Chapter 18
Tyler
Wimbledon End of Tournament Players Dinner
The car pulledup outside the Grosvenor, all lit up like the fucking Oscars. I climbed out after Ted, buttoning my custom Armani suit jacket as the humid London air hit me. Normally, I’d have spent the car ride back-loading enough Dutch courage to make the room tilt, showing up with a crooked tie and a wandering eye just to drown out the noise of not being the one holding the trophy.
Tonight, I was dangerously sober.
The last couple of weeks, something had changed. It was like the constant fault lines I’d been walking on my whole life—the anger, the "screw-up" instinct, the urge to self-destruct before anyone else could do it for me—were finally settling. For the first time, the real Tyler Reed was showing up, and he didn't need a shot of vodka to stand tall.
I knew exactly who to thank for that.
A few heads turned as I made my way the through the large oak doors, the usual mix of sponsors, models, agents, players. Normally by now I’d have scoped the crowd for something blonde and busty. But not tonight. Tonight, I only wanted to see one person.
I’d shaved, gotten a haircut, even dry-cleaned the tux. No fines this week. No scandals. Not even a hangover. Just me, walking into the post-Wimbledon players’ dinner like I actually deserved my spot here.
Three weeks ago, I’d been the hothead with a limp and a reputation that read like a court summons. Now, I’d made the semis, the sponsors were sniffing back around, and I had a full physio team lined up. And for once, I hadn’t self-destructed the minute things got good. ??
That change was all her.
I stepped into the ballroom where I was met by warm lighting, champagne towers, and the low murmur of the live band. I scanned the room automatically clocking the usuals: CEOs, officials, wives, a few influencer girlfriends pretending not to be posing. I headed toward the bar because my hands were already itching, and that’s when I saw her. I swear to God, time stood still.
Navy satin, clinging and fluid all at once. The low back caught the light and made my jaw ache. Her hair spilled in waves over one bare shoulder, glossy under the chandelier light. She didn’t just look jaw droppingly beautiful, she looked untouchable and,fuck, I wanted to touch her more than I’d ever wanted anything.
I’d only ever seen her in leggings, polo shirts, and her official lanyard, and that was enough to make me ache.Thiswas some kind of punishment.
Next to her stood another knockout. Petite, blonde, classy looking woman. I recognized her from the circuit, she was Jordan’s fiancée—Kate, maybe? Pretty sure she just had a baby and still looked like she could walk a runway. No wonder he’d locked that down. Dude was punching, and winning but tonight every instinct I had was tuned to Orla.
She must’ve felt me staring because her eyes flicked over in my direction. She raised one brow and gave me this nervouslittle smile. A rose tinted flush crept up her neck before she forced it down with a slow sip of wine, like she’d just remembered she wasn’t supposed to look at me that way.
Game over. I couldn’t help but smile back despite my mouth being as dry as sandpaper. I needed a drink, stat and only a double bourbon would do.
I headed to the other side of the bar to order, trying not to show I couldn’t stop staring at her when I felt a hand clap my shoulder.
“Reed, mate. How are you?”
I turned, grinning. “Jordan Taylor, what’s up, man. Congrats. You earned this.” We pulled into a quick bro hug.
“Cheers, mate. Hell of a match you gave me. How’s the leg holding up?”
“Not bad. Got some big plans for it. Hoping to come back and kick your ass in New York.”
He laughed, flashing his signature golden boy grin. “I’ll look forward to that, rookie. But rehab that thing proper. Don’t cut corners.”
I nodded in agreement before hesitating, then asked, “How do you do it, man? Not the wins. The rest of it. How do you not spiral when shit gets heavy?”
Jordan looked past me toward the bar, his brows furrowing. “I didn’t always handle it well. I’ve burned through my fair share of breakdowns. But when someone believes in you, even when you don’t? It changes everything.”
His gaze softened on Kate with a look of pure adoration. “She grounds me. Reminds me who the hell I am when I forget.”
I followed his line of sight and my eyes landed on Orla. She was standing next to Kate, her perfectly manicured fingertips fiddling with her wine glass.
Jordan caught the direction of my stare. “You got someone like that?”
“Not exactly. It’s… complicated”.
“Then don’t fuck it up before you do.” He clapped my shoulder again. “Trust me, I almost did.”
