Chapter Text
The knock on his door surprised Rafa.
He had made it from the O2 arena back to the hotel only 20 minutes before, and after the high emotion of the evening, of the last two days really, it had been a shock to close the door behind him and face a darkened, quiet room. It took a minute for his eyes to adjust to the lone ceiling light over the entryway. Aside from that, the only light source—especially this high up—came from the skyscrapers on the opposite shore of the Thames, glittering like prisms through the floor-to-ceiling windows that lined the sitting area. The bedroom, visible through a doorway on the right, was silent.
It was the silence that was most noticeable as Rafa trudged through to set his bags down. For the first time in two days, there were no cameras trailing along, no Laver Cup gobo lights flashing, no claps to the shoulder, no familiar faces casting grins in his direction. Even Maribel, who had waited with his father and Titin afterward and had clasped his hand the whole van ride back, had disappeared into her suite.
“Get some rest, Rafa,” she had whispered when she pulled him close and held him, her soft blond hair brushing his cheek. She kissed him once, tenderly, on the side of his head before she turned to her own door.
He didn’t reply, too wrung out to speak, but he nodded. He would try. Maribel understood what these last two days had meant to him.
From the whirlwind plane ride to the rush to the arena for practice and the press conference, to the gala and the opening matches, and all the way through their doubles match—Roger’s last professional match ever—to the ceremony afterward, the locker room speech, the post-match press conference at nearly 2am, the backstage celebration where everyone laughed so hard because the alternative was crying even harder, and now finally, alone in the quiet of his hotel room, surrounded by tasteful furnishings that were considered on trend a few years ago, Rafa finally had a chance to stop. To let himself go, now that he no longer had to control his emotions so tightly.
Which was of course when all the emotions caught up to him again, like the tidal surge before the oncoming storm. He wasn’t sure whether he made a conscious decision to sit or if his legs finally gave out, but he found himself slumped on the edge of the bed, elbows braced on his knees, his face in his hands, shoulders folded inward like a child, his whole body shaking.
He had thought the grief he felt during the post-match ceremony, when he had to take a moment for himself away from the team and let himself collapse for just a minute on the back of the bench—he thought that was the worst he was going to feel, but he was wrong. Because even then, when he was hiding, he knew that someone would inevitably come find him, and that made his grief feel not quite so lonely. But now that the day was officially over and everyone scattered back to their rooms, the whole Federer clan whisked away in official black Laver Cup vans, he knew that there would be no one coming to check on him. It was past 4am—too late to text Mery—and Maribel was getting ready for bed across the hall.
And so when his emotions finally caught up to him this time, it was a deeper, more intense kind of grief. The grief of losing a loved one. All those years with Roger in front of him, Rafa was chasing after him like a desert mirage, and then finally—finally—he caught up to him, only to discover that Roger wasn’t made of dreams and vapor but blood and flesh just like him, had values and beliefs similar to his own, had burned with a fire like his own despite their vastly different styles on and off the court. It was breathtaking to finally know him within the game as well as outside it, especially these last few years. And it was devastating to lose all of it today. The finality of it left him feeling bereft.
But it wasn’t grief alone that was making him such a mess. Everyone in the stadium felt the same grief to some extent. All the fans, all the other players on Team World and Team Europe knew they were losing a great teammate, competitor, and rival. What blindsided Rafa here, in his hotel room, was the loneliness. Because none of them—not even Andy or Novak—experienced the loss of Roger in the same way as Rafa did. Rafa had technically faced Novak more times in his career than he had Roger, but his relationships with them could not be more different. To him, Roger was not just a teammate or a competitor or a rival. He was…Rafa didn’t even know how to describe it. Even if he was better with words as he sometimes wished, he still wouldn’t have been able to explain why facing Roger on the court felt so different than facing any other player. Why the air itself felt different when they did. Or why it was like that only for the two of them.
Their relationship defied description.
But having a special connection between the two of them also meant that there was no one else on earth who could truly understand what this day had cost Rafa. Not Andy, not Novak, not even Roger himself, because as they say, it is more difficult to be the survivor than the one who is gone.
Perhaps that was why he was so blindsided by this second wave of emotion. Grief he had expected and braced himself for, and grief was why he had cried at the stadium, alongside everyone else. But loneliness, the loneliness of being the sole survivor of something wonderful, something life changing that was now gone forever—that was a feeling he had not expected. It was this feeling of being utterly, terribly alone that hung oppressively on him now, until he had to hold onto his arms just to feel something around himself here in his empty hotel room where he knew no one would be coming for him.
