Love All Read online

  Table of Contents

  Titlepage

  Dedication

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Copyright

  Backmatter

  To Susie, best of wives and best of women . . . this is still all your fault.

  Prologue

  “Sadie, you can’t do this all by yourself.” Tad echoed the refrain of her parents, her brother, and every one of their friends. The only difference was, he held a golden ring between his trembling fingers. “I enlisted. I’m going to have insurance and housing and a steady paycheck. I’ll be able to take care of you both.”

  Both.

  She glanced down, surveying the face so small it was nearly lost in the sea of pink swaddling blankets and the oversized hospital gown obscuring her own features. The two of them were a unit, a package deal, tethered together now every bit as much as they’d been when connected by a cord. She didn’t need him to tell her. She felt the tie tugging at her core the same way she’d felt every kick, every shift, every hiccup.

  “A baby needs a dad.” He pressed, the anguish making his voice raw.

  “She’s got a dad.” She cupped one hand gently around his cheek, marveling at the contrast of her dark skin stark against the paleness of his.

  Black and white. That’s how he saw the world. Right and wrong. So clear-cut. He would make a good soldier. His righteousness would give him strength, but so would hers. She held the sleeping baby closer in the crook of her arm, noticing for the first time that her eyes were the same shape as his. Would they hold her color? Retain the proud bridge of her nose? The little dimple of her chin mirrored his, but the shape of her tiny mouth clearly came from Sadie. She inspected the strangely familiar face, then looked back up at his, unable to tell which of them seemed more vulnerable in that moment. “I’m glad you’re her father, but I don’t want a husband.”

  A little muscle in his jaw twitched under her fingers. “You don’t want a husband, or you don’t want me for a husband?”

  She sighed softly. That was the question on which all their futures hung. She could add it to the long list of ones she couldn’t answer. “Tad, I don’t know how to explain, much less make anyone understand, but I have to do this on my own.”

  “You’re sixteen.” Emotion cracked in his voice.

  “I’m almost seventeen.”

  “You haven’t finished high school.”

  “I will.”

  “You don’t have a job.”

  “I’ll find one,” she said matter-of-factly, partly because this wasn’t the first time she’d had this conversation, and partly because each time she said the words, her certainty grew.

  “And who’s going to take care of her?” He nodded toward the sleeping infant, his smooth face contorted with a worry so discordant with her youthful features. “You can’t be everything she needs.”

  She let her hand fall from his cheek as the final break between them was cemented. “I will be.”

  He rose, tears shimmering over the cobalt eyes she’d been so drawn to so many months ago. She’d never seen eyes like his, not on anyone who’d ever looked at her the way he had.

  “I’m trying to do the right thing, Sadie.”

  “So am I,” she said resolutely.

  He stared down at them for a long, heavy moment before bending to place the lightest of kisses across the baby’s smooth brow, but he made no attempt to repeat the gesture with her. She could feel the grief radiate off of him in waves with each exhale, but she managed to feel only relief as he straightened.

  “I left my enlistment details with your mom. I’ll send my address as soon as I get to basic training in case you change your mind.” He sighed. “Or maybe if you want to send me pictures at least.”

  She nodded. “Be safe.”

  A strangled sound escaped his throat. “You too.”

  She didn’t want him to go, but she didn’t want him to stay either. She didn’t feel anything at all from his absence, except maybe a hint of finality. Perhaps she should’ve felt scared, but she couldn’t summon any fear. Did that make her unrealistic? With all the doctors and nurses and social workers gone, had he been the only sensible one left in the room? When it came to her prospects as an unwed teenage mother, everyone she knew agreed with his assessment of her fitness.

  Everyone but her.

  She lifted her sleeping daughter to her chest, gently easing back the blanket to drop a kiss atop the wispy black curls. The scent of baby shampoo and fresh powder overtook the antiseptic tinge of the hospital air, and peace settled through her aching body. She didn’t know why she couldn’t share everyone else’s concern. She didn’t have answers to all their questions, but she knew with the same certainty she had had since the moment she’d first felt life growing inside her that she would find a way. This was her life, her child, her destiny.

  “Destiny,” she whispered, and the baby’s eyes fluttered open, so big and round and beautifully full of awe.

  A smile built in Sadie’s chest and spread slowly until it stretched her cheeks.

  “Do you like that?” she cooed softly.

  The little girl blinked up at her, then furrowed her brow as if trying to focus on something complex.

  “I think you do,” Sadie continued. “I think it’s going to stick.”

  Sadie cradled the baby’s head in the palm of her hand and stared into the wonderment reflected there. “Everything’s going to work out. I don’t know how yet, but I know it will. You’re just going to have to trust me on that, because I’m your mama, and you are my Destiny.”

  The baby blinked, and Sadie grinned. “Just me and you, kid. From here on out, everything I do, it’s going to be for you.”

  Chapter One

  Seventeen years later.

