She's back ~ L. Hamilton

34. | MotherFucker

Two days later, I wake up early in the rental house unable to quiet my mind.

I look at the clock and see it's just before five, so I decide to go for a run.

I run in the centre of the road, through the empty neighbourhood streets.

If I don't make it far enough in the French Open, I'm going to lose sponsorships

I don't care about the money. I already have more money than I know what to do with it, and that's including the large sums that leave my account every month to support my charities and foundations.

It's not about profit.

It's about the look on Tashas face if she has to tell me they're officially pulling out. It's walking out onto the court at Wimbledon or walking around the track at a Grand Prix while the news of me being dropped hits the news outlets. It's about the feeling of everyone looking at me, feeling sorry for me as they know I've been dropped because of my failures.

It is about being cut down to size, just as some people have long wanted me to.

I don't want to give them that satisfaction.

I run with no attention to where I am going, finding myself standing outside the rental house before I even realise I've run in a circle.

I take a shower. Throw on a leather skirt and a jumper and I get in the car. I don't know where I am going only that I need to move. I drive through the dessert

What if I've fucked all this up?

I can't let that happen. I have to practice, I have to plan. I have to work.

Before I know what I'm doing, I drive to the arena.

There, I take a seat in the middle of the stands and I watch.

I watch Swift vs Ntstrom. I notice the way Swifts serve is accurate to the inch. I watch Moretan vs Manchi. I see the sheer power of Moretan's groundstrokes

When the match is over I look down at the schedule and let my eyes wander to the men's tournament. Black is playing O'Hara again.

Now.

And so instead of checking in on Jackson vs Wade, I head over to another court.

Liam is wearing navy blue shorts and a white polo shirt.

His hair is a little shaggy under his navy baseball cap. He is tied two sets to two against O'Hara in the fifth. Women play 3 sets and men play 5.

I am surprised but perhaps I shouldn't be. I can't help but feel some pride in him.

O'Hara is so blond that his hair is almost white, his eyebrows the same. It's well known that there are big riffs between O'Hara and his coach, there's no passion in O'Haras game, no personality.

That's what made Liam such a compelling player his whole career, whether he won or lost. Back in the 2000s, even when he was yelling at the umpire - especially when he was - you knew you were watching a man throw his heart onto the court. You knew you were watching someone fighting, willing to risk everything.

I have always admired that about him.

If Black breaks O'Haras serve now, he's got the match

I want it for him - the whole arena wants it for him. You can hear it in the way the crowd quiets. All eyes glued to the court.

For a moment I smile at the idea of Liam now knowing I was here

O'Hara scores.

15-Love