At the stadium, his tears had been for Roger. Here, away from the prying eyes and flashing cameras where no one could see, he finally allowed a few tears for himself.
It was when he was staring at the dregs at the bottom his proverbial cup that he heard the knock on the door.
At first he thought he imagined it, simply because he wanted it so badly that it couldn’t have been real. It was his mind playing tricks on him. But no, it came again: three polite but firm raps. There was a definite air of waiting coming from the hallway. Rafa looked around muzzily for a moment. The door seemed so very far away. But as he had done countless times in his life when he had fallen down, literally or figuratively, he picked himself up, wiped his face as best he could, and forced himself to move.
For a second, as he skirted the beige couch, his mind offered up the fantasy of opening the door to find Roger standing on the other side, with his characteristic grin making the corners of his eyes crinkle. Rafa violently squashed the image. It was too much to hope for, he chided himself. Roger was with his family and his team, as he should be. It was either Maribel, perhaps looking to borrow a phone charger, or his father come to say goodnight. There was no one else here for him.
Thus it was a complete surprise to open the door and find Mirka on the other side.
“Eh? What are you doing here?” he blurted, and then blushed immediately.
It appeared his manners had deserted him.
Mirka didn’t seem to mind. A corner of her mouth quirked up. She was wearing the same purple patterned dress and leather jacket that she had worn during the day, her hair still swept up in a neat ponytail.
Her face softened as she took in his state.
“Oh Rafa.”
Instead of answering his question, she pulled him into a warm and steadying hug, just like she had done during the ceremony.
Rafa probably should’ve been embarrassed by how he easily he let himself fold into her arms, but he needed this more than he wanted to admit. From the way she tightened her hold on him, he thought she knew anyway. He tucked his chin on her shoulder, leaning on her strength.
If this had been ten years ago, he might have hesitated. It had taken a while for him and Mirka to move beyond friendly acquaintance, even after he and Roger began thinking of each other more as friends than rivals. They were both introverts and shy by nature, and while he had known Roger intimately from their matches—knew his game and the shape of his spirit—Mirka was more difficult to read. She was more reserved and self-contained than her effusive, extroverted husband, preferring to hang back and let him do all the talking. Rafa was no social butterfly himself, so between the two of them, it was a minor miracle that they managed to forge a genuine friendship.
In hindsight though, perhaps it shouldn’t have been too surprising. With Roger as the source of gravity constantly pulling them together and keeping them in each other’s orbit, they slowly got to know each other over the years. They found that despite their contrasting dispositions—Rafa with his fire and Mirka with her coolness—they were both perfectionists who always gave their all to whatever they were doing. Rafa had always respected her commitment to keeping her family together, her dedication to doing whatever it took to support Roger’s career, and her fierce protectiveness for those she considered hers. Somewhere along the way, Rafa found himself counted among them.
Roger called her his rock, and in a way that’s what she had become to Rafa too: a steadying, dependable presence. In some strange cosmic coincidence, the mirror symmetry that he and Roger shared—left hander versus right hander, two-handed backhand versus one-handed backhand, power versus grace—extended to their wives too. Together the four them complemented each other perfectly: Mirka was the rock, sure and steady, immovable, always there. Roger was the stream—fluid and laughing, torrential, ever changing. Mery was the wind, free and soaring, fierce and gentle by turn. He himself of course was fire, warm and bright but also intense and blazing.
Some things really did seem like a foregone conclusion in hindsight.
He reluctantly released her after a minute, and she politely averted her eyes as he swiped a hand over his face.
“What are you doing here?” he asked again, more gently this time. “You should be with your family, no?”
Mirka waved the question away.
“The kids are in bed. Lynette and Robert are with them.”
“And Roger?”
“He’s at the house.”
“If he is there, why are you not with him?”
He heard the hint of disapproval in his voice, but he couldn’t help it. She was not supposed to be here. She was supposed to be celebrating with and comforting Roger. It wasn’t like her to leave his side, especially during a time like now. Something must be very wrong.
Mirka seemed amused that Rafa was being more protective of Roger than she was, even though she was the one married to the guy. She smiled up at him.
“Because I came here to get you,” she replied.
Up went one of his eyebrows.
“Eh?”
Her smiled widened. She once told him, only half jokingly, that she found it easier to understand his face than his words at times. When she turned her focus back to the matter at hand though, her tone was subdued and earnest.
“You shouldn’t be alone tonight. It’s not good for you. It’s not good for him either. Come.”
