She tipped her head back against the seat.
“Jesus Christ,” I muttered, dragging a hand down my face. “Did we just survive that?”
She gave a soft laugh. “Barely. I thought I was going to pass out before the end of dinner.”
I reached for her hand. It was still trembling slightly.
“Hey,” I said. “You were amazing.”
She looked at me then, eyes glassy, her lip giving a slight wobble. “Well, at least I didn’t cry.”
“You didn’t need to.”
I shifted toward her, dropping her hand just so I could cup her jaw. “You stood your ground. You were strong and clear and…fuck, Katie. You were brilliant.”
Her lip trembled again. Just a little. She blinked quickly, staring ahead like if she didn’t move, she wouldn’t fall apart.
And it hit me how heavy this had all been for her. The build-up. The fear. The way her parents’ expectations had lived in her bones for years. I had no idea what that felt like. My parents had always been there for me through everything, every triumph, every stupid decision. I couldn’t imagine what it must have felt like having to live your life by someone else’s expectations.
She turned to face the windscreen again. Her voice came quiet.
“I didn’t realise how much of me I’d packed away to make them happy.”
My chest ached as I reached for her again. Pulled her across the console and into me, showing her she was safe now as I cradled her head against me.
“You don’t have to do that anymore,” I murmured into her hair. “You’re not theirs to mould, Katie. You’re yours. You always have been.”
I paused, softer now. “And you’re mine, too. If you want to be.”
She didn’t say anything. Just let herself lean in to me and let herself fall apart quietly, safely, right there in my arms. I held her like that for a long time.
Until her breathing slowed. Until her body stopped shaking. Eventually, she pulled back just enough to look at me.
“I’m really glad you were there,” she whispered.
“I wouldn’t have been anywhere else.”
And I meant it. I’d follow this woman through fire if she asked. Tonight wasn’t easy but she’d shown up. And that was everything.
She sniffled as she gave me a damp, little smile. “Let’s go home.”
“Yeah,” I said, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “Home.”
Chapter Fifty
Jordan
London—December
I’ve playedCentre Court in front of fifteen thousand people. Faced down championship points. Served through torn ligaments and full-body cramps.
None of that ever made me feel like I might actually pass out.
But this?
Sitting in that sterile hospital room with Kate’s hand gripped tight in mine. This was something else entirely.
I hated the smell of hospitals. Too many memories of past injuries that slowed down my career, surgeries I didn’t know if I’d bounce back from. Sticky floors, machine-generated coffee, physios and doctors poking at broken bits, bits that weren’t healing like they were supposed to. This reason for the visit was better, brighter, more intimate, but it still made my stomach turn.
