Page 7 of Breakpoint

Mike, ever the mediator, had thought a joint drive to Miami would foster camaraderie and allow the teams to get to know each other better.

Instead, it felt like they were transporting two warring factions in a very expensive, very cramped prison.

Normally, Jaz enjoyed the drive into Miami to participate in this tournament.

Being only a ninety-minute drive to the tennis grounds from her house, she loved that she got to recover at home and sleep in her own bed each night.

But right now, she wished she could be anywhere but stuck in an SUV with Daniela, her coach and agent.

Especially the agent.

Who. Would. Not. Stop. Talking.

The only sounds louder than the strained silence were Chris’ increasingly forced attempts at cheerful small talk. “Jaz you excited for the clay court season?”

“No,” Jaz responded as she stared out the window with a steely gaze. She hoped to effectively block out any more attempts at conversation.

“Well, Dani is playing Madrid and Rome before the French Open. Maybe we can get an open session done for the media. Allow them to see you both together.”

Jaz had to give it to that guy. He was really trying to make conversation. When all she wanted to do was put on her headphones with her latest audiobook and figure out if Brooke and Emma had gotten back together. “Talk to Kira and Mike about that,” she finally replied.

The minutes crawled by. Finally, Hard Rock Stadium, where the tournament was played, shimmered in the distance, offering a beacon of hope—the promise of separate rooms, separate meetings, and blessed, blessed distance.

Jaz was so focused on this awkward ride that she forgot the other drama that she was diving into.

Walking into the tournament grounds, even just on media day, the air crackled with a tension thicker than the Miami humidity. But for Jaz, it wasn’t because of the competition, but because she would be here.

Lena.

Kira had tipped her off that Lena was now working with Katarina Hajek, the current number one player in the world, and would be in Miami with her.

Her heart stuttered, a painful echo of the way it used to leap at the mere mention of her.

Her first and only love. Shockingly, they hadn’t really seen each other since the awful breakup almost five years ago.

She heard through the grapevine, meaning Kira, that after their breakup Lena had left the tour and was working with college athletes. But now she was back.

“I can keep her away from you.” Kira told her last week. “I can find out when Katarina is practicing and have Mike schedule you opposite that. And have my people determine if she’s around."

Jaz knew Kira had contacts everywhere and no doubt could make her carefully choreographed plan happen. And she loved her for that. “Don’t worry about it, Kira. We’re going to run into each other eventually, so why delay the inevitable?”

A wave of nostalgia, bittersweet and sharp, washed over Jaz.

She remembered the feel of those hands tracing the curve of her hip, the line of her jaw.

The woman who had once taped her aching muscles, soothed her injuries, and stole her heart.

They met when Mike came abroad as her coach.

He recommended making Lena a part of the team if they were going to really lean into her fitness and training.

He said if she wanted to be on top, then she needed to surround herself with the top people.

Those words were definitely prophetic because Jaz later learned that Lena was definitely a top.

Initially, it was a purely professional relationship. But amidst the endless cycle of training, matches, and recovery, a friendship blossomed. Jaz found herself lingering after treatments, sharing stories about her day, seeking Lena’s opinion on things that had nothing to do with tennis.

It was nice to have another friend besides Brandon.

Jaz never knew how lonely it would be at the top.

That once she won a Grand Slam, and then multiple, the women on the tour would treat her differently.

It was difficult in her teens coming to terms that everyone in the locker room was gunning for her and she was the one to beat.

Whereby every single week, it was one hundred women’s sole mission to crush her, but many realizing they likely never would.

So it was hard to make friends, especially when her main goal wasn’t to be friends with these women but to beat them too.

But with Lena, they could share late-night talks.

Late-night talks turned into shared laughter, shared meals turned into shared secrets, and shared secrets turned into something neither had expected.

Lena celebrated Jaz’s victories with a quiet pride and soothed her after defeats with gentle words and expert massages that eased the tension from her aching muscles.

