Chapter 10 Tian
TEN
Tian
I was at the final qualifier at the US Grand Prix at Mammoth Mountain.
I was there, sore from the last brutal practice runs, every joint aching from repetition, but ready to put it all on the line.
This was the one—secure a medal here, and my place on the Olympic team was locked.
I was already all but in, but just one more podium would seal it.
I could feel the weight of the season behind me, a trophy rack of medals from every stop so far, proof that I hadn’t just had a breakout year—I’d sustained it.
I was sprawled on the couch with ice packs on my knees when the alert buzzed through my sports app.
I’d added the Railers to my New York feed weeks ago, telling myself it was just to keep tabs on the competition, not for any other reason.
The roster announcements for Team USA hockey were coming out in drips and fragments, and I thumbed the notification open without much thought.
Then I saw it—front and center, Jack O’Leary.
My chest tightened. He was going to Italy. He was going to the Olympics.
And I’d probably be joining him—and the thought made my stomach lurch.
Pride, excitement, and raw nerves all tangled together.
The Olympics had been the dream since I’d first strapped into a board, but now it wasn’t just about medals and sponsors.
It meant being in the same place as Jack again, and I couldn’t decide if that possibility thrilled me, terrified me, or both at once.
The thought of seeing him again—being forced into the same orbit because we were both Team USA—made my chest tighten.
Maybe I’d get the chance to talk to him, maybe even undo the whole once-and-done thing we’d sworn to on the cay.
Did he even want that? Did I? I was the best I’d ever been, standing at the peak of my career, and yet the idea of Jack looking at me, of him being proud of me, pulled at me as much as any medal ever could.
My cell buzzed with a reminder I was scheduled at a MarvTech meet and greet. I shuffled into the bathroom, stretching out cold muscles, feeling new aches where I’d taken a stupidly bad tumble on loose powder. Rookie mistake.
A call came in from my parents as I brushed my teeth, and I spat out the paste. I might need to be downstairs by ten, but I’d never miss a call with my mom and dad. Fuck the rest of the world.
“Morning, sweetheart!” Mom chimed, her voice bright and warm.
“Morning! How’s the room?” I’d set this up for them, the best view of the mountain and the halfpipe, a suite at the Mammoth Mountain Inn overlooking the competition runs.
They were thrilled with it, sending me photos of the fireplace and the balcony view last night, even though I knew Mom wouldn’t be standing there watching when it was her baby descending at nearly forty mph, with the kind of trick that made her cover her eyes every time.
“A huge bed, Tian. Beautiful!”
“Big bed, but your mom stole all the covers last night,” Dad grumbled, his voice echoing.
“I did not!” Mom shot back, laughter bubbling under her words. “You hog the bed like a bear!”
They were so loved up it was ridiculous, laughing over each other before both yelled at once, “Good luck for today, Tian!”
“Bye!” Dad added, and I could picture him ambling away to stare out at the view — always liked his alone time, which left Mom and me.
Her voice became hushed, worried. “I saw that tumble on social media—are you okay?”
“I’m fine, Mom,” I said with a laugh. “Nothing to worry about.”
The truth was the fall had spooked me more than I wanted to admit. Still, I wasn’t about to let them hear the crack in my certainty. Not when they were this excited for me and when I needed every bit of confidence I could find.
By the time my sponsor stuff was done, and I was ready for my first run, the crowd was buzzing, snow guns blasting fine mist into the crisp air, coaches pacing like caged animals.
My board was waxed, my body strung tight with nerves and anticipation.
One more run, one more medal, and I’d be boarding a plane to Italy with Team USA.
For me and the other US riders, this wasn’t just about chasing FIS points and World Cup medals—it was about the added pressure of US team selection hanging over every run.
International rivals like Silvan Roth from Switzerland or the Japanese prodigies viewed Mammoth as just another stop on the World Cup circuit, another chance to climb the standings.
For us, a missed podium could mean missing the Olympic team altogether.
That tension made every final electric. I only needed to get silver to clinch an Olympic berth.
Only.
Famous last words.
Silvan caught me at the top of the run, grinning like the cocky bastard he was. “Hope you’re ready to eat Swiss snow, Tian,” he teased, bumping his fist against mine.
“Yeah, yeah. Don’t get too comfortable up there,” I shot back, trying to sound casual even though my stomach was a knot of nerves.
Then Abel was in my ear, gripping my shoulders, voice low but sharp. “Keep it level, Tian. Nothing so fancy you crash out. You’ve got this if you stay clean. Focus.” He gave me a little shake, eyes burning into mine. “One last solid run and you’re in.”
Then it was my time. The world narrowed to the ramp, the wind, and the thud of my heartbeat.
My runs were a blur of muscle and instinct, each landing punching through my legs, each cheer rolling over me like surf.
When the points were tallied, Silvan edged me out for first, but my name was right under his.
Silver.
Abel grabbed me hard, nearly shaking me off my feet, his grin wild. “Yes!”
I was going to Italy.
I’m going to have a reason to see Jack.
That night, my parents insisted on taking me out to celebrate, and somehow we ended up at a long table in the hotel restaurant with Silvan and another man who wandered over to say hello.
Mom, of course, encouraged them to sit with us.
Silvan clapped me on the shoulder, then gestured proudly. “This is Lukas Vogel, my partner.”
“Lovely to meet you,” Mom said brightly. “How did you two meet?”
Lukas smiled, a little shy. “I’m a dentist back in Zurich. We met through friends, and, well… we never really stopped talking after that first dinner.”
