“You’re badly injured, but you kept playing, anyway! Why would you do something so stupid?”
I had fought so hard not to show I was hurting, but he had figured it out, anyway. Swallowing the lump in my throat, I owed him an answer. “Because I didn’t want you to win that way! You deserve to win because you’re the best, not because I’m hurt!”
“You’re such a fucking idiot!” That was what his words said, but his arms pulled me into a tight hug of comfort. He trembled as he cradled me against him. “Do you think I give a single fuck about winning when I’m so worried about you?”
“Then why are you so mad at me?” I asked in a broken voice.
“Because I’m angry that you’re pushing through a potential career-ending injury formysake! It’s not worth it!” He sighed heavily, refusing to let me go yet. When he spoke again, he sounded calmer and more rational. “I’m upset that I couldn’t tell you to stop, because we both have too much pride to call it quits. It was hell watching you fighting through the pain and not being able to do a damn thing without letting the world know I care about you. I had to stay away from you, because if I knew for a fact how much you were suffering, I’d never let you leave this room and keep playing.”
A sob escaped me, breaking the floodgates on my emotions. The tears poured out of me at the realization that my selfish need to push through my injury had harmed him, too. He shushed my apologies, before picking me up and carrying me into the bedroom. As he undressed me, he took extra care with removing my shirt. Despite that, I still cried out in anguish from the blinding flash of pain that exploded inside me.
“Lie down on your stomach.”
Too tired to disobey, I collapsed with an agonized groan. He carried over a bucket full of ice and water to sit down beside me. My mind drifted, but I hissed when his freezing hands touched my bare skin. Before I could ask what he was doing, he started massaging my shoulder and upper arm, making me moan in relief. His fingers were so cold, it felt like an ice pack was working me over. It was so good; I almost broke down in tears once more.
“You can’t do this to me again,” he said in a soft voice. It was a tone he rarely spoke to me in, so it always turned my insides to mush whenever he did. “My heart can’t handle it.”
“I’m so sorry.”
Since my skin had warmed his hands, he put them back in the watery ice to chill them down. “Don’t be sorry. Be honest with me next time. I’d rather pull out of a tournament than have you play hurt. Winning doesn’t matter to me if you’re not okay.”
I turned my head to look at him. “Can I ask a question you might find insulting?”
He resumed working my arm with his icy hands. It was heavenly against my heated skin. “Yes, I let you win in three sets. Don’t be stupid.”
Realizing he had thrown the match for a Grand Slam tournament title for my sake was as sweet as it was infuriating. “You shouldn’t have done that!”
“The alternative of risking doing more damage to you by stretching our match out to five sets or more was worth sacrificing my pride on an international stage.”
“Knight, I—” When he reached closer to my elbow, I interrupted myself with a yelp. He used less pressure as he tried to release the tightness in my muscles. “Fuck, I’m so sorry. I know what that sacrifice means for someone as competitive as you. I’m such an asshole for putting you in a situation where you had to make that choice.”
He was quiet for a moment before his voice took on a hint of teasing that released the vise clenching my heart. “Well, there’s one bright side to this disaster.”
“What’s that?”
“It’s given us definitive proof that I love you more than tennis.” He leaned down to press a tender kiss on my shoulder. “Please remember that next time you think about doing something this foolish.”
His words filled me with sunshine that helped chase away some of the pain. “Wow, that’s the most romantic thing you’ve ever said to me.”
“This was not how I wanted to discover I apparently have a secret schmoopy side when I’m worried sick about you.”
My tired laugh turned into a moan as he moved to my forearm that was killing me. I was putty in his hands as he helped erase all the stress the tournament had put my body under. The care and love he showed in massaging away some of the pain made me adore him even more than I already did. Hopefully, one day we would reach a point where we didn’t have to hide it from the world.
“When we get home, you’re going to start rehab immediately. If they don’t clear you to compete in Wimbledon, I’ll withdraw. When we play there, it’s going to be with both of us at our best, or not at all. Promise?”
“Promise.”
Knight moved on to give me a cold back massage that liquified me into a puddle.
A relieved moan escaped from me. “I always knew your fingers were talented, but I had no idea they were this magical. You definitely win at being the best at giving massages.”
“Maybe if you’re good, I’ll do this when you aren’t dying, so you can properly enjoy it without the pain.”
“That’s excellent incentive, thanks.” I yawned as exhaustion overtook me. “If I fall asleep, please accept it as a compliment about how amazing your massage is.”
“I’ll take care of you, so rest now, King.” He gave me a gentle kiss on my cheek. “I need you to get better.”
It wasn’t hard to translate what his words actually meant. “Love you, too.” I got another glimpse into how worried he was about me because he didn’t try to escalate my claim into a battle like he normally did. For the second time that day, he gave me a win to make me feel better. I wanted to tell him how much that meant to me, but words were beyond me. Having surrendered to his touch as he continued working my battered body, I quickly drifted off to sleep.
