“How’s little one doing today?” he asked, his eyes crinkling at the corners.
I smiled, instinctively resting both hands on my bump. “Kicking away in there, Rog. Keeping me up half the night.”
Sue tutted fondly, patting my knee. “Just like his father, never could sit still.”
I laughed, the tension in my shoulders easing as the noise of the stadium wrapped around us.
I sank into my seat beside Maggie with a long exhale, letting the noise of the stadium settle around me.
And for a moment, I just looked.
At the people around me. At the space we’d claimed. At the box he’d slowly filled with loyalty and love, brick by quiet brick.
It was a far cry from that first week at Wimbledon. God, I could still feel the plastic press of those green seats against the backs of my legs. I’d sat there stiff and anonymous, hands knotted tight in my lap, trying not to be noticed. Trying not to show how it hollowed me out, loving someone so loudly while the world looked right through me.
I hadn’t realised how lonely it had been until now. Now, I was here. We were here. I ran a hand over my bump, smiling before I could stop myself. There would be one more little seat filled soon.
The thought made my heart surge. Full and bursting with something I could only describe as pride. Pride in him, in us, in this strange, dazzling life we were building.
I sat down carefully, one hand braced on the armrest, the other still curved protectively over my belly. My heart was thudding so hard I swear you could see it through the thin fabric of my dress.
“He’s not out yet,” I murmured, more to myself than anyone.
Maggie leaned in, her voice warm and low. “God, you look amazing,” she whispered, giving my knee a gentle squeeze.
I smiled, though it felt a little tight around the edges. “I feel like I’m going to be sick. I always get like this.”
Chris let out a dry chuckle from beside us, entirely unbothered. “Welcome to being part of the team.”
I let myself laugh a small breath of relief. The nerves didn’t go away, but they settled into something more familiar. A kind of ritual, almost. This was what it meant to show up. To be part of this.
Then the stadium shifted. The buzz in the air snapped taut, charged with that unmistakable electricity. Thousands of bodies leaning forward at once, waiting for the moment to arrive.
The announcer’s voice boomed across the court.
“Please welcome…Jordan Taylor!”
The sound the crowd made was deafening.
I turned, and there he was. Walking out in that black T-shirt like the sun had been waiting for him before casting its rays down on the court. Tanned, lean, loose-limbed, focused. And that damn backwards cap. Sweatband around his wrist. Every inch of him looked like he belonged out there and more than that, like he was ready.
His eyes scanned the court, steady and clinical. But then he looked up and found me like he always did.
His whole face softened into the grin that was reserved only for me. That private one, the one that crept up his cheeks and hit his eyes like he was seeing his whole future in the crowd.
He blew out a slow breath. Gave the tiniest shake of his head. Then winked.
God. Would that ever stop undoing me?
He bounced on his heels, twirling his racket once before taking his place. I watched the way he moved, smooth, composed, dialled in. There was a calm to him now that hadn’t been there before. Like something inside him had finally locked into place.
I’d watched him train like a demon for this. I’d seen the early mornings, the cracked hands, the frustration that came when his body didn’t cooperate the way it used to. But I’d also seen the quiet fire. The way he hadn’t missed a single scan. The way he’d hurry home from practice just to feel the baby kick.
Even the way he looked at me even when I was moody, swollen, crying over nothing, like I was everything. Now, I watched him line up a practice serve. Then another. He looked so fluid, balanced. He looked like Jordan Taylor again. But better. Like the best version of the man I loved, not because of his comeback,but because of thewhybehind it. And no one else in this stadium knew what I knew.
They didn’t know about Cincinnati. About the match that made him unravel. They hadn’t seen the aftermath. The silences. The way I’d run out on him without a second thought. The moment I told him he was going to be a father.
They didn’t know how I’d found out I was pregnant without him. With shaking hands and the pain of his words still in my head. They didn’t know how he’d shown up, quietly, relentlessly, after that. How he’d come back not just to the tour, but to us.