She took his hand and gave him a gentle tug. To his surprise, she pulled him back through his own doorway. He went along—he did trust her, after all—but he must have been misunderstanding something, because this was not making any sense.
“Come where?” he asked, as she led him through the sitting room. “Where are we going?”
She looked back at him as if he were being purposely dense.
“Our house,” she announced. “Pack your luggage. You’re coming with me.”
Rafa, usually nimble on his feet, found himself stumbling after her.
“But-eh, what am I doing there? Everybody is asleep already, no?”
She slowed to a stop in the middle of the sitting room and turned to him.
“Listen, Rafa, Roger needs you,” she said, low and serious. She caught his gaze with hers and held it. “He knew he needed you to be with him today, so he called you before he made the announcement, to make sure you would be at the Laver Cup with him. You knew that he needed you, so you stayed by his side the entire way. You were never more than arm’s reach from him for the last two days—because he needed you, and you knew it.”
Rafa nodded. It was all true, he couldn’t deny it. But…
“It is over now, no?”
He needed to say the words, he told himself. This part of his life was over, and it was not coming back. Maybe if he said it enough, he would be able to face it and it would hurt less.
Mirka took both his hands in hers.
“He still needs you, Rafa. Even now that it’s over.” She bit her lip and looked away. “Maybe especially now.”
Rafa froze in his internal monologue and looked at Mirka. Really looked at her. For the first time, he noticed the tired lines around her mouth.
“How do you mean?” he asked carefully.
She was quiet for a moment, but when she turned back, her gaze was clear and steady, her back straight. She was never one to shy away from hard truths.
“He loves you, you know.”
Rafa took a step back, stunned by her admission. It knocked him out of his self-pity and sent his thoughts reeling. Of all the things he expected her to say, this had not been one of them. It made him really wonder why she was here instead of with Roger. What her mission was. Why she might want to talk to him alone.
“What? Why are you telling me this?” he asked, his heart pounding.
Her face was full sympathy.
“Because it’s true, and you deserve to know.”
“No.” Rafa shook his head as if he could shake the thought out. “No, I don’t believe it. I don’t want to hear this.”
They had never talked about this, him and Mirka. Ever. It was an unspoken agreement between them. For the last 18 years, the boundaries had been clear: Roger’s heart belonged to Mirka. The two of them were so solid as to be inseparable. Most wives and girlfriends did not travel with their significant others on the tour full time, but Mirka did, for the simple reason that Roger wanted her to be with him always, and she wanted to be there too. They were both happiest when they were together. It was one of the things Rafa noticed immediately when he first met them all those years ago—how tightly they functioned as a unit, how much they genuinely enjoyed being in each other’s company. He remembered wondering if he and Mery, then in the early stages of their romance, would grow into that.
Everyone on the tour knew that Roger’s heart belonged to Mirka, and Rafa had always respected that, regardless of any feelings he might later develop.
But if what Mirka was saying was true, if their seemingly indestructible marriage was having problems, and if Rafa himself had done anything at all to contribute to it, unintentionally or not…
For a split second, Rafa flashed back to the worst moment of his life: the day when his father told him, on the plane back to Mallorca from Australia, his eyes hollow and the skin of his face sagging, looking for the first time that Rafa could ever remember like a defeated old man, that he and his mother were getting divorced. His parents, whom he thought had an indestructible marriage, had agreed to separate and his father just wanted him to know that it was not Rafa’s fault in any way and—
Rafa needed to breathe. He needed air. He had to get away, or else he was going to—.
Mirka seemed to realize that she had triggered something, for she caught him before he could completely pull away.
“No, no, he still loves me,” she clarified quickly, urgently. Her grip on his hands would’ve been painful if Rafa could feel it. “He loves the kids. He’s not going anywhere. He’s not leaving me.”
The whiplash jerked Rafa to a standstill.
“What?” he gasped, trying to get his breathing under control. “But you just said—”
“He still loves me. He’s not going anywhere,” she repeated like a rhythmic mantra, as if she were slowly easing someone back from the edge. “Our marriage is strong. We still love each other. We are still together.”
Breathe. He had to breathe. The queasy, anxious feeling still roiled his stomach. Her words had managed to penetrate the fog of his panic before he spiraled completely out of control, but he needed a few moments before he could focus on what she had said.
“Then what—”
His voice stuck, and he had to clear his throat, run his hands over his face once, twice, blow out a harsh breath to release all of his tension, before he could talk.
