long for the media to circulate the photos from Rome. Me in early labour. Jordan scaling the stands to get to me. It was insane. So dramatic. So over-the-top.
I could laugh at it now, but I think people were just glad to see that we’d made it out alive.
I took my seat in the players’ box, away from the pomp of the Royal Box. It still blew my mind that little old me was even allowed to sit among royals and celebrities.
I was here with Jordan’s parents, Grandma Sue already cooing over Noah. And Gwen, of course.
They’d flown into London the moment they saw the chaos unfolding on TV, me in labour in Rome, Jordan sprinting through the stands. His dad booked flights right then and there, knowing we’d be flying home with a newborn and would need an army.
When we got back to London, they were waiting for us. I cried in his mum’s arms the second I saw her. Relief, shock, everything I hadn’t let myself feel until then.
Gwen arrived not long after, with a month’s worth of food and arms ready for baby cuddles so we could finally take a shower. They’d all been there in the aftermath, filling in the gaps so we could breathe.
I’d be lying if I said it had been easy, having a newborn in the middle of my fiancé’s career comeback. But we made it work. He made it work.
He’d thrown himself into fatherhood with the same grit he used to win championships, and I swear I fell in love with him ten times over.
This was Noah’s first tournament. My first time back, too. After this, we’d be heading to the US for the ATP tour, with Granny Sue and Maggie in tow. But right now? This felt like home.
I thought of that first match. How I sat awkwardly at the back of the players’ box, unsure if I belonged there.
The first time I saw him walk onto Centre Court and felt my heart stutter, even though I barely knew him.
That night at the little Italian place by his flat, where he nervously looked at me while asking about my work.
The way we’d fallen into each other like a free fall, all limbs and laughter, craving each other’s bodies with such reckless, aching fire.
Then I heard it.
“Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome your reigning Wimbledon Men’s Champion—Jordan Taylor!”
Time stood still.
He emerged from the players’ tunnel, and his eyes met mine briefly.
And in that moment, I saw him. Not the match-ready athlete.
Not the comeback story. The man who could swaddle with one arm and crush a forehand with the other.
The man who still looked at me as if I was the only thing he’d ever need.
My breath caught. That same, heart-shattering rush from a year ago hit me all over again.
My man. My everything. Walking back onto Centre Court.
Noah slept against my chest despite the thunder of applause, his tiny fingers curled against my collarbone, his warm weight a tether to this wild, impossible life I was still learning to believe was mine. He could sleep through anything, just like his dad.
I looked up, and that’s when I caught the look on Jordan’s face. The one that told me, clear as day, that he finally had everything he’d ever wanted.
One year ago, I stood in these stands wondering if I’d ever feel whole again.
And now…
I was here, holding our son, watching the man I loved step into the light of Centre Court.
Turned out, I hadn’t just found love.
I’d found everything.