Chapter 23
CHAPTER
TWENTY-THREE
I don’t think. Nothing that happens next is in the plan. One second, I’m watching, gasping, at the sight of Austin’s body finishing a spectacular tumble. The next, I’m already out of my skis and running back over the finish line.
He’s down. He might be hurt. I didn’t see him fall. Again.
But before I can even get ten steps up the hill, he’s sitting up. Course officials run out from where they’ve been observing the races. He’s already halfway to standing by the time they reach him. He waves, to them and then to us, letting us know he’s all right.
I drop to my knees. My whole body shakes as I watch Austin push himself along on one ski until he comes to where the other finally came to a stop after it popped off.
He steps into it, waving his arms over his head again as he makes the final slide down the hill.
I watch as he slips past me, crossing over the finish line.
The crowd cheers for him anyway, and I stumble after him.
He pulls off his helmet and goggles, and he turns as I approach him.
His smile and eyes are bright, cheeks flushed.
“You stupid fucking asshole,” I say, not stopping my advance until my hands plant firmly onto his chest, shoving at him as I try to relieve the riot of emotions burning hot under my skin.
He says something like, “I know,” before he folds me into his body and kisses me.
It’s the sort of thing they immortalize in vintage photography and classic art.
His strong arms wrapped around me, while mine are crushed awkwardly between us.
His mouth is hot and hungry on my lips, and the cry that goes up from the spectators as they watch our display is thunderous.
We stay like that for what feels like a lifetime.
Kissing. Touching. Apologizing and promising everything without saying a word.
When we finally break apart, my head is spinning for entirely new reasons.
“Are you okay? Like, really okay?” I ask. I’m still shaking, but feeling sturdier than I did a few minutes ago.
“Fine,” he says, though he grimaces as he tilts his neck to one side. “Nothing Felix and his torture ice bath can’t fix.”
I push at him again, laughing. Over his shoulder, all our parents are watching. Our moms cling to each other, and I think my dad might be crying. Fuck. I’m not even done racing yet.
But Austin won’t be there.
“No,” I say, the sound utterly heartbroken. “No. The Big Final. You didn’t—”
“It’s okay.” His smile is crooked. There’s no pain in his eyes, either physical or emotional.
“That I even made it here is a miracle. I’ve still got the Small Final.
And I’ve got you.” He turns me, so I’m facing the exit and the waiting journalists who must now be drooling for a chance to talk to us after our little display here.
Austin gives me a gentle push toward them. “Go. Go win the whole thing.”
I trip over the rigid toes of my boots but regain my balance before I fall and make a complete ass of myself. I find my abandoned skis and poles, then find Tara waiting for me, tapping a manicured nail on her arm as she waits for my next pass through the media run.
“Are you two finished?” she asks, though her eyes flicker with what I hope is amusement and not barely controlled violence.
I laugh. “Not even a little bit.”
She rolls her eyes. “Well, the no-comment strategy is out the window, but I’d still suggest that you not—”
I don’t wait to hear her advice. Instead, I slip into my skis to more quickly make my escape through the reporters. They all lean in as I approach, hurling questions at me, but I slide past them, not stopping to answer a single one.
“I’ll see you at the finish line,” I call.
Let them do with that soundbite as they will.
Regardless of what happens in this last race, my new catch phrase won’t be what gets reported tomorrow.
The kiss. Austin’s arms wrapped around me.
No one will remember how many times I told them about one race at a time.
A few minutes later, I’m in the equipment tent, waiting while the techs examine my skis.
There’s a bigger break now than there has been between the other qualification rounds.
A chance to inspect gear and swap out for fresh layers.
Rehydrate and eat. Maybe even a quick stretch with the trainers to work out muscles that have already been pushed to the limit in the seeding round and first three runs of the day.
Anyone who has made it to this point in the day is already aching, and now the most important race of all looms.
“I did it!”
With zero warning, an unexpected body hurtles into me, wrapping his arms around my middle. He’s smaller than Austin, and when he pulls his head back to look up at me, it’s Kage.
“Holy shit. Breathe,” I say. In fact, he’s breathing so hard he’s going to pass out if he doesn’t get it under control. “What’s going on?”
