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.
Epilogue: Jordan
Melbourne, January—Eighteen Months Later
This kid’sbackhand was a bit shit, but he had the right attitude. I could work with that.
“Try it again, slower this time,” I said, stepping in beside him. “And bend your knees, mate. Your legs aren’t just there for decoration.”
I’d started helping Chris a couple of days a month, coaching masterclasses for some of the up-and-comers. Figured I had the time now. Retirement hadn’t exactly been part of the plan, not this soon, but all good things came to an end, I supposed. I tore my ACL during the US Open last year in New York. Felt the bastard go, but played through it like an idiot. By the time I got to Orla, the physio, the look on her face told me everything I needed to know. So, one surgery later, I was back on a flight to Melbourne. It was unexpected, sure. But devastating? Not entirely. To be honest, it felt like life tapping me on the shoulder. Telling me it was time.
I’d taken it as far as I could. Won a few Grand Slams since meeting Kate. Had my name where I needed it to be.
To be honest, I always knew I was on borrowed time at my age. And now I was too injured to play, too young to sit on my arse. Even with two kids who kept me on my toes. So here I was, passing myknowledge on to the next generation. I’d also signed on with a couple of TV companies to run commentary for big tournaments in the next year. Apparently, my Aussie charm wasn’t wasted on the viewers, so I got approached almost as soon as I announced my retirement.
The heat was building already, mid-morning and edging toward thirty degrees. The court baked under the sun. I squinted up toward the clubhouse, wiping sweat off my brow, just as I heard it.
“Daddy!”
Everything stopped.
I turned just in time to see Noah flying down the path in tiny trainers, arms wide, curls bouncing. Kate wasn’t far behind with our daughter, Stella, tucked against her chest in the carrier, a floppy sunhat falling over her forehead.
My son barrelled into me at full speed. I caught him easily, lifted him high and spun him once, pressing a kiss to his cheek.
“Hey, mate.” I grinned as he wrapped his arms around my neck. “Miss me?”
He nodded solemnly. “Mummy say I play.”
I snorted. “Yeah, you can play in a minute, mate. Let me just finish up.”
Kate reached us then, and just like always, like every damn time, my heart did that stupid clench thing. Even now, after everything. Two kids, a wedding, a thousand sleepless nights. She still did that to me.
We got married seven months after Noah was born in December. It felt like the final piece, making her my wife. We had this quiet little vineyard ceremony here in Melbourne. Just us, close family, a few mates, and her parents. No big pageant, just like she wanted. She hadn’t changed a bit since the day I met her. Honestly, it was perfect.
We threw a massive party afterwards, though. I got her so drunk on red wine she couldn’t keep her hands off me. That’s how we ended up with Stella nine months later. People thought we were nuts having another baby so soon after Noah, but in all honesty, I think we both realised we weren’t getting any younger, and we knew we wanted to give him a sibling.
Coincidentally, Stella’s birth lined up with my injury. I flew home to rehab in Melbourne just in time, thank Christ, because she came likelightning. I delivered her myself. In the bloody bathroom. Whole thing was over in minutes.
Kate had gone full term this time, but been feeling off all morning. I’d sent her to run herself a bath, when all of a sudden, I heard her shout my name. And not in theJordan you’ve left your underwear on the bathroom floor againway.
When I ran in, she was gripping the bathroom counter, knuckles white, panting, “It’s happening.” One minute I was calling the midwife, the next minute I could already see her head coming out. One push and she was here, like a rip current. ?I’d played five-hour Grand Slam matches, but nothing came close to the adrenaline of catching my own kid. And I swear, to this day, I get PTSD every time I use the bathroom. Safe to say, after two pretty dramatic births, Kate and I are done.
Having another little one was different this time. I had more to give. To her. To the three of them. I think the universe needed me to slow down. So did Kate.
I glanced over at the kid I’d been coaching and raised my voice. “Let’s call it a day there, Sam. I’ll see you next week.”
