rea

Jordyn took a deep breath before entering the house. She hadn’t been there since Aurélien’s failed marriage proposal almost four weeks ago. Thankfully, she was flying to Germany tomorrow to attend a tennis tournament; her first in two years. She hoped it would distract her a little bit from her chaotic life.

The young woman walked inside the house; everything seemed a little more sinister than how she remembered it. This place that used to feel like her safe space, warm and filled with happiness, had become cold and lifeless. Her expression stiffened, and a tension pressed heavily on her shoulders as she walked to the staircase. She traced the outlines of the empty picture frames, strengthening the hollowness of this place.

“I’m sorry,” the young woman whispered as she sat on the stairs. She didn’t know who she was apologizing to, but felt the need to let out the guilt gnawing at her inside.

Jordyn stared at the emptiness of the hallway connected to the living room. The lights were off. She was all alone with her thoughts and the memories of the past. She wondered whether Aurélien felt this same weight every day, or if it was worse for him. Did he hate her for wasting the last five years of his life? Did he invite other women around to his house, or was the ache too strong for him to move on quickly?

Jordyn had so many things she wanted to know. If she could go back in time, she would have done things differently. She had already planned her future with the Frenchman—their wedding, the honeymoon, and the names of their children. However, life had other plans for them, and everything turned to dust in the blink of an eye.

A silent, but painful sigh escaped her lips as she wiped her tears and stood. Jordyn wasn’t here to reminisce. She had told Aurélien, through her best friend, that she would come to the house to get her stuff. “That’s the whole point of this visit,” she tried to convince herself while walking to the bedroom she once shared with her ex-boyfriend.

She hesitantly opened the door, and, just like the rest of the house, it was empty, soulless, and cold. She could tell that Aurélien hadn’t slept in this room for a while, but she couldn’t blame him because she would have done the same thing. She didn’t know that the young man was avoiding this room and would spend his time in their guest room to avoid reality a little longer and forget that the love of his life had left.

Jordyn sighed and picked up her luggage. She was determined to erase every trace of her existence between these four walls for Aurélien’s sake. She didn’t want to cause any more damage to his fucked up life.

Her heart ached. Jordyn loved him so much, but couldn’t do it. Why did she have to hurt someone else to free herself from the weight she had carried for so long? Marriage was a big step—a commitment she wasn’t ready to settle for. Spending the rest of her life with the person she loved in hopes of founding a family was all she had dreamed about since she met Aurélien. She couldn’t wait for this moment to come, to wear a beautiful dress and enjoy the best night of her life alongside her husband.

However, her dream stopped when she saw Aurélien on his knee, a little box in his hand. She felt it in her bones; it became clear. A chill ran down her spine, and reality finally hit her as anxiety gnawed at her. The fairy tale in her head started to crumble. The church bells she used to hear so clearly were slowly fading, just like the image of her walking down the aisle. It had all vanished, like Cinderella’s magic after midnight. She would never forget the horrified look on his face when she said no. The thought of rejecting him in front of his family made her dizzy, she couldn’t force herself to accept.

Jordyn lay on the bed, on Aurélien’s side. Nobody had made it in a while; it looked messy, just like it was the day she left. She closed her eyes, a faint smile on her lips, and let the fatigue wash over her, without hearing the car outside.

Aurélien felt a pang in his chest when he saw Jordyn’s car in his driveway. He already knew about her visit, but the pain persisted. Besides, he didn’t hate her for rejecting him. No, he couldn’t bring himself to do that. He couldn’t force her to marry him and respected her decision. He couldn’t do anything about it and had to accept the sad reality. Feelings didn’t last for life, a lesson he had to learn the hard way.

Aurélien sighed, then stopped the engine, but stayed in his car. He couldn’t move. He didn’t know what to do. He wanted to resist the urge to go inside and reassure Jordyn that he wasn’t mad at her, but the young man had already lost that battle. His legs moved before his mind, and he walked into his house. Carefully, he checked every room, hoping to see her, as her vanilla perfume lingered in the air, which brought back memories to the young man. His heart melted. He loved this perfume so much that he would always run back to the store to buy a new bottle when Jordyn finished hers.

