I go into tournament mode before I can begin to fully dote on Fleur or think about how badly I want to call Leah and make things official. Both are very overwhelming urges that take a bit of energy to suppress as Juan and I begin to prepare for the first match.

Just like in Adelaide, I forget what it feels like to lose.

Opponents, while sometimes more difficult than expected, amount to almost nothing against my determination to win the first of the big four this season. There are two people who are having to watch this instead of talking to me, and I want to be able to have a good conversation topic the minute I can call each of them.

My body seems impenetrable by fatigue as we get deeper into the tournament. I do not feel the ache in my joints, nor the cramps in my muscles. It is as if I have been injected with some sort of super-human serum. They even call me in for a 'random' drug test after I thrash Donna Vekic in the quarterfinals. My phone remains in Juan's hotel room. I pass the time by completing crosswords and racing Leah in our month-long competition for who can be the first to finish the sudoku puzzle book we each have a copy of. I don't know how she is doing, but I only have three left to do.

Similarly to the quarters, the semis feel easy. I remember how to play tennis for fun. It occupies me while I deal with my self-imposed ban which bars me from talking to my two most favourite people in the world.

I face Elena Rybakina in the final, and it is obviously a little tougher than the other games this tournament. Nevertheless, I beat her comfortably.

There are no tears from me as I win, nor any ecstatic shouting and screaming. In fact, upon rewatching the match with commentary, my celebration is described as me being 'as cool as a cucumber'. The most I find it in myself to do is to look at Juan with relief as he makes a phone sign with his hand and holds it to his ear. I can't wait to call her.

The press conference is numbing as I go through the motions of briefly analysing my game and answering some odder questions that are thrown into the mix. As I stand up to leave, the tiredness sets in – something that I will feel for the next four days while I sleep and swim to recover. I have already planned to go surfing with my cousins (and their children because everyone seems to be having children now) in a few days.

Juan has my phone in his hand the minute I get out of the room, and it is fully charged and ready to be used. I get to the changing room with no intention of having a shower until I have at least spent a good thirty minutes talking to Leah, instead opting to sit comfortably with my back resting against the lockers, clicking on her contact with haste.

It is the morning for her in England, and she is at the Arsenal training centre. She cannot FaceTime. I will settle for hearing her voice.

"I did it and now we can talk," is the first thing I say, blurting it out. I am sure I had planned something during one of those nights in which I missed her the most, but I cannot remember any of it now. "I miss you. I love you. I won."

"I love you too," Leah replies, laughing. "And I know! I watched the match. Cool as a cucumber."

"All I was thinking about was this," I confess readily. I have stopped wanting to hold back. Two weeks of thinking about her made me realise there is no point in wasting time. There are only so many minutes a person can live. "The whole time. I won and everything and that's great, but this feels even better."

"Someone's feeling poetic." I shake my head, rolling my eyes at her. She can't see, but I am sure she can imagine.

"I wish you were here."

"Are you saying that I should retire and become a tennis WAG?"

"Another trophy would be great," I joke, enjoying the way she gasps 16,893 kilometres away.

"Oh my God," Leah splutters, caught off guard. "If I was with you, I'd shut you up real quick." Mumma's words from New Year's Eve ring in my ears. How she would probably say yes. How I am delaying it and that is stupid.

I take a deep breath, deciding to bite the bullet. "Will you be my girlfriend?" I shuffle on the bench, pushing my back further into the locker. Leah seems to be considering my question thoroughly.

Just when I think that I have blown it, she clears her throat. "Haven't we been dating since October...? We went on holiday together."

"Oh."

"You thought we were friends?"

"Nee, more like a – what's it called? Situationship? And you were grieving. You are grieving. I didn't want to take advantage of you." It made sense at the time. It was stressful.

"You're not taking advantage of me. And sure, I'll be your girlfriend."

"Sure?!"

"What do you want me to say? 'Yes, of course, Jaimie. I love you so much and am so honoured to be in your life'?"

I nod my head, forgetting that she cannot see. "Yes, exactly that." I frown.

"Well, it's not like any of that was a lie. I love you. I wish I could be there to help you celebrate." Speaking of celebrations, I am almost certain that Mumma is going to burst into the changing rooms in a minute. "I need to go unless you want the girls to take my phone and start interrogating you. They've become suspicious that I'm seeing someone, but they don't have any real proof."

"If you were here, the whole world would have real proof."

"Jaimie, you're gonna be celebrating with you mum and your family..."

"Ten minutes?" Leah is not very good at saying 'no' to me.

