Page 19 of Breakpoint

One more point was all she needed. And she was serving. No matter how many times she had served for a Grand Slam tournament, the nerves never went away. She bounced the ball once, twice, the rhythmic thud a counterpoint to the frantic beat of her own heart.

Eighteen Grand Slams. That was what this point meant. Eighteen. A number that echoed in her mind, a whisper of history she was trying to match.

She tossed the ball, the sunlight glinting off its fuzzy yellow surface.

Her serve, her weapon, her trusted ally.

But even that felt shaky now, vulnerable.

The ball connected with the racket, a solid thwack , and flew across the net.

Isla returned, a fierce forehand that Jaz barely reached.

The rally began, a tense dance of power and precision.

Each shot was a gamble, each stride a test of her aging body.

Jaz hit a backhand slice across the court, and Isla faltered. A slight hesitation, her feet moving a fraction of a second too slow. She got to the ball, but she didn’t have enough force on the shot, and it sailed into the net.

Jaz froze, her racket still outstretched. For a moment, the silence was deafening. Then, a slow wave of realization washed over her. She had done it. Eighteen .

The roar of the crowd erupted, a tidal wave of sound that crashed over her. She looked up, her eyes searching the mass of faces, a mixture of relief and disbelief swirling within her.

She raised her hands to the sky and screamed, “FUCK YEAH!!” But the words we drowned out by the roar of the crowd.

She had won Wimbledon. Again.

She looked into her player’s box and saw Brandon in tears. Mike, Kira, and Scott were beaming and giving her fist pumps. And behind them she saw Dani, clapping and cheering for her with a smile that seemed to glow. Even though Jaz just tied Dani’s mother’s record.

The first few times she won Wimbledon when she was younger, she climbed into the stands and over the crowds to give everyone in her box a sweaty hug.

Now, in her older age, she wasn’t as limber and knew she would see them as soon as she got back to the tunnel.

So she gave them a thumbs up for a job well done.

Plus she didn’t want to delay the uncomfortableness of the post-match interview and trophy ceremony too long.

The post-match on-court interview was a blur, and next thing she knew, she had the Venus Rosewater Dish, the trophy for the women’s champion, in her hands, holding it up to the crowd to show everyone.

For the sixth time, she lifted the trophy, the cool metal a stark contrast to the heat of her emotions. It was hers.

As soon as she got to the tunnel, Mike, Brandon, and Kira were already waiting for her. Brandon crushed her in a bear hug, tears in his eyes. “You did it, kiddo.”

“Thanks, Brandon.” She wrapped her arms around him, the trophy almost falling out of her hand. Kira saw the struggle and grabbed it from her so she could give Brandon a proper hug. He had been there since the beginning, and it felt right to share every moment with him.

When she finally released Brandon from her grip, she gave Mike and Kira fist bumps and high-fives.

Celebrating the euphoria of a job well done.

The British royals who had been in the royal box were there to shake her hand.

She had met them before during her previous win, but it was still intimidating to say the least, especially because she was still hot, sweaty, and smelled awful.

Finally, after the rest of the pomp and pageantry of winning, Jaz made her way to the players’ locker room to grab a shower before having to do another round of media. She turned the corner to where her stuff was stored and found Dani leaning against the lockers.

When she saw Jaz, she rushed over to her and gave her a hug.

“Jaz, that was awesome. Like other worldly,” Dani effused while still holding onto Jaz tightly.

One thing that Jaz had also learned since they became friends was just how tactile Dani was.

She was always giving her a high five or hugging her as she entered or left rooms.

The warmth of Dani’s hug buzzed with feelings inside Jaz that she had yet to place. “You’ve seen people play in Grand Slams before,” she stated as she removed herself from Dani’s embrace.

“Yes, but I’ve also seen up close the work you put into it. I've been beside you for every match. I feel like I’ve been a part of this win, too.”

“Well, you have. I wouldn’t have done it without you,” Jaz stated honestly .

“Thanks for saying that,” Dani demurred, blushing at the compliment but looking like she didn’t believe it.

“I don’t bullshit, and you know I don’t say anything I don’t mean. Training with you pushed me farther. I can admit it, begrudgingly, it probably put me over the edge. So let’s go win that doubles trophy.”

A confident smile spread across Dani’s face. “Oh, hell yeah.”

Because they had shockingly mowed down the competition at Wimbledon and Jaz found herself, only three hours after winning the singles trophy, out playing for the doubles title with the person she least expected.

Dani Kappas.

Centre Court at Wimbledon was still filled to capacity.

A sea of hushed anticipation focused on the patch of pristine green.

Usually, after the singles finals, though their tickets allow them to watch all the matches that day, attendees often trickle out.

The stadium is normally only fifty percent full after the women's final. Doubles just didn’t really draw the attention that singles did, but today, likely the fact that Jaz and Dani were playing—two well-known singles players—every seat in the stands was taken.

