Page 112 of The Game

ADAM – FIVE MONTHS LATER

The crowd is completely silent as I watch Anna for the first time in a big match—the French Open final. I glance at the scoreboard for what must be the two thousandth time. This game is going down to the wire. It’s 12–12 in the tiebreaker and, honestly, she must have nerves of steel. But boy, she has needed them today. Katarina Yenko has fought every point and come back time and time again when Anna’s been in the lead. After Anna lost the first set, I thought it was all over.

She serves, but even I can see without the call or the electronic beep that it’s out.Fuck, Anna, don’t double-fault now. Come on!Ilov’s face next to me is impassive—how is he so calm? Anna bounces the ball a couple of times on the court, then throws it up and smashes it over the net and Yenko stretches to get to it, but it’s too fast and too near the center line. An ace! Fuck. I try not to gnaw on my hand like I want to. There are cameras all over this thing, and I’ve already had one or two Slack messages from my team saying,You look cute on TV.

We’ve got two months in Europe, starting with the French Open, then Wimbledon, and we’ve left Pepper with Janus and Jo, given she’s now best friends with the cats. Susie’s been running things in the business like a proin my absence. I’m still online with people in the office every day. In fact, it couldn’t be easier. The guys have been amazing, and I’ve done loads since coming here, even with attending all of Anna’s matches. I’ve gone to a few hackerspaces in Paris, taking the suitcase full of electronic kit I brought with me, and I love the freedom and the peace I get while Anna’s off practicing.

Katarina bounces the ball ready to serve on the switch. If Anna breaks Yenko’s serve here, this could win her the tournament, but she’s had these kinds of nail-biting battles with Yenko throughout this match. She’s one point ahead now.Make it two.The ball whizzes down, and Anna stretches all out, managing to fire it back over the net, and it clips the top, but Katarina gets to it and top slices the ball as she closes in on the net, eager to make the kill. Anna is off-balance, her weight on the wrong foot, but even with my limited knowledge of tennis—though I’m getting better each day, I swear—I can see the opportunity it’s opened up for Anna to put one past her opponent. She does, somehow twisting her body, not quite steady, and belting a ball almost too fast to see, straight down the line. It misses the end of Yenko’s outstretched racket by millimeters, and the whole stadium erupts as Anna goes down on her knees, forehead pressed into the red clay of the court.

And I’m on my feet, eyes damp. Ever since I met Anna I’ve turned into a sap, but God, it’s so fucking amazing being with this woman.

Then she’s up and climbing up to the stands where I’m sitting with her parents, whom she flew in to be here, alongside her coach, Ilov, and her public relations guy, Damian.

The crowd is going wild, cheering and clapping as Anna arrives with us, tearful and sweaty, hugging everyone in turn. When she reaches me at the end of the line, her eyes are red and full of tears.

“I couldn’t have done it without you,” she says, as I pull her into a tight hug.

I laugh through my own tears. “I think you could.” I kiss her temple. “Watching that was the highlight of my life. I love you.”

She squeezes me tighter. “Me too. I’ll see you later,” she says, and then she’s gone with a wave to the crowd as she heads back down to the court and her trophy presentation. No doubt she’ll have to work through a whole round ofquestions at the press conference and everything else she needs to do. A hot, welling sensation takes hold of my chest. If I feel like this, what on earth must her mom and dad be feeling?

I glance over at her dad, and his eyes are full of tears. When I met him earlier, he was gruff and monosyllabic, but I’ve realized that’s just his way. They both speak a little English. In the halting Russian I’ve been learning, I apologized to her mom for not being Arty Maroz and she grinned a grin that was so like Anna’s it almost stopped my heart. Then she slapped my arm and went into a long diatribe in Russian, and I caught the words Maroz, his father, and something about wanting a son-in-law and grandchildren.Maybe one day.Understanding Russian is a long slog. With a lot of gesturing, I managed to communicate that the grandchildren were dependent on them—Anna’s parents—living in the US. Anna’s managed to persuade them and her sister to move to Latvia so they’re in a much safer place, but I don’t think she’ll be truly happy until they’re in the US. Fortunately, for now, Fabian is keeping an eye on everything. He has enough leverage and he keeps me briefed. It’s not a long-term solution, but it’s good enough for now.

Eventually, we’re led behind the scenes for a drink and to chat with people, and everyone wants to speak to someone connected to Anna. We see Anna again briefly, but there are loads of interviews lined up for her, so I manage to extract myself and her parents and we head back to the hotel together. Ilov and Damian stick around to organize things and talk to the media. When I leave her parents at the door to their room, both of them are quiet but beaming, and I promise in broken Russian to let them know when Anna returns. There’s a dinner being held tonight which we’ll all be attending.

I settle back on the cushions at the head of the bed in our suite and pull my laptop onto my knees. I’ve got several hours of peace to work on a few things on the website for Susie and some designs Sean and I discussed yesterday.

But the next thing I feel is my laptop moving, and as my arms shoot out to save it from falling, my eyes fly open to find Anna smiling down at me, her hands wrapped around my computer.

“Long day?” she says with a wink.

“I watched a very exciting tennis match and it wore me out,” I say, grinning up at her. “Ms. French Open Champion.”

She places my laptop on the floor and climbs over my lap, eyes latching onto mine as she runs her thumb along my lower lip.

“I’m in the mood to celebrate,” she whispers, sliding her ass down my legs and pressing in.

My relationship with Anna is warm and close and solid, but this aspect of being together is like some unstoppable force.

“Winning’s a big turn-on, huh?” I say.

She smiles. “I think it is.”

“What time is it?” I start to lift my wrist, but she pins it down to the bed and all my fighting instincts roar to life.

“We have time,” she says.

So, I slide my hand through her hair and move forward as if I’m going to kiss her, but twist at the last moment, pinning her on her back instead. “I like a worn-out opponent,” I say, rubbing my nose along hers and kissing her eyelids.

She smiles. “Who says I’m worn out? I’ve had a few energy drinks.”

“I like the way you pick up on the fact that I said you were worn out but let the fact that I describe you as myopponentgo by.” I prop myself on my hands. “Congratulations, by the way. How does it feel to win your first French Open championship?”

She blows out a long breath. “God, I’ve been asked that question a thousand times over the last two hours. There’s no greater feeling in the world. One of those special feelings that happen so rarely, when all your hard work pays off. Because so often it doesn’t.”

“I see.” If there’s one thing I’ve learned from watching Anna, it’s that failure is far more common than success, and the only choice to make is to carry on, to fight another day, and another one and another one.

“A better man would have had some champagne on tap to celebrate,” I add.

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