My alarm blares just like it does every morning of every day. I changed the tone two years ago, and won my match that day, and so now the first sound I hear when I wake up is the synthesised noise of a duck quacking. It used to make me laugh; now it just reminds me of the long day ahead.

Fleur and Scarlett are still fast asleep, unsurprisingly. I carted Fleur home to avoid her being sick in front of everyone, and Scarlett followed two hours later, propped upright in a similar fashion by Leah. I caught her eye from the doorway of the spare bedroom, but I was already in my pyjamas, so I stayed back.

She is asleep on the sofa when I plod into the kitchen. My fluffy socks mean that I make barely any sound, and I prepared my breakfast yesterday. All I have to do is be quiet, eat quickly, change, and then head out. Shouldn't be too difficult.

I think it's the fastest I have ever gotten ready.

I text Fleur a summary of everything embarrassing she did last night, anticipating her anxiety this morning, while waiting for Marcus. He is quick, but he did not expect me to be on my usual training schedule this morning. As I get into the backseat, I tell him that I have a Grand Slam to win.

We stop by Juan's hotel on the way. He sits in the front seat, laptop already set up with today's training plan. He reads it to me, explaining how no one seems to be training today, and that playing some practice matches will prove difficult. We were planning on easing me into matches again, but it's hard when there aren't any elite players here.

"There is a children's tennis club on at the same time. How about some press?" he suggests. I have a decent public image; I think they like me. "It will take forty-five minutes to do a surprise meet-and-greet, so we can do a longer gym session. I'm sure there will be a trainer available for you, and you still have to complete your mother's programme." Mumma is a physiotherapist, and she gives me her services for free. Her clinic is one of the best in Melbourne, and her global connections from her being an Olympic gold medalist are quite helpful.

"What about golf instead of the gym?" I ask, attempting to not sound suspicious.

Juan frowns and turns to face me. Marcus tries not to smirk, but he can't help it. "For recovery? I thought you didn't drink yesterday." I neglected to mention to Leah that Juan and I golf regularly in the offseason. We are both quite good at it.

"I was invited to golf at the club," I inform him casually, adding a shrug to emphasise just how little I've thought about meeting Leah. (I don't even have her phone number. How is this going to work?) "Tomorrow I can progress the programme, and I can spend an additional hour in the gym. Can we focus more on technique today if we have less time?"

"Agreed. You were getting sloppy towards the end of long rallies."

"I don't see you playing long rallies," I grumble.

"Hire a different coach then."

He loves me, really.

Marcus parks as close to the entrance as possible, and Juan herds me out of the car as soon as we have stopped moving. I look down at my loading Instagram post (for Scarlett's birthday) instead of at the faces ogling at my arrival. A few camera clicks cause Juan to speed up the process of ensuring we have the privacy to train.

My day of training always starts at half past eight in the morning with a warm up. We go through the usual exercises, a few targeted at my dodgy hamstring in particular, and then crack on with the drills I have grown very accustomed to. Forehands, backhands, volleys: the whole lot.

At eleven, we move from the court to the gym, and I'm treated like an endurance athlete for today's session. I'm glad I decided against wearing a grey top, because I think I sweat out half of my body weight. Juan pushes me to run a 5k in twenty-five minutes at the end of the session, and the only thing that gets me through that is picturing myself strangling him over and over again. I run it in twenty-four, and we break for lunch.

The clubhouse is used to seeing me here when I'm in town. My nutritionist, Fiona, is good friends with the head chef, and so he prepares my lunch exactly the way she instructs him to. They like me at Roehampton, and I think half the children here are conditioned into rooting for me during Wimbledon.

Over lunch, we have our tactical session, and although no laptops are allowed in the café, they make an exception. Juan and I use this as an excuse to watch some tennis matches, and then we discuss who we think will be assigned what seed for the Italian Open. The general consensus is that the defending champion, Iga Świątek, will be the first seed, and that I will be third or fourth.

We will be flying out to Rome in two days time, and then, from there, flying to Paris. Ideally, I go into the French Open coming off a win in Italy, but we will see.

After lots of analysis on Iga (who's actually my friend), Juan lets me shower and change into a clean skort and pull on a casual, non-workout hoodie. If he notices that I've applied mascara for golf later, he doesn't say anything.

The children are around eleven, and enjoy a Q+A followed by pictures and a highly competitive game of King of the Court. I lose out to a little boy named Theo, who signs my racquet for me when I ask.

Someone is watching me as Theo and I chat, but it doesn't feel like a parent watching.

I look up.

It's Leah.

My lips part as I glance back to Theo, who is animatedly recounting his last tennis match against his rival. He compares it to me and Iga, though I wouldn't call us each other's 'batman vs superman' moment. "Theo," a woman, who I assume to be his mother, says gently, "I think you're boring Jaimie."

I realise that Leah has distracted me from the conversation, and it looks as if I have zoned out. Oops.

"Nah, you're good, Theo," I quickly interject. "Look, I've gotta go, but next time I come here, I'll be sure to see you." I wave Juan over, who closes the session for me. I approach Leah, closing the gate to the court behind me. She blushes as I smile at her.

"Hi," she says, grinning. "Ready to get thrashed at golf?" Juan watches us carefully.

"I have half an hour left on my court. Fancy a match first?"

Leah's fiercely competitive.

She enlists Juan's help to beat me, and takes it very seriously. I play stupid trick shots, not wanting to aggravate my hamstring and not caring whether I win or lose this. Leah, on the other hand, is determined to become world number #1 by the way she is darting around the court.

"Where's the ref?!" she shouts as the ball bounces on the white line. I'm scared she'll throw my racquet, and remind her that this isn't a football match, serving before she's ready. "Sportsmanship has died. You're horrible."