━━━━━━━

Surfing, swimming, sun-bathing, and sexting are enough to get through a week of no-tennis while I take a break. February is usually the most boring month of the year for me because of this. Now that I have a girlfriend, I find that my day starts and ends with phone calls, and it does not take long for Mumma to catch on and congratulate me for finally growing a pair. I am yet to tell Fleur. She has better things to talk about, anyway, seeing as she has instigated an aggressively tense rivalry with Alexia Putellas. I am slowly starting to think that my little sister actually has a crush on her captain, especially when she texts me from the passenger seat of said enemy's car.

Leah does break during the week, though. We are both tired, though she is weary because she has not yet gone to sleep and I am drowsy from just waking up, and she is barely speaking in full sentences. It follows after a long pause, one where we both almost drift off. "Come to England," she says, blurting it out. Of course, things like 'I miss you' and 'wish you were here' are frequently thrown around between us. But this? Not so much. Never a genuine request that goes beyond wishful thinking. "Come stay with me. Please."

And, obviously, I tell her yes, though both of us know that it is near-impossible for that to happen until November at the earliest.

It is my second day back to training when it happens.

My new hitting partner, Mia, and I are having a simple rally towards the end of a two hour training session, with Juan occasionally throwing in an extra ball to keep our reactions and reflexes sharp. I quickly change direction to ensure that the actual ball is kept alive along with the 'bonus ball', and suddenly hit the floor. I drop my racket to clutch my calf, but it has contracted so tightly that touching it is almost too painful to bear.

Juan rushes over to see what has happened, fearing the worst. There was no pop. No ligaments have ruptured. But, as my toes curl upwards and my muscle burns, I think I can guess what I have done.

"Call my mum," I instruct my coach. Mumma's clinic is in the centre we use, which was more upon her insistence than mine. Professional tennis is usually a family affair, with lots of players having their close relatives as coaches and managers. While I would die before having either one of my parents coach me, my mum is one of the best physiotherapists in Melbourne. So she treats me. For free. Which is convenient.

Mumma appears in no less than five minutes and sighs disappointedly at my current state. She has a pair of crutches in her hands and looks as though she is ready to drive me to the hospital. Great. "Calf?" she asks, assessing me quickly before kneeling down to help. "Okay, let's get you up and sat down out of the way. Can someone get ice? I'm gonna go bring the car closer, and then it's off to the hospital, I'm afraid." Even now, it is obvious that it is swollen.

I hold in my tears – from pain or frustration is a mystery – as Juan and Mumma carry me to the chairs at the side of the court, Mia having already cleared the kit off them. Someone hands me my phone, and I shoot text off to Leah, whose contact name I still have not changed.

She replies almost instantly.

OTWN: Oh my fucking god. Want me to call u?

I look up, seeing Mumma get out of the car after parking it right by the exit to the court. She waves at Juan to bring me over, which he does by having Mia on one side and him on the other. I hate feeling helpless like this.

The journey to the hospital is miserable, despite Mumma connecting my phone to her car's bluetooth and calling Leah for me. Leah is just as sympathetic as Juan and my mother, and it is getting on my nerves, so I tell her that we have arrived even though there is another ten minutes to go, and hang up. I do not want to talk to anyone. Especially not the person who makes winning tournaments worth it.

Blank stares all round for that one.

At the hospital, the doctors confirm what Mumma was certain about. I have torn my calf muscle, though it is unclear just how badly. Right now, it seems like a lower grade three tear. Three months of recovery. Fuck.

Sat in Mumma's car with her while we wait for Juan to join us from a phone call he could not miss, I feel the tears come in plentiful supply. Mumma turns her head towards me, sensing the incoming breakdown, and leans over to rub a hand on my back as I sob as if the world is ending. It is, to be honest. Even if it is going to revert back to its normal self in three months.

"Two trophies," I wail, beside myself now. Crying has made me hysterical. I should have kept it in. "I had a streak going and now it's fucked. I'll miss Indian Wells and I'm not going to play the qualifiers for the BJK Cup again! This is not fair."

After this, everything sort of gets blurry.

Mumma takes me home, saying that we will start rehab tomorrow. I need to rest today. And I call Leah again, this time with nobody else present. Mumma is only in the kitchen, but it is far enough for me to succumb to a fresh wave of tears in front of my girlfriend (wow) and allow her to comfort me in a different way. One that only she could provide me; her unique approach calming and loving and slightly upsetting when I realise how lucky I am to have her.

"Lee," I croak, moving the blanket from my mouth to interrupt her narration of what she is doing (walking from one place in the Arsenal training ground to another) to tell her something pivotal. "Is the offer still on the table?" She grins. "It's not like I have any tournaments to go to."

notes: 

i'm putting hold me close on a break because i can't go further in the plot without spoiling talia's book and i can't start talia's book without finishing this one (because three at a time sounds like actual hell on earth)

as said in the last part, this is very nearly at the end BUT jaimie and leah will still feature in both the other books in the series don't worry

thanks for all the support so far and for reading!!!!!!!!!