Finally, the Frenchman opened the bedroom door and stopped in his tracks when he saw her sleeping on their…no, on his bed…on his side. The mess in the room didn’t bother him; all he wanted to do was hold Jordyn one last time, but he couldn’t. He walked towards the bed, trying not to wake her up.

Despite her sleeping form, he noticed the exhaustion in her face and wondered whether she was getting enough sleep. He also wanted to know how she was handling herself. Was she eating? Was she isolating herself? Was she excited to play tennis again? He remembered when she told him she wanted to quit, the tears on her cheeks, and the dreams she was leaving behind. 

The young man was worried about her, but he couldn’t do anything. He tenderly kissed her forehead and whispered, “I love you. Good luck at your tournament. I’ll be watching all your matches and cheering for you every single time,” then backed off when he sensed her moving. Jordyn briefly opened her eyes before going back to slumber.

Aurélien froze and held his breath. She held his sleeve for a little longer before letting it go. Aurélien quietly exited the room, went back downstairs, and took his keys. This was too much for him. He needed to cool his mind. He drove around the city, to places he once loved going. Now, a shadow had cast itself over them. He couldn’t look at them and feel the same joy. His chest tightened as he thought about all the moments he shared with Jordyn. Memories of their laughter and their whispered promises resurfaced. The silent pain he had carried with him for far too long consumed him, as his grip on the steering wheel a little tighter. The mask he wore finally slipped and tears slid down his cheeks.

“Why do I still love you...” he muttered through shaky words. His love for Jordyn was a curse—a poison so strong he couldn’t escape it. She had always been his light, shining brighter than everything. The light he needed and craved in his life. His love for her was beyond imagination, something no one else could truly understand.

An hour later, she woke up, feeling out of place but somehow at ease. She sat on the bed and stared at the wall. Blurry fragments of what happened came back to her. Each piece of her memory fuelled the turmoil inside her, mirrored in the mess of the room, where old gifts, photos, and clothes were scattered on the floor. She couldn’t tell if the moment with Aurélien was reality but preferred to ignore it. She didn’t want to give herself false hope. Instead, she buried those thoughts, sealed everything, and got up off the bed. She needed to finish what she should have finished a while ago.

“If you hate me, I’ll understand… I also hate myself for everything I’ve done,” she whispered, regret filling her voice as she folded her clothes and placed them in her luggage.

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Two days later…

It was a warm, balmy night in Stuttgart, tinged with the last glimmers of dusk—a perfect night to stay outside and enjoy the breeze as the first scent of spring floated in the air. Jordyn planned on training a little longer, then hanging out with the other players, but her coach crushed this idea when informing her that she had a press conference to do. She was annoyed about it because she hated it, especially this late in the day, but she assumed it must have been their only available time slot for her. And before she could react, Jordyn was sitting in front of about twenty journalists. All taking notes, recording her answers. Some of them interrupted her before she would start talking, but she tried to hide her annoyance.

“How do you feel about coming back to the court after two long years? And your first tournament being on the surface where you produced your best tennis?” Jordyn looked around to see who was talking among this sea of journalists without letting the lights in the room blind her.

“I feel good,” Jordyn replied nonchalantly, with a faint smile trying to conceal her excitement. After she announced her retirement, she wanted to try something new, but it never took off. Her love of tennis always remained strong, and this was the main reason she decided to come back. Also, they were about to start her favourite part of the season: the clay-court swing. When Jordyn was at the peak of her career, she had always excelled the most on that surface and produced better tennis than she did on the hard courts.

“I’m sure everyone still wonders why I retired so abruptly, so I feel like I owe an explanation. Two years ago, I was 23, ranked world number one, and at the height of my career. This title meant everything to me, especially at a young age. I achieved something that many women I admired had done before me, and it’s definitely an accomplishment worth celebrating. I was also surrounded by other incredible and talented players. However, as much as I love tennis, I slowly lost sight of who I was or what my ambitions were in the long term, and before I knew it, I hit the hardest wall since I became a professional. I didn’t feel like I belonged in this sport anymore,” she exhaled before continuing. Jordyn wasn’t the type of person to display vulnerability, but she hoped her words could help someone, whether they were in this room or watching this press conference.