“I did it,” he says, face shining with uncontained excitement. “I made the Big Final!”
I blink, trying to unpack his words. I was so caught up in Austin and I not getting there together, I forgot about him. Matthieu is out, and in my narrowing focus, I had completely forgotten about Kage.
Now, though, I whoop, high-fiving him.
“The Big Final!” I call. We do a few celebratory hops before I spot Ivan lurking in the tent’s entry. When our eyes meet, he waves us over.
“How are you both feeling?” he asks, his voice all business.
“Amazing!” Kage says, still sounding on the verge of hyperventilating.
I nod in agreement. In all honesty, I’m starving, and there’s a knot behind my shoulder blade that needs to be worked out ASAP.
But I don’t want to dampen Kage’s enthusiasm.
He’s worked as hard as any of us to get to this point.
I’m still going to kick his ass in the last race, but that doesn’t mean he can’t celebrate reaching the Olympic Big Final in only his second year of senior competition.
Ivan brings us back to order. Food. Electrolytes.
More video review. I’m lucky the German didn’t pass me sooner in that last race.
My focus was so obviously all over the map through the middle of the course as I tried to figure out where Austin was, and it could have cost me everything.
Felix appears with a massage gun that must be used to elicit confessions out of even the most hardened criminals, but by the time he’s done, the knot in my shoulder is gone.
I’m doing start simulations with a resistance band when a soft voice comes behind me.
“Hey.”
It’s Austin. He’s still in his race suit. He may have fallen, but making it to the semis guaranteed him at least a spot in the Small Final.
I’ve been so locked in on what comes next, I forgot that even still had to happen.
It’s my turn to kiss him. I reach out, hand behind his head to bring his mouth to mine.
The nervous energy under my skin needs a release valve, and Austin’s soft groan against my lips turns me to liquid.
Who cares who sees? Apparently everyone important knew already anyway.
They knew more than Austin, who had forgotten everything. What a year this has been.
I pull away before we get ahead of ourselves and let out a slow stream of air that whistles between my teeth.
“How long until you go to the start?” I ask.
The Small Final will happen first. There are no consolation prizes.
No participation medals. But coming fifth or sixth at the Olympics is so far ahead of the millions of people who put on a pair of skis every winter simply for the enjoyment of being outside in the fresh air and cold, it’s still worth doing properly.
“Three minutes,” he says, keeping his face close to mine.
Not enough time for anything fun. Who cares what the wives’ tales say? We’ve made it this far, and our dream of standing on the podium together is over. A quick hand job behind a tree or in an empty equipment van might be what both of us need.
Austin grins, clearly following my train of thought, but he shakes his head.
“You can still win this,” he says, holding my hands between his. “All of it. Listen to Ivan. Stay focused. We’ve got time for everything else after.”
Do we, though? Today has been a marathon, but we’re literally mid-season. When the Olympics are over, we’re off to Switzerland. Or is it Austria? Either way, the World Cup has four more meets this year. There’s always another race. Another destination.
Austin kisses my cheek, brushing his fingers along my jaw. His hands are cold and I shiver.
“I’ll see you after,” he says. “Ski hard.”
Then he turns and walks to the equipment tent where his final pair of skis for the afternoon are waiting.
I don’t hear how he does in the Small Final.
In fact, I tell Kage and Ivan I don’t want anyone to tell me.
I stand with my back to the starting area and all the other athletes, hands in front of me as I play out the course I will now never forget in my lifetime through my mind one last time.
Start. Rollers, jump. Turn. Chicane. Jump.
Over and over, with my hands in front of me, taking me to the end. To gold.
We assemble in the gate. It’s like the semifinal, with Kage and me on opposite ends. The German skier is beside Kage. An American stands beside me.
“Good luck,” he says, the first competitor who has spoken to me all day. I can only manage a tight smile in reply as I grip the handles and get ready for release.
My start is perfect. I might as well be on a string attached to the barrier that launches me forward as it falls.
Someone grunts and swears before I’m even through the rollers.
Did he fall? It happens. A fall in the start gate is the worst way to lose a race.
There’s no chance of coming back from that.
No one wants their day to end like that, especially not in a final.