  Melbourne, Australia

  Even if Jay Pierce hadn’t felt the racket frame give way when it crashed against the mockingly cheerful blue of the court, the sharp crack of carbon fiber snapping in two gave her away.

  She could barely make out the chair umpire’s swift judgment of a fine above the wild cheering of the crowd, but she did the math quickly in her head. It didn’t take advanced calculus to realize another five grand added to the hefty damages she’d had levied against her in the last match would put a dent in her spending money for a few weeks.

  “No, no, no,” she called, jogging over to the chair. “I didn’t break it.”

  The umpire rolled her eyes, and Peggy Hamilton snorted her amusement from the other side of the court.

  “The strings were too tight for this heat.” She glared up at the sun as if it were the real culprit. “I had to loosen them up.”

  The chair pursed her lips, green eyes impassive, and her white Keds-clad toes tapped the foot-rail of her elevated seat.

  “I made a legal adjustment to my equipment, and I didn’t use any profanity while doing it.”

  The corner of the chair’s mouth turned up, and she covered the mic with her hand. “Jay, your racket is broken. Swap it out to finish the match.”

  “What? Broken?” she said, loudly enough for the TV and audio folks to hear, then winked up at Heather. “It’s perfect. I’m going to play next point with it.”

  “You have to win the next p
oint in order to force a changeover.”

  Jay smiled broadly now. “Challenge accepted.”

  She strode back to her baseline as Heather’s voice echoed through the loudspeaker of Margaret Court Arena. “40-30, third set point, Ms. Pierce.”

  “Come on,” she mumbled to herself, as she mopped the sweat off her brow with the back of her equally sweaty forearm. “Just like back home, Grandma’s racket, hot asphalt, Bobby Thompson’s stupid, pimply face across the net.”

  She closed her eyes and could see it all again, bouncing the ball, one, two, three times, until it popped back up perfectly into the middle of her calloused palm. She opened her eyes and in one fluid motion tossed the ball high into the air. She arched her body back like a bow pulled taut. Every muscle coiled in anticipation, as years of practice and conditioning strained to be unleashed. But as the ball peaked in the midday sun and started its descent, Jay restrained herself for a fraction of a second before snapping forward. With a subtle flick of her wrist, she brushed a glancing stroke along the top of it.

  The racket gave slightly, but the ball spun wildly, causing it to careen like a drunken sailor on stormy seas. If she’d been a pitcher, the commentators would’ve called the result a slurve ball as it arced from two to six on the clock face. She had no idea what Mary Carillo would label the shot in the booth above her, and she didn’t have time to wonder as she charged the net. The ball dropped into the service box opposite her and kicked dramatically toward the sideline. The decreased tempo and heavy spin prevented her opponent from timing a powerful return stroke. Peggy managed only to bounce the ball on its upward track for a high lob, but Jay reached toward the sky with her entire wingspan and pushed off the court with both feet. She barely managed to get high enough to bring her racket head down with all the force its broken frame still had left in it. As she finished the motion, she flipped her right hand outward and sent the ball skittering off the far sideline into the wall.

  Peggy didn’t even try to dive for it. She merely shook her head, causing her blond ponytail to sway, before wordlessly turning toward her bench. Jay followed at a more leisurely pace, taking great pains not to make eye contact with either of the women ahead of her as Heather leaned toward the mic and declared, “Game and set, Ms. Pierce. One set all.”

  Jay kept her head low as she dropped onto her bench and dug out a fresh racket from her bag. Careful to move her lips as little as possible so none of the on-court cameras would catch the comment, she asked, “So, no fine?”

  Heather cleared her throat as if to make sure the mic wasn’t live before confirming. “Well played.”

  She grabbed a thick, white towel and tossed it over her head, both to dry the sweat dripping from her hair and to hide the smile tugging at her lips. She might not possess all the tools she’d once had at her disposal, but her bag o’ tricks wasn’t completely empty. Besides, now, no matter what happened with the match, she’d have something to talk about in the press conference afterward, something other than her temper, or her personal life, or the faint strands of gray she kept plucking from around her temples. Plus, even if she didn’t win any money today, she’d at least stopped herself from losing any more of it.

  She pulled the towel from her head, trying not to think about how much her goals had shifted over the last few years. She wouldn’t exactly say she’d lowered her standards, but everyone else around the wide world of tennis would.

  ★ ★ ★

  “How do you feel about your first major tournament?” someone called from among the many rows of reporters.

  “I feel like I should’ve played better.”

  A smattering of laughter filtered through the room. Sadie fought a grimace. She knew the comment hadn’t been made for comic effect, but rather as a blunt statement of fact.

  “Now that you’re knocked out of contention, do you have a favorite to win?”

  “I don’t really follow anyone else’s play unless I’m preparing to face them.”

  A few murmurs passed through the crowd, and Hank shifted in his seat beside her. Sadie kept her eyes trained on the young woman in front of the room. Over the years she’d learned to keep her facial expressions neutral— a benign smile, eyes open, chin up— no matter what happened, in the view of cameras or kids.

