Chapter 19
CHAPTER
NINETEEN
We do sleep. Eventually. Ivan would be pissed if we showed up for the last day of pre-race prep completely exhausted. I wake up tangled in Austin. Arms, legs, hair, breath. It’s hard to tell where he starts and I end. His head rests on my chest.
“Morning,” he says as I run my fingers over his scalp. His voice is heavy and sleepy. Rich, like good coffee. I want to hear it like that every morning for the rest of my life.
“I miss your long hair,” I say. “It was very rugged.”
He lets his own hand trail over my naked chest. “I liked it too, but I broke my wrist and collarbone. Basic things like brushing my hair were hard for a while. I can grow it out again now.”
A sizzle of regret shoots through my chest. I should have been there. I could have brushed his hair. Ivan even gave me the chance to go, but I was too hurt—in my own way—to accept what he was offering.
But before I can start to second guess, a knock comes on the door, making us both jump.
“Cedric?” Matthieu’s familiar accent comes through the wood. “Let me in.”
I groan, but we’ve had our time. If I’d been here from the beginning with the rest of the team and Austin and I had figured our shit out sooner, we might have found time to get our rooms changed over so we could share this one and Matthieu could bunk properly with Kage.
But today is not the day for shuffling suitcases and belongings back and forth.
It’s the day before the Olympics, and we’re on Ivan’s time now.
We take one more trip up the mountain to do a final few passes over the course and inspect the conditions.
It’s warmer today than yesterday, though still well below freezing.
A fine dusting of snow has come down overnight, enough to make the surface grittier than the day before, but there’s no further precipitation in the forecast, so once all the competitors and coaches have spent their allotted time going over last-minute things, what’s fallen will be packed down onto the base. Tomorrow should be free and clear.
At one point, I’m standing in the finish area, listening for Austin to come over the final ridge.
My eyes are closed, my hands out in front of me as I visualize every turn and jump, playing over and over the line I need for maximum speed in the corners and where the best opportunities to pass a leader will be.
The scrape of sharp edges on hard snow has me opening my eyes as Austin rockets down the last pitch. We may not be allowed to go hard today, but Austin’s only ever had one speed—bat-out-of-hell. If I’m going to win tomorrow, I need to ski perfectly to gain the advantage over him.
As he finishes his run, my attention drifts back up the final downhill, picturing us together. Just like we always said. Neck and neck, right to the line. Who wins? No one knows. They look at pictures and check timers and even after everything, it’s so close that—
“Oof.” Strong arms wrap around me as Austin comes up behind me, skis sliding to a stop outside mine. He kisses my cheek. “How was my time?”
“Stop,” I say, squirming free.
He laughs. There’s no hurt there. It’s not that I care if people find out we’re together. Just not today. There can be no distractions for the next twenty-four hours.
After the last runs, we spend time in the equipment tent, doing final inspections of everything.
Skis, bindings, boot bails, pole grips. There are backups for everything, but you never want it to get to that.
By the time you realize the tension on your bindings is off, the race will be over and you’ll be at the back of the pack.
We don’t ski anymore, but there are rounds of mobility and strength work to do.
Competition day is brutal. Skiers who make it all the way to the Big Final will have competed in four races where placement can be decided by fractions of a second.
The afternoon is for fine tuning. Activating the muscles that need to be ready for tomorrow.
Stretching the muscles we’ll push to their limits.
At one point, Austin’s doing gentle lunges with a resistance band.
He’s got his hands on his hips, but suddenly they shoot out to the air as he struggles to keep his balance.
“You okay?” one of the trainers asks.
“Yeah. No problem.” Austin waves him off and the trainer moves on to watch someone else. When he’s gone, Austin reaches behind himself to cup his ass, then glances over his shoulder to glare at me as he mouths, “Your fault.” I blow him a kiss and he flips me off before he resumes his reps.
Another round of physio and massage. Felix takes one look at the two of us as we walk into the therapy room, shakes his head, and points through an open door.
“Cold tub,” he says.
“No,” I groan. I hate the cold tub. Sure, it helps with inflammation and such, but that shit fucking hurts.
“I’m not dealing with both of you in the same room again.”
Kage, who is coming in behind us, snorts.
“Try sleeping down the hall from them,” he says, then trips over his own feet when Austin gives him a playful shove.
So next thing I know, I’m in the ice bath, gritting my teeth both to ward off the stabbing pain as my whole body contracts, and also the terrible and tempting sounds of Austin once again groaning in the next room as the therapists work out the kinks.
When he walks in a few minutes later, his face is flushed and he’s shaking out his arms and legs before doing a few test squats, then smiles in my direction.
“I feel so much better,” he says.
“I hate you so much right now.” I pull myself out of the tub, being sure to shake like a dog when I’m back on solid ground.
Austin laughs as he tries to dodge the spray, then yells when the ice-cold droplets hit his skin anyway.