“The imposter syndrome killed me. I refused to acknowledge it when the signs appeared because I always believed it would never happen to me. So, I kept pushing myself while being in complete denial. Sometimes people talk about trophies I’ve won and the things I have contributed to this sport. It was surreal to me that I won at Wimbledon or Roland Garros. It almost felt like they were someone else’s accomplishments, not mine. I felt like a fraud, and this mindset started affecting my performances and some of my relationships…” Jordyn paused for a moment.

“It wasn’t an easy decision, but I chose to walk off of the court to clear my head and overcome this feeling. During those two years, I learned a lot about myself and about appreciating the little things that life has to offer. Sometimes bridges collapse, and you can’t do anything about it. It will hurt, but something brighter always comes. And that’s my new mindset. I’m back on the court and ready to climb back up the ranks and claim the world number one spot again.” Her voice trembled at the end of her sentence, but she hoped no one caught that.

Jordyn’s eyes drifted to the clock at the back of the room. She couldn’t wait for the end of this press conference. She didn’t feel like hanging out anymore; she just wanted to return to her room and be alone with her thoughts once again. More journalists asked questions, but Jordyn answered them with less enthusiasm. She tried to ignore her shaky hands. She wanted to play. She dedicated her time, body, and soul for tennis. However, she couldn’t back down on this decision, and had to play. Her mind was somewhere else. She wondered if Aurélien was watching, just like he used to do.

There wasn't even anything sexual behind it, he was just obsessed with you. So it wasn't a surprise when he realised he enjoyed hearing you tell him how well you thought he played or how proud you were of him.

To him, words of affirmation were different to being praised. There was more to it than just words and the weight they carried. Whenever you'd give him a compliment on something that could be so minuscule to others, it lifted his mood.

"You look good today," or "I liked what you did with your hair" or "Keep the goatee, it suits you." Anything coming from you? It meant so much more.

In the same way he loved to use his words with you. Jordan was a very attentive man, and with that came the ability to articulate himself quite well.

It was more than just complimenting you. With Jordan, it was about making sure you really leant in to his words when he spoke, understanding the meaning behind them.

The way he made sure to acknowledge you going out of your way to do something for him, even if it was as simple as putting his towel in the dryer before he finished his shower, or the way he made sure to lift you up after you'd stepped out of your comfort zone for something with a simple "You did real good, baby. I'm prouda you."

And then there was the way he showed you he loved you with words, like when he'd come back from a couple of away games with a few things because they reminded him of you.

"I saw this and thought of you," he'd smile, watching you excitingly open a small pouch of trinkets and charms for your bracelet.

And he loved to leave you notes. On the fridge because he knew you'd look there in the morning if he didn't get a chance to say goodbye to you before he left, or on the bedside table on your side of the bed, or if he had to, softly pressing them right on your forehead. And you would save every single one.

quality time, devin booker . . . Devin wasn't too much of a going out person. Sure he loved the occasional trip here and there but he'd much rather do something that didn't involve leaving his area of comfort.

But when he met you, that all started to change.

Devin quickly learnt that spending time with you was one of his favourite things to do. He didn't care what you were doing, as long as he was with you he'd be having a good time.

You'd suggest different activities every now and then, like pottery painting. And lucky for you both there was a couple places in Phoenix to go to.

You opted for the 'make your own creation' option instead of painting a pre-made object, which really brought out the competition in your relationship.

"How'd you do that?" Devin would ask with a frown, glancing at the bowl you moulded and the slop of clay in front of him.

"It's not that hard, Dev."

"Wait, why you rushing? Help me, please."

It could be a walk in the park, shopping, trying new foods, visiting new countries together... he wanted to do it all with you.

