Chapter 7 #2
By the time the ski patrol arrives, following the same treacherous path down through the trees, Austin is completely still.
I’ve got one hand inside the front of his coat because I need to feel the beat of his heart against my palm to convince myself he’s not already dead.
His body is so cold, even through the layers of insulation and microfibre meant to keep him warm.
I find myself murmuring to him over and over to hang on, until the words don’t even mean much in my head.
The ski patrol takes forever getting him back up onto the trail.
In theory, they must be trained for this, but most of their job involves loading up weekenders who have sprained a thumb or broken a leg.
One of them has a radio he uses to contact the base, using words like “air transport” and “catastrophic injury.” They strap Austin onto the rigid sled that doubles as a back board.
Another of the ski patrollers says something to me, but it takes a second to tear my eyes away off Austin’s motionless form.
“What?” I ask.
“I said are you okay? Are you hurt anywhere?”
I don’t know how much time has passed since the moment Austin vanished over the edge of the trail.
Minutes, maybe. Hours, possibly. If someone said I’d been sitting by this bloody rock for days until help arrived, I’d believe them.
Coming back to my body to check for injuries feels like it takes almost as long.
“I’m fine,” I say, though I wobble as I push to stand and have to plant a hand on the rock to keep from toppling over.
My foot is asleep inside my boot. Not much room to wiggle my toes or ankle to get the blood flowing again.
But when I let go of the rock and lift my hand free, there’s plenty of blood on my palm.
Only it’s not mine. Austin left it there.
Jesus Christ. How did this happen? It was a friendly race after what was a long morning and a longer night.
No one will quite meet my eyes when we reach the edge of the trees.
The ski patrol is already double checking Austin is secure before one of them steps between the extended handles of the sled and heads down the mountain.
The entire entourage of Apex snowmobiles and staff have appeared, along with Tara and other teammates.
The snowmobiles bring the rest of us down, following the sled like a gruesome funeral procession.
But he’s not going to die. I say it to myself over and over.
People don’t die from skiing accidents. Except of course they do.
Head injuries. Internal bleeding. Austin could very well have all of those.
The helicopter is already coming in for a landing in the resort parking lot.
Onlookers have gathered to see what’s going on and I say a silent thank you that at least, dressed in our Apex gear and not our national team jackets, we look like anyone else.
Ski cross may not get a lot of media coverage, but this isn’t the story we want to make.
“Can I go with him?” I ask, but I already know the answer.
Not a lot of room in a helicopter. Austin’s going to a hospital a few towns away.
The local resort town only has a small clinic meant to deal with minor injuries and illnesses.
I feel numb as Tara herds us all into the vans.
A few people ask if I’m okay. A few others ask what happened.
Matthieu sits himself between me and everyone else, and distantly I can hear him saying to give me some space.
All I can think is that I should be with Austin.
And that this is all my fault.
I kept asking myself what was different that our race went so far off course, and the answer is we were. Distracted. Exhausted. We were up all night after racing all weekend. No one should have been doing more than a gentle snow plow under those circumstances.
“He’s going to be okay,” Matthieu says to me. I nod, trying to believe him.
It was a meaningless race. A pointless sprint like the thousands of ones we’ve challenged each other to over the years.
Sometimes I win. Sometimes he does. We give each other a hard time.
Maybe buy a round of drinks. No one ever goes to the hospital.
All I had to do was give him enough room around that turn. Instead, I pushed too hard and—
“I’ll call his family,” Tara says as we get off the van. “They should know.”
I hadn’t even thought about his family. His parents, Donna and Patrick.
They still live in Ottawa. They didn’t come this weekend, even though it was one of the closest races this season because Patrick tweaked his back last week moving a couch.
Austin’s their youngest kid. His two older sisters, Mathilda and Nicki, both live in Toronto.
They’re all going to be so scared for him.
“Thanks,” I say, though I don’t know why. Because I was there? Because I’m his best friend? Would everyone still be so nice to me if they knew I’d basically pushed him off the side of the trail?
Once we enter the lobby, I’m left alone. I shuffle to the elevator, riding up in silence. But walking into the room is like slamming into a brick wall. The scattered sheets. The crumpled tissues on the night stand. The scent of sex and Austin that permeates the air.
Holy fuck, I’m going to fall over.
My breath is coming in short, sharp gasps as I stagger to the bed.
I shake uncontrollably as I fall onto the mattress.
My teeth chatter and my hands ball up into fists.
What the fuck? I’m okay. I’m fine. What the hell is going on with me?
It’s Austin who’s somewhere between here and the hospital.
Maybe he’s already there. Maybe he’s already having surgery.
He can’t die, right? Skiing is all about falling. He’ll get back up, right?
My stomach rolls and I barely make it to the bathroom before I throw up. Shock, some distant part of my brain says. Can I go into shock if I’m not the one who was hurt? My whole body aches as I stagger to my feet and rinse my mouth out at the sink.
I don’t remember falling asleep. Don’t even remember deciding to get into the bed or wrapping myself up in the blankets that smell like the two of us.
Distantly, I think hear someone knocking on my hotel room door, but I can’t find it in myself to get up and see who it is.
When I wake up, Austin’s old watch is wrapped in my fist, the plain face shining in light that filters out from the bathroom.
Did I turn it on when I came in? Is it still on from my hasty shower this morning?
From last night when we were so excited to undress each other and touch and fuck that we never even worried about the lights?
Doesn’t matter. I can’t stay here. Can’t sit here waiting.
I shrug into clothes and hurry downstairs to find a cab.
Austin needs me.