Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 87804 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 439(@200wpm)___ 351(@250wpm)___ 293(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87804 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 439(@200wpm)___ 351(@250wpm)___ 293(@300wpm)
“You ready?” my husband asks as soon as I open the door to the ladies’ locker room and step out into the tunnel. Arms crossed, I find him leaning against the wall. After all these years he still makes my heart skip a beat.
“Ready as I’ll ever be.”
He takes my racket bag, slings it over his shoulder, and walks me down the tunnel. It’s our ritual. Ours and only ours. Even with the losses, tennis has never been more fun than in the last two years. Now that I get to share it with the other half of me, the one that makes it all worthwhile.
We reach the end and eyes the color of Oklahoma red clay meet mine. Filled with love, it’s all the encouragement I need. He leans down, his mouth hovering over mine.
“On jump.”
“On jump,” I echo, and close the distance between my lips and his.
I fell in love with a boy when I was ten years old. But it’s the love I have for the man he’s become that makes him my forever. Because real love isn’t polite or tidy, it’s messy and complicated. It doesn’t hide behind vanity and success, it shows you all its scars and failures and isn’t diminished by them. On the contrary, it grows stronger because of them. It takes all your uglies and recycles them into something beautiful. Something worth fighting for.
Handing back my racket bag, he smacks my ass as I turn to walk out. “Go get’em, Mrs. Callahan.”
The groundswell of applause as I walk onto center court catches me off guard and lands heavy on my heart. I wave to them, all these amazing people rooting for me, hoping and wishing that this is my year. I’m so humbled by their support, so blessed to have experienced it.
My opponent is already in her seat, pulling rackets out of her bag, when I approach. She catches my eye and we both nod in greeting. From the stands directly behind my bench, Bebe and my parents shout and clap. Noah slides into the seat next to Katya, his sexy lips forming the words “I love you.”
Clear history…visualize the win…visualize the win…visualize the win…
And I do. In my mind, I see it clearly.
The umpire makes his announcements. The coin toss comes next. Heads. Serena wins and chooses to serve. Hope she enjoys it because it’s the last thing she’ll be winning today.
With a hand towel, I wipe my face and dry the handle of my racket. A cool 80 degrees with a hundred percent humidity in Flushing Meadows.
I’m loose and ready. One last detail to attend to.
Right before I walk onto the shady side of the court, I turn toward the man I love and smile. Our eyes lock. For a moment he looks confused. Until I pat my belly and mouth, “baby on board.” Almost two months. Noah was starting to get suspicious. Had I told him sooner, however, he would’ve driven me crazy, worrying about my health, worrying about the baby.
The look of utter shock on his face is priceless. He blinks, fighting the swell of emotion I can see clearly on his face. Then the first tear breaks free, streaking down his face only to be joined by another. Later, I tell him with a soft smile. Later I’ll kiss those tears away. Now I have something to accomplish.
I take my place, adjust my strings. I squat, sway left and right, and flip my racket once in both directions. I’m ready to roll. I am a stone-cold killer. Today I am fucking invincible. Serena’s serve has got nothing on me.
“Okay, baby, let’s win this thing.”