Mirka gave him the time he needed to regroup, a contrite expression on her face.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you…worried”—he appreciated her polite phrasing—“He loves me still, as much as he ever has. Which is to say, a lot. He just loves you too, that’s all.”
Now that he was no longer panicking, he could focus on what she was actually saying.
“Eh…what?”
Unfortunately, it still wasn’t making any sense to him.
“He loves me and will never choose to leave me,” she repeated, trying to reassure him. “But you—you have a place in his heart too.”
Steady, steady, he told himself. He had to focus here and make sure there were no misunderstandings.
“You mean that he loves me like a friend. Like a brother.”
Rafa would’ve been happy with that. More than happy. It was the pinnacle of what he had ever allowed himself to hope for, that he and Roger could be good friends. Close friends even.
“No, I mean that he’s in love with you,” said Mirka.
Rafa rubbed his hand over his face and covered his mouth. Okay, so he was not misunderstanding her as he had feared and hoped. If what she said was true…
This was complicated. And unexpected.
He was tempted to take her words at face value. It would be so easy to just accept them, believe them, because he knows Mirka would never lie to him, especially about something like this. If she was telling him that Roger was…in love with him—Rafa shied away from approaching that thought straight on—then it meant that she believed this to be one hundred percent true.
But there was something he was missing here. They had established—after Rafa damn near thought his whole worldview was crumbling again—that Roger and Mirka were still strong, Roger’s heart still belonged to Mirka, that boundary line had not changed, but…
…but Roger’s soul belonged to tennis, and those lines were shifting. Tennis was where Rafa had staked his territory in the topography of Roger’s life. Over the years, Rafa’s territory had grown beyond the boundaries of tennis, but tennis was still their shared domain. Now the shape of Roger’s tennis life was changing with his retirement. Where the lines would settle afterward, Rafa didn’t know. Maybe Roger didn’t either.
Mirka, though, clearly saw something. Rafa realized, with a jolt, the real reason why Mirka had come to him now, and why she had come alone: she was here to redraw the boundaries of Roger’s post-tennis life.
And it seemed she was willing to make room for Rafa within those boundaries.
His heart started pounding in his throat again. He needed to tread carefully.
“He loved you first, and he still does. You and the kids will always be first in his heart,” he stated, like a man confirming that the earth still revolved around the sun.
“Yes.”
Rafa nodded, relieved. No matter what his feelings, he would never want to see a strong marriage fall apart. He knew too well the pain of that, not just for the couple involved, but for those who loved them.
He felt for his next words like a man unsure whether the ground beneath his feet would hold.
“But he is also in love with me.”
Again, she answered in the affirmative.
Okay, that cleared up one thing, but there so many other big questions looming, foremost of which was—
“If what you say is true, why is he not here telling me this himself? Why do you come to tell me?”
She was silent for a minute. Rafa felt as if he was holding his breath the whole time, but after a long moment she seemed to come to a decision. When she spoke, her voice was quiet but clear.
“I don’t share well with outsiders,” she said, seemingly a non sequitur.
Rafa’s stomach dropped, but once again he pushed away his fear to focus on where she was going with this.
“Family is important to me,” she continued. “I will never allow anything to break up my family.”
She held his gaze to see if he was following her. Rafa nodded cautiously. If these were the ground rules she needed to establish first, then he could accept that, because he felt the same: family came first.
“The family is strong only if Roger and I are strong, if our relationship is strong.”
Again, Rafa nodded. This he understood from his own life and agreed with.
“For our relationship to be strong, Roger and I have to be brutally honest with each other. But Roger has not said anything to me out loud about his feelings for you. And he never will, out of respect to me, but also fear.”
She paused, and in the silence Rafa could hear his heart pounding. Surely she could hear it too.
“He will never do anything to hurt our family, and so he will never be honest about his feelings for you. But I can see it clear as day. He loves me, he loves his family, but he loves you too. And you love him.”
She said the last part evenly, with no hint of recrimination, but Rafa still felt the words like a punch to the gut.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered.
He wished he could deny it or brush it off, but he couldn’t. It was the truth, and they both knew it.
“I have never—I would never do anything on purpose to interfere in your marriage,” he offered lamely.
At least that was the truth too.
Her lips quirked ruefully.
“I know. I trust you.” She sighed. “I wish I could be angry with you. I wish I could blame you, but then I would be a hypocrite, wouldn’t I? Because I love him too.”
She hesitated for a moment, but then pushed on.