Your favourite thing about Devin was his willingness to do whatever with you. You'd be getting ready, for example, sat at the vanity in your large, walk in closet. In he'd come with Haven right by his feet, sitting himself down on the beanbag next to you.

He wouldn't say much, didn't have to. Just watched you work your craft as he occasionally scrolled through his phone, enjoying being in your presence and the music playing around you both.

"I don't feel like using foundation today," you'd mumble after a few moments. "What do you think?"

"It's your world, do whatever baby."

"That's cute, but it doesn't help me."

Just by being around you Devin felt like he was complete, and you felt the same. That's why whenever anyone around you joked about the two of you being in your own bubble all the time, you'd just smile, sharing a glance that read the same expression.

receiving / giving gifts, ja morant . . . There's no doubt about it that Ja loves to spoil you. It was hard to do at first; you refused to let him buy you anything, not wanting to look like you were just with him for his materialistic advantages.

He didn't care about any of that though. In fact, he was quick to learn that it was your reaction to his thoughts behind the gifts that made him love giving them to you.

You'd open your purse to find a random amount of stacks in there, sending him a text saying you don't need his money to which he reacts with a thumbs down emoji only.

Or when he'd wake you up, kissing all over your face and saying, "Bought a couple things for you," before carrying out of bed downstairs, where you'd find a couple bags from your favourite places.

It didn't even have to be a special occasion for him to spoil you, he just wanted to keep seeing that smile on your face.

Eventually you grew into it, accepting that Ja wasn't going to take no for an answer when it came to how he spent his money, even if it was on you.

As for receiving gifts, he hated when you spent your own money on them. It was always "Nah, ma, you keep your money, I'm good," when you did it but if you used those words on him? He'd have a frown so deep on his face not even a thousand kisses would make up for it.

acts of service, cade cunningham . . . Cade's attentiveness to your needs was off the charts. He was always ready to be at your beck and call, though you never needed him to be.

Your car needs some gas? He's already putting it in for you. Long week at work? Spa day booked on the weekend.

He was a big advocate for actions speak louder than words, and everything he did let you know exactly that.

He rarely let you take on tasks by yourself, even if you insisted you'd be fine. Like sure, opening your packages is now a two person job, as is boiling pasta!

Cade saw it as him doing his bit, helping you with the things he knew you liked least, making you a hot drink when you were busy with any work, even doing things you literally didn't mention out loud, he just knew you that well.

You'd bring it up sometimes, how helpful he always was when it came to you. And he'd just shrug, pulling you closer into his side as he kisses your forehead. "I gotta take care of you, don't I?"

physical touch, jalen duren . . . Considering his height and size advantage, Jalen was usually the one initiating physical contact.

He had to be touching you in some way at all times. Being quote a private person, he wasn't big on PDA, and you were both still learning about each other in your relationship. But later down the line, he'd literally start to bug out if you were near him but he couldn't be touching on you in any way.

Whether it's simply holding your hand, your legs over his lap, his hand in the back pocket of your jeans (or whatever he could fit in there), or his arms around your shoulders whilst you're stood in front of him, Jalen just loves knowing you're there.

His favourite thing to do was lay on you, and for you it meant bearing the weight of a 6'10, two hundred and something pound man. He found it comforting resting his head on your chest, his arms wrapped around you as he lay in between your legs whilst you held him.

Your favourite thing about Jalen and his inability to be in your vicinity without touching you was how he acted when it came to being sat. For example, at a dinner Cade was hosting at his house, you'd made both yours and Jalen's plates, heading outside to the backyard to find him.

He was sat on one of those large outdoor sofas with Ron, Ausar and a couple others scattered around them.

He noticed you as soon as you walked through the doors, throwing a smile as you walked his way. But before you could take a seat in the spot next to him, he took one of the plates from your hands, guiding you into his lap.

There wasn't much room for discussion, he just let his arm rest around your waist, your back leaning on the arm of the chair as you sat sideways in his lap.

"There's plenty of space next to you, you know," you'd tease, knowing fully well you loved sitting in his lap.