  “A lot of pundits say you turned pro too soon. Does a second-round exit in your first Australian Open make you worry you should’ve stayed on the junior tour for another year?”

  “No.”

  Silence reigned for a few seconds, save for the scattered click of flashbulbs, but if the press were waiting for her to elaborate, they’d all be here for a long time.

  “Dead air time,” Hank whispered. “It makes her seem dumb or spoiled.”

  “She’s stoic. She gets that from her father.”

  He snorted softly.

  Finally, another reporter asked, “Have you received a warm welcome from the other Americans in the field?”

  “I haven’t met any of them yet. Honestly, I don’t know that there are that many of them left to meet here.” This time the murmurs weren’t as quiet.

  Hank began to rise, but Sadie clamped a hand on his knee and pushed firmly. “She didn’t mean any offense.”

  “I know that, and you know that, but no one else in the room does.”

  “She knows it,” Sadie said confidently. “She just hasn’t figured out how to convey her ideas clearly yet.”

  “Well, she needs to learn,” Hank grumbled. “This isn’t the YMCA anymore, Sadie. If she doesn’t learn to—”

  “She’ll learn what she’s taught,” Sadie said, the steel in her voice causing a few heads around them to turn.

  “Destiny,” a reporter called from the row behind them, “do you see yourself as the future of American tennis?”

  She shrugged, looking more like the teenager she rarely had time to be. “Not really. I see myself as the future of tennis, period.”

  “And our time is up,” Hank said, hopping up so fast Sadie didn’t have the reflexes to stop him. “Destiny’s got two weeks off-tour to train; then we’ll be in Qatar, followed by Dubai in February before heading back stateside.”

  The reporters all talked over themselves, but no one in particular seemed intent on pushing for more with Destiny. Some of the tension slipped from Sadie’s shoulders as she watched her daughter thread her way through the crowd with a duffel bag thrown over her shoulder.

  “Can we go now?” Destiny asked, her jaw tight and her voice strained.

  “Of course, baby.”

  “Actually,” Hank cut in, as cameras flashed around them once more, “I’d like to stay for the next conference, and I think you should, too.”

  Sadie turned back toward the stage to see what all the fuss was about. She had to sway from side to side to catch a glimpse of the player taking a seat.

  She had golden brown hair, streaked with sweat and sun, and her skin was tan enough to make her biceps stand out against the white of her tank top, but every other color faded from the room as soon as Sadie saw her eyes. Even from several rows back, the azure sparkled like sapphires flecked with light and mischief.

  “Good afternoon, everyone,” the woman said in a voice so steady and confident she hardly needed the mic. “I’m Jay Pierce, and I’ll be your tour guide for today, as we take a walk through the museum of how not to win tennis matches.”

  Everyone laughed, and Sadie eased back into her seat with a gentle tug on her daughter’s arm.

  Hank leaned over her to whisper to Destiny. “Watch and learn.”

  “Are you disappointed with your finish, Jay?” a voice called out from one of the front rows.

  “Of course I’m disappointed, Chuck. My day finished without a single dinner invitation.”

  Everyone laughed again as Chuck added, “I meant about your play.”

  “Oh well, my play wasn’t nearly as dismal as my social prospects, but still not up to snuff.”

  “Why is that?” someone else called.


  “Probably I got dropped on the head as a child,” Jay said with a magnetic smile. “Oh wait, you were talking about the tennis again, weren’t you? Well, no, actually same answer.”

  “You were neck and neck going into the third set,” a reporter prompted.

  “That’s generally what a third set means, isn’t it? It’d be hard for a woman to go into a third set when she’d already lost two of them.”

  Sadie wasn’t sure if she was watching a press conference or a sports comedian, but either way, the results were entertaining, with none of the awkward silences that had punctuated the previous interview session.

  “Did you break your racket in the final game of the second set?”

  “No!” she declared loudly, even as she nodded the affirmative. “The racket was too uptight.”

  “Too tight, or uptight?”

  “Yes,” Jay said emphatically. “I loosened it.”

  “Did you loosen it by cracking the frame?”

  “Look, Terry,” Jay said, leaning forward conspiratorially. “I could tell you my secrets, but then all the tennis stars would use them, and I’d lose my edge.”

  Terry shook his head. “You want me to write that in my column?”

  “How about you write that after taking a 40-love lead in the game, I dropped three set points in a row, and I knew all you jaboneys in the press corps were going to start speculating about my mental fortitude, or whatever you like to call it, so I used my superior knowledge of tennising and fixed my racket. Then I played the best point of the tournament to the wild adulation of my massive fan base.”

  By now it was abundantly clear that everyone in the room could be included in the fan base she spoke of. Sadie’s smile stretched so wide her cheeks strained, until Destiny elbowed her in the side. She glanced at her daughter’s furrowed brow and questioning eyes.

  “She’s not even talking about tennis strategy or craft,” Destiny whispered.

  “Exactly,” Hank said out of the corner of his mouth. “She’s holding court. She does it better than anyone in the business.”