Page 31 of Breakpoint

She was two points away. Two points from winning her first tournament on the professional tour. Roughly a hundred women had entered to win this event, the Rogers Cup in Montreal, and now only two remained. Only one of them would win.

There wasn’t a cloud in the sky on the August day, and the weather was a balmy seventy degrees, though humidity made it feel much hotter.

Dani bounced lightly on the balls of her feet, a barely contained tremor in her legs betraying the maelstrom within her body and mind.

Her heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic drumbeat against the silence she’d built around herself to block out the noise.

She could feel the weight of every eye in the stadium, the silent pressure of expectation.

Her focus narrowed, the roar of the crowd fading into a dull hum. The serve came right in her strike zone. After one step to her left, she moved her weight onto her front leg, dropped her racket head below the ball, locked her elbow, and swung from low to high, connecting solidly with the ball .

Thwack!

Her backhand was clean, the contact solid, sending the ball screaming down the line. It landed just inside.

“Fuck yeah,” she muttered under her breath with a fist pump. She walked back to the baseline and assumed her ready position, feet shoulder width apart, knees bent. The crowd roared.

Match point.

One point away from everything. Not only winning her first tournament, but it was a 1000-level event.

These tournaments were one step below a Grand Slam, taking place over two weeks instead of one, coming with a ton of points in the rankings and a big fat check.

She needed this win because it was getting really expensive paying for all the flights and hotels for herself and her team.

Plus, getting all her rackets professionally restrung was adding up.

In college, the school took care of those things, but now, as a pro, that was all coming out of her pocket.

She was surprised she had made it this far in this tournament.

She had never been past the quarterfinals at any event, but some of the top players were knocked out in earlier rounds or retired from their matches early because of injury.

Some might say it was a weakened field, but who cared?

She still had to win it. She still had to make it through the gauntlet.

It was taxing, both physically and mentally, to have the strength and the sheer luck to go two full weeks without dropping a match.

So here she was, seizing the opportunity in front of her.

Adrenaline pumped through her veins, but she tried to calm herself down and focus on the mission at hand.

Years of relentless practice, the sting of countless losses, wondering if maybe she had left college too soon.

But she had an unwavering belief in herself, and it had all culminated in this single, glorious moment.

Her hand, slick with sweat, tightened on the grip.

Breathe , she reminded herself, just breathe, Dani .

She needed to stay the course, remembering what Jaz told her earlier today when they spoke. Her confident voice whispered in her ear, “You’ve got this. Don’t press, just play your game one point at a time.”

40-15. Championship point.

Time seemed to slow. Her opponent served a fierce, slicing shot out wide.

She lunged, her racket connecting with a desperate, barely controlled forehand.

Her opponent, likely shocked she had gotten it back, was caught flat-footed and moved a bit too slowly to the ball but still got her racket on it to get it back in play.

The rally began, each stroke measured, precise, a chess match between two people, both striving for the same goal.

Dani forced her wide, opening up the court.

A forehand winner, clean and crisp, landed just inside the line.

Shockingly, her opponent got her racket on it, but the shot landed….

“Out!” the line judge shouted.

And for a heartbeat, silence held the court captive.

“ Game. Set. Match. Miss Kappas 6-2, 6-4. ” She heard from the chair umpire over the loudspeaker.

Her composure shattered. Her legs, which moments ago had been heavy with the tension of the final point, suddenly felt light, almost buoyant.

A sensation bubbled up: a dizzying blend of elation and disbelief.

Sweat stung her eyes, blurring the ecstatic faces in the stands, but she didn’t care.

It was real. A roar, not from the crowd, but from deep within her, erupted.

The racket slipped from her numb fingers, falling to the hard court with a thud she didn’t hear.

She fell to her knees on the court, not believing what she had just done.

The crowd’s cheers washed over her, a wave of pure adoration.

A smile, wide and unrestrained, stretched across her face.

This wasn’t just a win; it was a validation.

She had made the right decision to defy her parents and leave college early.

No matter that it had been a year of losses, she belonged.

