Chapter 17 #2
So of course, as I swing the door to my room open and shove Austin inside, Matthieu is coming out of the bathroom. Wasn’t he at the fitting? His hair is wet like he’s recently showered, and he’s dressed like he’s going somewhere, in clean pants and a black half-zip.
“What are you doing here? How did you get back so fast?” I was hoping if we hurried, we’d have a few minutes alone before my very much unwelcome roommate made it back.
Isn’t he supposed to be like a hundred years old by now?
Shouldn’t he have a bad knee that keeps him from moving too quickly?
Any old sentiment about Matthieu’s greatness as a competitor vanishes with the realization my veteran roommate is a massive cockblock and doesn’t even know it.
Matthieu’s eyes narrow and dart between the two of us. Then he says seven words that make my heart drop.
“You’re coming to the team dinner, right?”
Fuuuuck. Why? Why would they schedule one of those for tonight?
“Austin’s not—I can’t—I have to—” I think I’m trying to tell him that Austin has some cryptic pain.
A lingering something or other from his injuries that precludes dinner but will mysteriously be better by morning.
And of course, I have to stay behind because clearly I am the only one who can take care of him.
Austin squeezes my hand and the silent consolation makes me want to cry.
“I’m going to take a quick shower,” he says.
So we go to the ridiculous team dinner. It’s at a local restaurant up the hill from our hotel.
The whole team—ski, snowboard, support staff—gathers around long tables pushed together.
There are no menus, and someone’s clearly talked to the kitchen, because while the food is all rustic Italian, it’s obviously been put together in consultation with our nutrition team.
Steamed vegetables, trout with herbs and lemon, or veal that isn’t drowning under inches of cheese and heavy tomato sauce.
People take photos, post them on Instagram.
I taste none of it.
Somehow, Austin and I get seated across from each other, when clearly he should be beside me. He spends the night chatting with a couple of skiers from the women’s team. I sit between Matthieu and Kage.
“Cedric?” Kage says at one point, though the way he taps my shoulder indicates maybe he’s said my name a few times and I didn’t hear him.
“What?” I ask, not meaning to be quite so stern, but Austin’s laughing at something Marissa, who’s sitting next to him, said, and even this moment of inattention makes me want him more. We’ve been apart for months, and every second the separation continues now is agony.
“Can you pass the bread?” Kage asks, though he might as well be speaking Lithuanian, because none of the words register.
Matthieu huffs on my other side, passing the basket of thickly sliced multigrain bread across my field of vision towards Kage. I duck, trying not to lose my line of sight with Austin.
“Should I find somewhere else to sleep tonight?” Matthieu asks.
His mouth is so close to my ear that the words make me gasp and jump, finally breaking my concentration.
I turn toward him, the protest already forming on my lips because I’m expecting him to be teasing.
For there to be a turn to his lips. But his expression is all seriousness. He’s not joking. He’s offering.
I have to take a sip of the dark red wine we’ve been served before I speak.
“Would that be okay?”
He shrugs. “Kage talks in his sleep, but I’ve got earplugs. Better than listening to you two go at it like hyenas like I had to last year in Maine.”
My ears feel like they burst into flames.
“Wh-what?” I stammer.
“The walls at that resort were very thin, Cedric. Did you think there was no one next door?”
Somehow, even though I’ve hardly thought of anything else but that night and the awful day after in the months that followed, questions like, “Did anyone overhear our marathon fuckfest?” have never crossed my mind.
Maybe they would have if the next day had been a normal one.
The kind with jokes and laughter as Austin and I raced each other down the hill, then raced even faster back to the hotel to pick up where we had left off.
But all we had at the end of that day was broken bones and broken hopes.
I press my lips together, bunching my napkin in my lap. I’m not usually one for embarrassment, but knowing Matthieu heard us that night . . . I wasn’t worried about being overheard. Sometimes I was trying to be as loud as possible. I wanted the world to know Austin was mine and I was his.
“We’ll be quiet,” I say. Matthieu pats my shoulder in a fatherly way, but it takes several minutes and the rest of my glass of wine before I can look at him again.
As dinner wraps up, Ivan rises and makes a short speech. He’s not one for big demonstrations.
“You all know what we’re here to do,” he says.
“You’ve worked hard to be here. I believe every one of you has it in you to win here.
Stick with the program, and we’ll see what happens.
” He lifts a glass and we all do as well.
“Clear heads and strong legs. Be ready for your final runs tomorrow, remember to rest and hydrate tonight, and stay sharp.”
I glance at Austin, and for the first time tonight, he’s watching me too. His eyebrow arches and he tugs at his bottom lip with his teeth. The message is very clear. The odds of me being properly hydrated by the time the sun rises tomorrow morning are very, very slim.