Donaldson was the best of the best, now he's at the top of the tennis hierarchy. All to prove to you that he's worth something, you dumped him a few years ago because he played a grand slam tournament, which amounted to a betrayal on his part.

And you've been gone ever since.

You've coached others, even Zweig, but thank god now you're completely free to do so. This is his chance, the straw he's already grasped.

In fact you've attended every one of his games but he's never thought to approach, perhaps you're still angry with him? Or maybe you come here just to make sure he's the same shit he used to be?

Hell no.

The match was in full swing, Art was tense, almost physically feeling your gaze from the back bleachers. Still, gathering his will in his fist, he spouted off all the experience he'd accumulated in months of preparation, damn months of crap from his coach, he wished it was you.

Applause. He didn't even notice as the score went up in his favor, giving him the win. He won. After a few minutes of routine stuff like autographs and interviews, he looked for you among the crowd, hoping you hadn't gotten away in time.

His hand reached for your shoulder, tentatively turning your face toward him. "I..." He raised his puppy dog eyes, his figure was much larger than you, practically obscuring you from the sun. "I won."

As if that word could drastically change your opinion of him, hell. "Please, baby, tell me you still love me." He fidgeted uncertainly, still squeezing your shoulder. He just needs you to push, to share your confidence, he's not pulling through without you.