The crowd’s applause was a physical force, a rush of sound that enveloped her, lifting her higher. Tears fell from her eyes, but she didn’t bother to wipe them away. This was her moment.

Remembering what she had to do, she got off the blue hardcourt and went over to her opponent. The handshake at the net and to the chair umpire was a blur, the polite congratulations from them a distant hum.

She had finally won a singles title. She was a champion. Her name would forever be etched on the Rogers Cup anytime someone came to Montreal. There were women who had been on tour for years and had never accomplished this feat. The feeling was intoxicating, addictive, a high unlike any other.

She looked at the crowd, her eyes automatically seeking the familiar faces in her player’s box.

Tom had his arms crossed in his usual no-nonsense posture.

But his usually stoic face was split in a wide, proud grin.

She couldn’t remember the last time she actually saw a smile on his face.

Chris jumped up and down, arms in the air, cheering and clapping furiously at her victory.

This victory was theirs as much as it was hers.

As she walked back to her chair courtside, she raised her fist in acknowledgement. A silent thank you for everything.

The grounds people were already preparing for the on-court trophy ceremony and post-match interviews.

But she sat there in a daze, a smile plastered on her face.

She looked back up to her box, meeting Tom’s stern eye, and he gave her a head nod and a thumbs up.

Chris already had his phone glued to his ear; no doubt already fielding the avalanche of incoming calls and offers he wanted Dani to pursue.

But as her gaze swept across the box a second time, a small, almost imperceptible pang resonated in her heart. A space felt vacant. Because Jaz wasn’t there. She knew Jaz would be thrilled and just as excited for her win.

Jaz, who over the last few weeks, besides tennis, had become the center of her world.

It was new, exciting, fun, and everything she hoped a relationship could be.

Some things about the beginning of their relationship didn’t change from their friendship.

When they were apart and playing in different tournaments, Dani would send snippets of her day—a funny meme she knew she’d appreciate, a link to a book that she thought Jaz may like.

The flirting was different and had been relentless.

Each text exchange added fuel to a smoldering fire that now threatened to consume her.

The phone calls were new, though. Now looking back, she enjoyed it from first one. That first time the caller ID said Jaz, she thought she was seeing things and must have been mistaken. Dani answered anyway and brought it to her ear. “Hello?” Her voice rose a level on the “O. ”

Jaz laughed back. “Is that a question?”

Dani smiled and felt a rush all over just hearing Jaz’s voice so close in her ear. “Maybe. You’ve just never called me before. Actually, the only people I really talk to over the phone and not text or video call are my parents. You know, when we do talk.”

“We can talk about them, your parents, if you want to?” Jaz asked softly. Jaz had become the person she unburdened all her worries on, but she didn’t want to go down that rabbit hole. It usually left her feeling melancholy.

“No, I don’t. Not tonight. I want to know why the self-proclaimed best tennis player in the world is calling me.” Dani smiled widely into the phone.

“Not self-proclaimed, rest-of-the-world proclaimed. With eighteen Grand Slams to prove it,” Jaz declared confidentially.

She was likely smirking at Dani on the other end of the phone.

“But I figured I would try something new and use this thing called the telephone that has been around for a century. Plus, I’m already in bed with the lights out, and I wanted to talk to you before I went to sleep. ”

Jaz’s voice was a warm rumble through the phone, and Dani felt tingling all over at her words. “Aww, who knew you were a softie?” she teased.

“I can also hang up on you?” Dani laughed at that. She also came to understand that Jaz’s gruffness also covered up her sharp, deadpan sense of humor.

“You wouldn’t do that? You’d miss me too much and then stay awake all night thinking about me.” Dani beamed at the thought of Jaz not being able to sleep without her .

“Keep telling yourself that, Kappas,” Jaz clapped back.

Dani laughed out loud into the phone. But now that she thought about it, she would also like to talk to Jaz and hear about her day before she turned in for the night. “How was your sponsorship event today? You were doing another racket and shoes giveaway, right?”

“Yes, at the court that we helped get built.”

“You built a tennis court? You really are Wonder Woman?”