"They said being sat in your boyfriend's lap is good for the heart. Adds 20 years to your life each time you do it or sum."

Jalen didn't know what personal space was when it came to you, especially when you two were alone. You're at the stove making dinner? He's all up on you, hugging you from behind, kissing your neck... anything but helping.

You're sat down on the sofa doing some work? Put that laptop away because he's right next to you, pulling your legs onto his thighs, massaging you into a daze trying to butter you up for some attention.

Andrew had always been the quiet one. Steady. Reliable. The guy who showed up early to shootaround, said what needed to be said, and then went back to work. He didn’t need the spotlight, didn’t chase clout, didn’t fill silence with noise.

But with you?

He turned into the clingiest person alive.

It started small.

The first time you stayed over at his place after a game, he woke up before you and just… stayed. Arm slung over your waist, face buried in the crook of your neck, breathing slow and even like he was trying to memorize the rhythm of your heartbeat. When you finally stirred and tried to slip out of bed to pee, he tightened his grip, mumbling into your skin,

“Nope. Five more minutes.”

You laughed. “I’ll be right back.”

“Five more minutes,” he repeated, voice thick with sleep, pulling you flush against his chest until your back was molded to him. “You smell good. Stay.”

You ended up staying twenty more minutes because he kept pressing lazy kisses to your shoulder every time you tried to move, murmuring things like “you’re warm” and “I like you here” until you gave up and melted back into him.

That became the pattern.

After games—win or lose—he’d find you in the tunnel or the family section, wrap both arms around your waist from behind, and drop his chin on your shoulder like a human weighted blanket.

“Missed you,” he’d say, even though you’d literally seen each other that morning.

You’d tease him. “You were gone for three hours.”

“Longest three hours of my life.”

On road trips, he’d facetime you every night—no matter how late the game ran or how tired he was. He’d prop the phone on the hotel nightstand, lie on his stomach, chin in his hands, and just stare at you like you were the only thing keeping him grounded.

“Tell me about your day,” he’d say, even when his eyes were half-closed.

You’d ramble about work, about the patient who wouldn’t stop flirting with you at the clinic, about the new coffee spot you tried. He’d listen. Nod. Occasionally interrupt with “I miss your voice” or “come cuddle me through the phone.”

When he was home, he was glued to you.

Cooking dinner? He’d stand behind you at the stove, arms around your waist, chin on your shoulder, swaying gently like you were slow-dancing to whatever playlist was on.

Watching TV? He’d pull you into his lap, tuck your head under his chin, and wrap both arms around you like a koala.

Running errands? He’d hold your hand the entire time—grocery store, post office, dry cleaners—like letting go might make you disappear.

One Sunday afternoon you tried to get some work done at the kitchen table. He walked in wearing nothing but basketball shorts, saw you focused on your laptop, and immediately slid into the chair behind you.

Arms around your waist.

Chin on your shoulder.

Legs bracketing yours.

You laughed. “I’m trying to work.”

“I’m helping.”

“You’re distracting.”

“I’m supporting.”

You tried to type. His hands started wandering—slow, absentminded strokes up your sides, under your shirt, thumbs brushing the underside of your breasts.

“Drew.”

“Hmm?”

“You’re not helping.”

He pressed a kiss to the side of your neck. “I’m keeping you company.”

You sighed—half exasperated, half melting.

“You’re so clingy.”

He nuzzled closer. “Only with you.”

You gave up on work ten minutes later.

He pulled you onto his lap, turned your chair so you were facing him, and kissed you slow—lazy, deep, hands sliding under your shirt to trace your spine.

“I love you,” he murmured against your lips. “Like… stupid amounts.”

You smiled. “I know.”

“No, like… can’t breathe when you’re not around. Can’t sleep. Can’t focus. I’m obsessed with you.”

You cupped his face. “I’m right here.”

“Stay here,” he said, almost pleading. “Don’t ever leave.”

You kissed him again—soft, reassuring.

“Wasn’t planning on it.”

——