Slowly, subtly, over the course of two years, the lines blurred. A lingering touch, a shared glance, a laughter that resonated a little too long in the quiet of the night. Lena’s touch would send shivers down her spine.

One rainy evening in London, after a grueling Wimbledon tournament, the line between professional and personal, that were already blurring, vanished altogether.

Jaz was enjoying the anonymity of the bustling London streets as they walked back to their hotel.

She was just about to cross the street, but forgot to look right first, since the cars drove on the opposite side of the road.

Lena instinctively grabbed her and yanked her into her body before she could get run over by a black cab that was fast approaching.

In Lena’s arms, their eyes met and she couldn’t look away. Something sparked in the air between them, a charged intensity that made her breath catch. She was mesmerized by Lena’s hazel eyes and warm tan skin.

In a moment of impulsive boldness, Lena leaned in and kissed her.

A soft, gentle kiss that shocked Jaz, leaving her frozen and her lips still.

But just when she felt Lena pulling back, Jaz woke from her stupor and leaned back in to let her know she wanted this too.

The kiss was soft at first, tentative, then deepened with a hunger that surprised them both.

They kissed in the middle of the street, oblivious to the strangers walking around them.

It was a revelation, and Jaz’s world tilted on its axis. It wasn’t just the physical sensation, though that was certainly exhilarating. It was the connection, the spark of recognition, that ignited something deep within Jaz’s soul.

As Lena pulled away, breathless and slightly dazed, she likely saw a mirrored emotion in Jaz’s eyes. “Gosh, I’ve been wanting to do that forever.”

“Really?” Jaz couldn’t believe that someone as gorgeous as Lena had been crushing on her.

“Fuck yeah, for at least a year. But I never wanted to cross that line. We work together and well, you’re Jaz Mason. That’s fucking intimidating. Plus, I didn’t even know you were queer. You are queer, right?”

That was a good question. She’d been on tour since she was sixteen, her life a whirlwind of training, travel, and competition. There had been no time for boys (or girls), no time for anything but the relentless pursuit of victory.

She put that question to the side for the moment and responded with another deep kiss.

The tingling and attraction she was feeling for the first time raged through her body.

She didn’t want to stop kissing her. She took the opportunity and kissed her again, well, made out, in front of her hotel room door.

Thankfully, Jaz had a private suite at the end of the hall that no one else had access to.

Having Lena’s body pressed up against hers was a sensation like she had never felt.

In the days that followed, Jaz found herself at twenty-five years old for the first time, grappling with a newfound awareness.

She was definitely attracted to Lena, deeply attracted.

This realization, so unexpected and yet so undeniable, sent shockwaves through her carefully constructed world.

All her life, she had focused solely on tennis, never questioning her sexuality, never exploring the depths of her own desires .

Now, the floodgates had opened, and a whole new world of possibilities lay before her. This feeling, this undeniable attraction, was new and not something she knew how to deal with. So Jaz did what she would normally do and just let it play out.

Their relationship unfolded in stolen moments, hidden from the prying eyes of the media and the demanding schedule of the pro tennis circuit.

So much of Jaz’s life was public knowledge, and she refused to allow this to be as well.

It was a secret they guarded fiercely. Lena fit into her life and schedule already, so it was easy to make it work.

Years passed, filled with stolen moments and whispered promises.

Jaz’s career skyrocketed. Grand Slam titles piled up, endorsements rolled in.

She became a global icon. But with each victory, the demands on her time grew.

Lena remained her constant, but increasingly, their relationship was relegated to smaller moments between matches and sponsor obligations.

Jaz, blinded by her ambition and the intoxicating rush of success, failed to see the growing distance between her and Lena.

The resentment, though unspoken, began to simmer.

Lena loved her, but after five years, yearned for a life beyond the periphery of the tennis world, a life where she wasn’t just an afterthought.