Right now, they were still technically in the set but down a double break and Dani was unraveling.

The enormity of the occasion was visibly taking its toll.

Jaz could physically see the tremors in her hands between a few points.

Her usually reliable backhand was betraying her, sailing long or wide, landing with frustrating regularity into the net.

Jaz could see each mistake chipped away at Dani’s confidence.

She was frustrated and wanted to shout at Dani to get it together, she was pulling both of them down.

Playing doubles was much more complex than singles, faster, and more net play.

If she made a mistake in singles, it was on her, but in doubles, it affected the team.

Dani’s head was hanging low, and she repeatedly said, “Sorry” to Jaz after every error or “Stupid” to herself.

Jaz reigned in her anger and tried to remember what Mike had said.

Instead of popping off, she gives her nods of encouragement.

Dani still seemed to shrink under the weight of the moment.

It was the same energy Jaz saw across the net when she beat her at the French Open.

“Game and set, Miss Stevens, Miss Nichols, 6-3,” the chair umpire called.

They had to get it together quickly to at least give themselves a fighting chance.

At a changeover, Jaz called for the trainer, feigning a slight tweak in her ankle.

It was a tactical move that many players did to slow their opponent’s momentum, and Jaz needed a chance to steal a few extra moments.

To pull Dani back from the precipice. As the trainer fussed over Jaz’s perfectly healthy ankle, though her hamstring still felt like shit, she leaned in close to Dani, her voice low and urgent.

“Forget the crowd, Dani. Forget the score. Forget it’s Wimbledon.

It’s just tennis. It’s the same game you’ve played a thousand times.

You are good enough. We are good enough.

Trust your instincts. Trust me. We can do this. ”

Dani looked up, meeting Jaz’s gaze, and whispered, “I just don’t want to let you down.”

“You’ll let me down if you don’t play your game,” Jaz spat back. She hoped that Dani could see the unwavering belief she had in them in her eyes. “Remember who the fuck you are. And I’m right here with you. Jaz fucking Mason is on your side.”

Dani tilted her shoulders back and nodded, taking a deep, shaky breath.

When play resumed, it seemed like a different Dani stepped onto the court.

The energy on their side of the court had changed.

She moved with a newfound lightness, her strokes regaining their familiar rhythm and power.

Her backhand found its range, driving deep and forcing their opponents onto the defensive.

Even her forehand seemed to have more pop.

Jaz got a front-row seat to the woman they said would be the future of tennis, and she could now see why.

When Dani Kappas turned it on and played with a freedom and passion, her game was out of this world.

Jaz, sensing the change, played with even more ferocity, covering the court like a woman possessed, anticipating every move, her own game elevated by Dani’s resurgence.

It had been a while since Jaz played that freely and completely dominated. Dani’s game elevated her game.

The momentum swung like a pendulum. They clawed their way back, point by point, game by game.

They won the second set, forcing a decisive third.

The crowd, sensing the shift, roared their approval, their cheers a wave of support that carried the two women forward.

The final point was a haze of volleys, a desperate scramble at the net.

Then, a final, definitive smash from Dani that landed squarely in the corner, unreturnable.

Silence. Then, an eruption of sound as the chair umpire declared, “Game, set, and match, Miss Kappas, Miss Mason.”

Jaz fell to her knees in exhaustion, but also happiness.

She had played two full matches on the same day.

Her body was spent. She would definitely need to spend some time with Scott and do a long recovery, while Dani looked spry, like she could play another match.

This was her first very group project, and they had aced it!

With a friend. An overwhelming sense of joy and accomplishment rushed through Jaz.

They had done it. They were Wimbledon champions.

She turned to Dani, and the sheer joy on Dani’s face was something she couldn’t describe. Winning a first major was a big deal for any player, and she got to experience Dani’s right alongside her. It filled Jaz with more joy than the singles trophy she had won earlier in the day.

Dani rushed over to her and gave Jaz her second crushing of the day, right in the middle of Centre Court with almost fifteen thousand fans screaming for them. Jaz pulled away from the sweaty hug and words beaming out of her.

“You’re a Grand Slam champion!” she screamed over the crowd.

Tears streamed down Dani’s face. “Holy shit, I can’t believe we just won!”

“Of course we did. Who was really going to stop us?” Jaz shot back confidently. Dani laughed loudly, genuine joy on her face. At that moment, Jaz couldn’t turn her eyes away.

The on-court post-match interview whizzed by.

Jaz let Dani be in the spotlight and do most of the talking.

She wanted her to soak up and revel in the moment of her first major tournament win.

But it was also because Dani knew Jaz didn’t care for interviews and was picking up the slack for her.

It was evidence of the power of a partnership with a true friend. Because that’s what Dani had become.