Page 21 of Rivals and Liars

Leire presses her fingertips to her temples and rubs them. She needs to say something—anything—to fix the wreck she's made with her silence and her stupid reaction, but nothing comes. There's nothing she can say that will comfort Kate, and she knows the hug would come too late, that it would feel forced, that Kate would go stiff the moment she reached for her.

"I'm sorry," she whispers, taking a step back.

"What are you sorry for, Leire? For what's happening to me? Or because you're losing the toy that's been keeping you entertained at night for the rest of the tour?"

"That's not fair, you know I—"

She stops herself at the last second, and Kate's anger doubles.

"What, Leire? That you love me? Is that what you were going to say?"

"Yes," she murmurs, meeting her eyes.

"Then show me, goddamn it."

Kate opens the door and doesn't bother checking the hallway before stepping out. She just leaves, letting Leire be the one to close it. Leire stays still, hand on the handle, eyes filling with tears.

Kate walks into her room without turning on the light and lies down on the bed without changing clothes. She should've told Leire that love isn't enough. That she's spent months reaching for her warmth and it never comes. She doesn't know anymore if the problem is Leire or herself—if she's been waiting for something all this time that Leire simply can't give her, not because she doesn't want to, but because she doesn't know how. And Kate is tired of waiting.

Chapter 12

"How are you?" Diane asked the moment Thomas left Kate's room.

"Good, honestly. No discomfort at all, not even when I got up, which is usually when everything feels like it's creaking."

"Glad to hear it, sweetheart. And the nerves?"

The tennis player exhaled through her nose and gave her a smile. Today was the Wimbledon final. Despite everything working against her with her back, Kate had won every match she needed to get here, and for the first time since this Grand Slam began, she and Leire were facing each other in a final. The crowd was buzzing, and the press had talked about nothing but the two of them since the semifinals.

"I'm calm," Kate said, looking at her from the bed where she'd sat down a moment ago.

Diane was in a chair next to the dresser and raised her eyebrows when she heard her.

"And the other nerves?"

The redhead made a face. She and Leire were still tense. They hadn't talked about what happened the other night, and they'd only seen each other once since then—when Leire, against all expectations, showed up at her room at midnight. They'd stood looking at each other for a few seconds, and Leire had almost opened her mouth to say something, but Kate wasn't in the mood. She'd won that morning, she'd made it to the final, and the last thing she needed was to add more tension to what already existed between them. So she'd grabbed her by the hair and kissed her, and they'd made love until two in the morning. It was different from every other time. There was something strange in the air that made them go slower, more aware of each other's bodies, touching each other as though it might be the last time they could. That was the feeling Kate carried the whole time—that it was a goodbye, that their hands were saying what their mouths couldn't. She felt a tightness in her throat when Leire started getting dressed.

"I'm going to win tomorrow, so I'll see you in the final," she'd said, turning around, and she'd leaned over the bed to come close to Kate and kiss her.

That was the goodbye. No words had passed between them since, not even when Leire won yesterday, because Kate couldn't find it in herself to go into the locker room and congratulate her. What would she have done? Kissed her and hugged her like nothing was wrong? Acted like there wasn't something unresolved hanging between them? She could have sex while angry—that was a release, a way to burn off tension with the one person she had the kind of connection with that made it feel like something real—but pretending nothing was going on between them was different. Leire had had plenty of chances to talk to her since that night. They didn't need to meet in secret for that. They were in the same sport, in the same places at all hours. She could have invited her for coffee, pulled her aside from the group to find somewhere to talk. Even the stands would have worked—no one was going to suspect anything from seeing them together during the day, because being rivals didn't mean they hated each other, and everyone knew that.

"Those are fine too."

"Kate, it's me," Diane said, and the redhead smiled and ran her finger along the scar above her eyebrow.

"Okay, it'll be strange facing her. It's been more than a year since we've been in this situation on the court, and the last time we were in a good place—it was fun." Kate smiled at the memory of the tension that had run through her entire body as she moved around the court, trying to keep her eyes on the ball instead of on Leire.

"Maybe you two should talk before the match. Clear the air once and for all," the woman suggested. She was fully up to speed on where things stood between them.

"I don't think that's a good idea for either of us. I don't want to be pessimistic, but I don't think that conversation ends well. I'd rather talk to her after the match."

"Fair enough," Diane agreed, slapping her hands on her thighs as she got up. "In that case, let's go. You need to start warming up."

Kate arrived at the locker room early. She liked to change at her own pace and take a few minutes of doing nothing—time she used to get her head in the right place, to push out anything that wasn't about the match. But today she couldn't do that, because almost right behind her, Leire walked in.

The Spanish woman stopped near the door and waited for a physical therapist who'd been working at one of the treatment tables to cross the room and leave, then closed the door behind her, aware that they were alone.

"Hey, baby." She walked toward Kate and hesitated, because they'd reached a point where neither of them knew whether they had any claim on the other anymore.