She wanted a partner. The breaking point came after Jaz won her fifteenth Grand Slam, a milestone that would forever be marred by her broken heart.

“I can’t do this anymore, Jaz,” Lena said, her voice trembling and eyes filled with weary sadness as she stared at her across their hotel room. “I love you, but I can’t be second to your career forever.”

Jaz, still riding the high of victory, was stunned. Nothing in Lena's body language said she was happy with what she just accomplished. Lena stood in the farthest corner of the suite, physically and emotionally distant from Jaz. “What are you talking about? We’re a team. We’re in this together.”

“No, Jaz,” Lena replied sadly. “You’re in this. I’m just here, watching you live your dream, while mine gathers dust.”

“Your dream was to be a physio to the best player in the world, and you have that.” Jaz shot back.

“That’s my professional dream, but I also want to be a mom. Have a home and a family.”

The argument that followed was a painful unraveling of years of unspoken frustrations. Jaz, for the first time, saw the sacrifices Lena had made, the life she had put on hold for her. But it was too late. The hurt had festered too long, the imbalance of their relationship too deeply ingrained.

Jaz finally said the words that they both knew to be true, even after five years together. “I’m not retiring anytime soon, Lena. This is my life right now and for the foreseeable future.” She couldn’t offer Lena what she wanted, not while tennis still consumed her.

“And I’m tired of being second. Second to the matches, second to the training, second to the ever-present demands of your ambition. And what makes it really sad, I don’t even think you truly want this.”

And with that, Lena was gone. After seven years, two as friends and five as a couple. But those final words stuck with Jaz till this day.

Scott soon stepped in, and it was like Jaz never lost a step, even though her heart was in shambles. She won two more Grand Slams in the years that followed.

Jaz was brought out of her memories of the past when Kira and Chris let them know that Daniela would have to do media first, and Jaz could hide out in the locker room area until it was her turn.

Jaz bobbed her head with a triumphant yes, because she could put her headphones on and get back to her audiobook.

But fate, it seemed, had other plans because as soon as she entered the locker room, she saw her.

Lena.

Her back was to Jaz, her familiar athletic figure bent over another player, her hands gently massaging a calf muscle.

Jaz’s heart hammered against her ribs, a trapped bird desperate for escape.

A wave of nausea washed over her, the taste of bile rising in her throat.

Jealousy, sharp and acrid, burned in her veins.

It wasn’t rational, she knew. But the sight was like a punch to the gut, a sharp reminder of what they had and what she lost.

Seeing Lena with someone else, touching someone else with those healing hands, sent a lance of pain through her. She wanted to turn around, to run back to the sanctuary of the court, but her feet felt rooted to the spot.

Lena finally turned, and their eyes met. Time seemed to freeze. Jaz’s breath hitched.

Lena’s expression was unreadable, her face a mask of professional composure. But for a fleeting moment, Jaz saw a flicker of something in those hazel eyes. Regret? Longing?

Or was it just her own wishful thinking?

Lena smiled, a small, polite smile that didn’t reach her eyes, and nodded in acknowledgement. It was a smile that said, “We are colleagues, nothing more.” A smile that felt like a slap.

Jaz’s stomach churned with a potent cocktail of emotions: regret, a flicker of anger, and a deep, aching sadness. She forced a smile, a pale imitation of Lena’s, and nodded curtly. “Lena,” she acknowledged, her voice a tight whisper.

“Jaz,” Lena replied, her voice betraying nothing. “Good to see you. Good luck out there.”

The words were polite, meaningless. Jaz’s throat constricted. “Thanks,” she managed, her voice barely audible and her insides twisting into knots.

She wanted to say more, to ask how Lena was, but she had chosen this.

Or astutely, had chosen this life over Lena.

She walked past, her head held high, pretending indifference.

But inside, it still fucking hurt, even five years later.

The encounter was a stark reminder that some wounds, despite time and distance, still ran deep.