She misses the ball entirely as she swings. I hold in most of my laughter. "Oh, would you look at that! I won."

"Only 'cause I let you." Rolling my eyes, I hold out my hand for her to shake. Juan raises his eyebrows as I go bright red. I convince myself it's because I'm hot from not taking my jumper off. He knows to leave us alone, heading out to sort out my physio session later on, bidding us goodbye with a joking warning ("you're still injured so no funny business"). I tell him that I'll see him later for dinner with him and my agent later tonight.

It takes a moment for Leah to speak once we are left alone. I pack away my things in the meantime. She clears her throat when she's ready, squinting at me due to the bright sunlight in the open air.

"So I woke up this morning and realised that I never saw you after you left to deal with Fleur." I wasn't drunk, and neither was she, so there are absolutely no excuses for the way I acted last night. I cringe. "About what I said... I—"

"Miss de Voss, Miss Williamson." A girl, about eighteen, appears beside us, bobbing her head politely. "My name is Arya. I will be your caddie today."

"Oh, I didn't ask for a caddy," Leah says, recovering quickly from whatever sentence she was going to say before we were interrupted. "We're fine, to be honest. Both professional athletes."

I suppose this isn't the reaction she expected, because she blinks a few times before talking to me directly. "Juan sent me? He said I was to carry your bag so as to not overexert your injury, and to ensure you keep time well. You have physiotherapy at" — she checks her palm, words scrawled over it in black ink — "half past five."

Leah looks at me, expression unreadable. Her eyes harden, but her features may resemble disappointment? I'm not sure.

"Thank you, Arya," I concede, defeated by my coach even if he isn't present. "Please, call me Jaimie."

"I'm Leah."

Arya nods, and we are promptly on our way to the golf course.

I am surprised by how good Leah is. Like tennis, I had obviously expected some competitive spirit, but I didn't realise she would leave me no room for error. Arya hangs back by a few metres, allowing us to talk quite a bit. She explains the 'business end' of the season, while I give the rundown on the remainder of my tour. Her eyes widen as she comes to the understanding that I will be in a different country every week give or take.

"Are you not tired all the time?" she asks, eyebrows furrowed. "I thought the football season was bad."

I shrug; I'm used to it. "I'm really good at sleeping when I need to. Long flights are the optimal time to get in a few hours." As of two years ago, I have a partnership with a private jet company, so it's not like I fly economy. "Football has a different vibe. You have your team to keep you awake."

She smiles, as if the thought of her teammates fills her with love and pride. Having had a few extensive conversations with Leah, I know by now that Arsenal is a club she will devote her heart and soul to. It reminds me of when Fleur played at Ajax. "Yeah. Do you know any of them?"

I swing the driving club and completely miss the golf ball.

"No." My answer feels too short. "I stay away from footballers."

She smirks, crossing her arms. I swing and miss again. "But not me, right?" The ball goes soaring through the air as I finally hit it, thankfully distracting her from the fact that I gave her no response.

Though Leah puts up a good fight, I beat her at golf too. Arya leads us to where Juan is sat, two glasses of cucumber water out for us.

"Had fun?" he asks, more to me than Leah.

"Leah lost," I state proudly, enjoying her frown. Juan makes a point of checking the time. I sigh and stand up, despite having just sat down. "I'm sorry, Lee. I need to go to my physio."

She stands up too.

"It's fine. My day finished unnaturally early," she offers. I suppose it highlights how impossible it would be to ever do this again. Because she's a distraction. And I should stay away. "I should leave too."

I glance between Juan and Leah, catching my coach's eyes with a helpless pout. He nods once, and gives us a minute.

"This was really fun," I begin.

"You called me Lee." Unaware of my mistake, I start to form an apology. Leah places her hand on my arm, her skin soft and touch weirdly grounding. "It's fine. I liked it."

"Sorry," I say anyway. "Today was great."

"But?"

And here is the dilemma.

Do I destroy something that hasn't yet been built? Or do I entertain the idea for a little bit?

I've been getting stressed recently, and having someone to listen to me would be helpful. That would optimise performance, wouldn't it? Not a relationship. Just a friend.

Or something like that.

I shift my weight from one foot to the other, finding the internal conflict to be less dramatic than I originally thought. Shutting her down would just be depressing, potentially worsening how shit I already feel from him breaking up with me. Footballers are just as terrible at committing to an emotional connection as I am — and Leah is a footballer.

So it's fine.

Frankly, it's a convenient situation.

Provided I keep at arm's length. And it's not dating.

It really can't be dating.

"No buts." I take in a deep breath. "Good luck for the end of the season. We'll be in touch, yeah?"

I don't let her respond; walking away as fast as possible without breaking out into a jog.

This probably won't end well, but at least I can no longer be accused of being a 'workaholic'. Still, Leah can be like an outlet for emotions that I'm sure she understands all too well. And it's going to be just fine!

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Liked by cocogauff and 108,067 others

jaimiedevoss Happy (belated) Birthday to the honorary de Voss sister!! @_scarlettpowell

From last night (I won't @ you + Fleur's manager), to last December, to last August ❤️

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_scarlettpowell big sis 😘
↳ fleurdevoss @_scarlettpowell back off she's mine

cocogauff becoming a soccer player?
↳ jaimiedevoss @cocogauff you wish.

viviannemiedema 🎉🎉🎉

ilovefleurdevoss holy trinity right there omg

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4.45pm. From @jaimiedevoss's story.

notes:

it's a de voss family trait to be delusional.

i'm gonna try to get this story up to the same time period as hold me close, so expect more updates on this than hmc while i get on that

thanks for reading 🫶