“I will admit that in the past, I was sometimes jealous of what you shared with Roger. You know a side of him that I will never know. But I also knew that it was not your fault. It was my own injury preventing me from sharing the same thing with him. I could not blame you for it. Whether I wanted to accept it or not, you and Roger have something that others cannot touch.”
For all of Mirka’s shortcomings, she did not lack for courage.
“It was a hard truth that I needed to accept. And that is why I’m here: because he has a choice to make, and he believes there is only one way forward for him. I know him. He will choose me and the kids, every time. In his heart, he has already made the choice, because he hasn’t said anything to you. And he never will.”
She gathered herself and looked Rafa full in the eye.
“But I also know the choice has cost him. He made the choice alone, without talking to me about it, because he was afraid. He didn't want to hurt me. But what he has forgotten is this: I don’t want to hurt him either. I love him too much to let him live with regret. Do you understand what I am saying?”
Rafa gave the barest nod. Mirka reached out and placed her hand on his chest, right over his heart. Rafa automatically covered her hand with his.
“So I have made a choice too. I’m choosing to make room for all of us. I don’t want to watch him watching you with longing in his eyes. I love him too much for that.”
She took a deep, steadying breath and made a valiant attempt at a smile.
“I’ve decided that I’m not so good with sharing with outsiders, but you aren’t an outsider anymore, are you?”
The question rang with truth. Hope bloomed in Rafa’s chest at the possibility of a way forward, but he had to be cautious.
“You talk about choices and not wanting to hurt him, but what about you? I don’t want you to be full with regret either.”
A corner of Mirka’s mouth curved up wryly.
“I learned long ago that no one could take my place in Roger’s heart. People think I don’t see the women who try to make eyes at him, or I don’t hear the people who whisper behind my back that he let himself be tied down too early. We made a decision together early in our relationship that we would trust each other, and we did. But that also means that we each have to be worthy of each other’s trust, and he has proven over and over again that he is. He continues to prove it every day. It’s just the man he is. But he’s also shown that no one could take your place either. In all these years, out of all the people and players he has met, there’s no one else in his life that shares your place. He’s proven that over and over again too. So maybe you and I should trust him and just both be there for him.”
Something eased in Rafa’s chest. He had been braced for an agonizing choice. He had been prepared to sacrifice his feelings to do what he knew to be the right thing, the honorable thing, because he wouldn’t be able to look at himself in the mirror if he did otherwise. But maybe he didn’t have to. This was what Mirka had been trying to make him understand and why she had come to speak with him tonight. What she had said made a lot of sense. Maybe it really wasn’t that complicated after all. As long as everyone was willing to share, and they were respectful of each other’s place in Roger’s heart, then it might be possible.
He had to be sure, though.
“What you are suggesting is strange, no? You don’t think we will step on each other’s toes?”
Mirka huffed a laugh. It managed to come out without a catch.
“As long as you don’t ask him for a ring, then you and I are okay.”
Rafa snorted.
“Mery would kill me.”
And then he stopped dead, because oh god, what would Mery say to all this?
Rafa suddenly understood on a gut-deep level why Roger chose not to say anything to him, even if everything Mirka had said was true. Because if he had to choose between Roger and Mery, then he would choose his wife and family as well, every single time.
His thoughts must have shown on his face, because Mirka replied, “Yes, she would, which is why I called her yesterday and we worked it out.”
“What?!?!”
Rafa gaped at her. He felt like he had just tripped over something very obvious, something he should never have taken his eyes off of this whole time: Mirka’s role had always been to smooth the way for her husband in all areas. In any of her dealings, she would always be thinking ahead, anticipating obstacles, orchestrating things on behalf of Roger’s and her family’s interests to achieve the desired outcomes.
And she was very, very good at what she did.
Mirka patted his shoulder kindly.
“Don’t worry about Mery, she was not surprised. She knows you too well. And she is not the insecure type.”
That was…true. How obvious had he been this whole time? Did everyone know about his feelings already? One look at Mirka’s face suggested that the answer was yes. He winced.
“So what happens now?” he asked, willing his face to stop turning red.
She took pity on him and chose not to tease him about it.
“It is very simple. You will bring your things and go check out. I’ll come with you. You will spend the night at our place. Nothing will happen, because neither one of you is in any condition to do much tonight. Plus Roger doesn’t put out until at least the third date.”
Okay, maybe a little teasing.
Rafa nearly choked. His face was probably redder than the Team World shirts.
“I suppose you would be the one to know,” he coughed.
Her smirk told him that she did indeed know this from personal experience and felt very smug about that fact.