I reach for a towel, snapping it in his direction and he crashes into the tub in his effort to get away, making water slosh against the side.
“Knock it off, you two!” Felix shouts from the other room. We laugh louder to piss him off, but I exit quickly and let Austin have his soak.
Dinner is a quieter affair than last night.
Team dinners are never held the night before competition—not the official ones, anyway.
There are no fried veal cutlets tonight.
No wine. Everything has been considered and prepared to give us the nutrition we need for tomorrow.
The mood around our table is tense. I’m pretty sure Kage excuses himself to go throw up at one point.
When he gets back, he’s the colour of old milk, takes one look at his plate, then pushes it away.
“You have to eat,” Matthieu says, sliding the meal right back at him.
Kage shakes his head, burping quietly. “I can’t. I can’t stop thinking about—” We all jump when the table shakes, but Kage jumps the highest. Then he scowls at Matthieu and practically whines. “What did you kick me for?”
“Because now you’re not thinking about tomorrow. Eat your dinner.”
Kage sulks for a few more seconds, but slowly he picks up his fork and pokes at his food.
It’s chicken tonight. Not much seasoning.
Salt causes dehydration. The vegetables are steamed.
The pasta is whole grain, which would probably make the Italians around us go into shock, but the dieticians and cooks are doing what’s best for the team, not for the host country.
The air in the hotel is tense after dinner.
Conversations are hushed. More than one athlete from Canada as well as from other countries can be found doing the strange silent dance I did while I waited for Austin at the bottom of the run.
They stand or sit with their eyes closed, arms in front of them as they picture every inch of the course and the path that will take them to victory.
Too bad that gold medal is mine.
Curfew comes at nine, lights out at ten. Yes, we’re all adults, but there’s no wiggle room on this one. Matthieu graciously sleeps in Kage’s room again. Austin and I lie together, awake but quiet.
This is it. The big game. The goal posts. This time tomorrow, one of us will be an Olympic champion.
“I’m totally going to kick your ass tomorrow,” I say.
Austin snorts. “As if. You could never beat me when the chips were down.”
“What?” I squawk and push up on an elbow.
“Since when? Where were you when I was the top-ranked Canadian for three straight races two years ago? You know what top Canadian means, right? Oh yeah. I was the fastest. You’ve never been higher than number two on the leaderboard, regardless of who’s on top. ”
“Shh,” Austin laughs and pulls me down, quieting my protest with a kiss. “And who took your top seed and sent you to third?”
I laugh against his mouth. “Not you.” Not only him, anyway.
My ranking lasted for over a month before Matthieu came storming through in France and reclaimed his crown.
Austin caught me eventually, pushing me back to third place on the team.
It’s always been like that. Back and forth, up and down, but never far apart.
He’s got the talent. I’ve got the strategy. Tomorrow really could be anyone’s race.
“Bear,” Austin says softly, rolling into me so I can slide an arm under his head and hold him close for a minute.
There’s no sex tonight. We don’t even have to talk about it.
There are old wives’ tales about how orgasms are bad luck the night before a race or a competition.
About how it steals your masculine energy or some other bullshit.
Our restraint has nothing to do with that.
It’s that we both know that when we get started, we won’t stop.
Not for hours. Not until we’re exhausted and sweating and everything has been used up.
And that is not how we want to go into the morning of the biggest race of our lives.
“Yeah?” I answer.
He snuggles in closer. I press my nose against the top of his head, breathing him in. I can’t fuck him, but I can hold him, and that’s pretty amazing too.
“I hope you win tomorrow,” he says.
I lift my head. “What?”
“It’s like we always said. You and me. Together to the finish line. But I’m lucky to even be here. I want to win, but if it comes to it, and you see your chance, don’t hold back for my sake. I’m not here to finish some story about my epic comeback.”
“But you’re here to compete,” I insist. He has to be. The plan doesn’t work if he’s only here to enjoy the experience.
“Of course,” he says, voice serious. “I’m going to do everything I can to win. But I need to know you’re going to too. Don’t treat me like I deserve it more or that somehow the accident means I’ve earned it. If I’m going to win, I want it to be because I left you in my rearview.”
I lie back down, waiting for my racing heart to calm. We’re saying the same thing. Neck and neck. Ski to ski. That’s how he wants it to be. No more guilt. No more second guessing.
We fall asleep. I don’t know what time it is. I wake up in the middle of the night and we’re spooned together with my arm wrapped around him protectively.
Don’t treat me like I deserve it more.
He doesn’t. He’s incredible, and he’s worked so hard to get here. Harder than anyone. But I’ve worked hard too. I survived a shit season and nearly losing my best friend, and somehow I’m sleeping wrapped around him and waiting for the race that has defined my life to date.
I’m not going to treat him like he’s fragile or that somehow he’s more worthy because of everything that’s happened.
I’m going to leave him in my wake, and slide over that finish line as number one in the world. There was only ever going to be one winner between us, and it’s going to be me.