I sat there thinking, How do they make that work?
He was traveling the circuit all winter, and Lukas anchored in Switzerland with a job that didn’t exactly scream flexibility.
Yet seeing them together—Silvan’s hand finding Lukas’s under the table, Lukas leaning in close to laugh at some story Dad told—they made it seem effortless.
My parents were charmed, conversation flowed, and before long, everyone was trading stories and laughing.
Eventually, Mom and Dad excused themselves, hugging me before leaving for their room. Lukas rose as well, brushing a kiss over Silvan’s lips. “I’ll be up in ten,” Silvan murmured back, his smile soft. When Lukas had gone, Silvan turned to me.
“You seem quiet tonight, my friend. What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” Jealousy over Silvan and Lukas? Loneliness when I’d realized what it was like to be with someone?
“Bull crap,” Silvan snorted. “You just clinched your Olympic spot. We get to do this all again in Italy, and you can’t crack a smile.”
“Nothing’s wrong,” I repeated, forcing a smile. “Just… thinking about…”
“About how a devastatingly handsome Swiss man stole your gold?”
“Asshole,” I snarked, and then sat back in my chair. “Your Lukas is a nice guy.”
“My lover is everything,” Silvan admitted and leaned on his elbows. “And I love him more than what we do.”
I fake-clasped my chest. “More than Big Air?”
“Every day.”
“How does it work, him in Switzerland, you on the road?”
Silvan waggled his eyebrows, “Naked Facetime is a thing.”
I groaned. “I did not need to know that.”
Silvan grinned knowingly. “You’re wound too tight. Love is love, my friend. We make it work across an ocean, across crazy schedules. I knew after one date, before we’d even stopped talking, that he was it for me.”
I tried to laugh it off, but his words landed like a rock in my chest.
After one date, he knew?
Remind me again why Jack and I decided on a vacation fling?
How did I even agree to stay away from Jack and pretend the two weeks were nothing to me when I’d already started to fall for him?
Getting to Italy would be a whole production. Team USA would fly us out together, a plane packed with athletes from every discipline—snowboarders, skiers, figure skaters, even the speedskating crew.
But no hockey players.
They were still playing their season and would land at the last freaking minute. I knew exactly when they’d be flying out and had marked it in my online calendar.
I was excited to see Jack and ask him if he might want to do more than hook up again, but also to talk and laugh and explore what had happened.
I was nervous as well. Scared he’d tell me he met someone in the meantime. Afraid it was just me that needed more of the connection we’d had.
The plane itself felt like a flying locker room—rows filled with athletes in hoodies and beanies, gear bags crammed into every overhead bin, the air thick with nerves and excitement.
Some of us traded playlists, others passed snacks around, a few knocked out cold with noise-canceling headphones and neck pillows before we even left the runway.
I sat there sore but wired, staring out at the ocean miles below, the hum of engines mixing with bursts of laughter and chatter as the hours dragged by.
It was a long haul across the Atlantic, but we were heading to the Olympics, and the buzz never quieted.
I was sitting with a young guy who could talk more than me and was super affectionate.
After jawing for two hours, Brett Mitchener wore himself out, like a toddler who’d run too hard at recess, and slumped against me.
I didn’t mind talking Big Air, I didn’t mind him sleeping on me, but I really liked the quiet.
The kid wasn’t a medal hope going in, but he’d qualified, and hell, the Olympics weren’t over until it was over, and I had a lot to do to keep ahead of these younger guys coming up.
Even if Brett was only six years younger than me.
Once we landed, the US Olympic Committee had us booked into one of the official athlete hotels, part of a cluster reserved for Team USA, with security at the doors and banners draped from the balconies.
We’d all be together—rooming two to a suite—I was with Brett—eating in the giant cafeteria alongside other American athletes, living in that bubble of red, white, and blue.
It was efficient, communal, and I knew that meant I’d be bumping into Jack at times.
Just the thought of seeing him across the dining hall, or on the bus to the venues, had my pulse racing before I’d even packed a bag, and it was worse now I was here.
Today was the day the hockey guys arrived, and I wasn’t lurking in reception, no matter what it looked like.
I just happened to be there, that was all.
As did Brett, who was leaning against me on the sofa, chatting about everything and nothing, elbowing me when he thought I wasn’t paying attention, which was a lot.
He always seemed to end up draped over me like a little brother who hadn’t learned about personal space yet.
And hell, I kind of liked the affection—he was harmless enough, all wide eyes and endless chatter about the halfpipe.
His weight pressed into my shoulder as the sliding doors opened and the first players walked through, and my stomach dropped even though I told myself it was a coincidence I was sitting there.
I stood, Brett falling away, then bouncing up on his toes and clinging to me like a limpet. He grinned at the new arrivals.
“Ooh, hockey players.” He squeezed my arm as what I assumed were equipment managers for the team rolled in with sticks, hundreds of them, in protective bags.
“I can tell by their sticks.” He grinned up at me as I glanced down at him, and fuck, his idiot puppy face made me smile, because hell, I was in a good mood anyway.
I stared back at the players—and then I saw Jack. He was staring at me, but he wasn’t smiling. His expression was fierce, tense, and fuck, this was not how I’d imagined seeing him again. I sent him a shy smile, and I got it wasn’t right to go launch myself into his arms.
Only… He didn’t smile back at me.
He stared at me with angry disdain, then turned away.
And if looks could kill?
I’d be dead.