One Year Later
Marina’s POV
The sun was hot. The stadium packed. The air buzzed with that unbearable silence just before a final point.
I bounced the ball twice, staring across the net at the girl I’d been chasing in rankings for two seasons. She was strong. Calm. Focused.
But today?
So was I.
“Focus, Chen,” Eli’s voice rang out from the sideline. “And for the love of God, please don’t break your wrist trying to be dramatic.”
I didn’t look at him. But I smiled.
“Worried I’ll steal your coaching spotlight?” I muttered under my breath.
“Worried I’ll have to drag your body off the court if you twist your ankle again doing that ridiculous backhand slide.”
I rolled my eyes and tossed the ball higher.
He always did this. Annoying comments right when I was trying to be serious. And it always worked. Because instead of nerves, I felt fire. My racket connected with the ball in a clean, beautiful arc.
Ace. Game. Set. Match.
I dropped my racket and turned to the crowd.
The roar was deafening. But it was his voice I heard first.
“You did it, Coach,” he called out, standing from the bench. “Finally played like you listened to me for once.”
I ran straight to him.
Didn’t care that cameras were everywhere. Didn’t care that my sweat was disgusting or that I was half-crying, half-laughing.
I threw my arms around his neck.
He caught me mid-spin and kissed me, right there at courtside, as the crowd lost its mind.
“Told you I’d win a singles title,” I breathed against his lips.
“And I told you it wouldn’t happen without me,” he said smugly.
“I literally carried the entire match.”
“I wore the right color shirt,” he said, deadpan. “You’re welcome.”
I laughed so hard I nearly fell into him.
We sat in the locker room after the ceremony, medals around my neck, Eli’s hand still resting on my leg like he wasn’t ready to let go.
“So,” I said, leaning into his shoulder, “one year later.”
He nodded. “One year of you stealing my socks and yelling at me in the kitchen.”
“One year of you pretending not to cry during junior tournaments.”
“I don’t cry,” he said.
I raised an eyebrow.
“Fine,” he mumbled. “I tear up like a man.”
I reached for his hand and laced my fingers through his.
“We built two foundations,” I said. “You coach full-time. I mentor part-time. We have three scholarship kids playing in the Open next season.”
“And you haven’t fainted mid-match once,” he added proudly. “Growth.”
I grinned. “You stopped flinching every time a reporter mentioned your past.”
“Because now I have a future to talk about.”
Eli’s POV
I looked at her. Not like a coach. Not like a boyfriend. Like someone who had finally found home in a person.
Marina sat beside me, her hair still damp from the post-match shower. A few strands clung to her cheek, and her medal gently tapped against her chest every time she shifted. Her posture was relaxed, her breathing calm—slower than I’d seen it in months. There was a quiet softness in her face, the kind that only showed up when she felt safe.
“You built something beautiful, Marina,” I said quietly.
She turned her head toward me, her eyes warm. “So did you.”
I gave her hand a gentle squeeze. It had stayed in mine since the trophy ceremony, like letting go might somehow unravel everything we’d worked for. “We built it together,” I added.
She smiled at that, a quiet, tired kind of smile. “I guess we’re good at that—building things out of the wreckage.”
I leaned back against the bench, letting her head rest lightly on my shoulder. “We could start a demolition company next,” I said, half-laughing. “Wreck things for a living, then rebuild them.”
She chuckled. “Has-Been and Perfectionist Construction Services. We’ll tear down your walls—emotionally and structurally.”
I laughed louder at that, a sound that echoed through the quiet locker room. “I’d hire us in a heartbeat.”
We stayed like that for a while. Everyone else had cleared out, and the world outside was still buzzing from the win, but inside this space, it was just us. No pressure. No noise. No panic. Just peace.
It wasn’t the finish line I had once imagined.
It was better.
Eventually, I turned my head and looked down at her again. Her eyes were closed now, lips gently curved like she was halfway between dreaming and listening.
“Hey,” I whispered.
“Hmm?” she murmured, eyes still closed.
I smiled, speaking softly. “Not bad for a has-been and a perfectionist.”
Her eyes opened, and without missing a beat, she leaned in and kissed my shoulder gently. She stayed close, her voice a quiet murmur against my skin.
“Not bad at all,” she said. Then she lifted her head slightly and kissed the corner of my mouth. “But you forgot something.”
“What’s that?” I asked, looking at her.
She smiled wider, her hand tightening in mine.
“We’re only getting started.”