Chapter 23 #2
Jump, first turn. Someone’s on my shoulder.
The German. His next jump is better than mine, setting him up for the right line into the next turn that ends uphill.
I have no choice but to let him take the lead.
The only other option is to take us both down.
But I only give him what the rules require and stay right on his tail as he goes for the chicane.
Someone’s close behind me too, tucked in close enough to draft.
Kage, maybe? Or was it Kage who fell at the start?
We’re airborne over the next jump. The German goes late and even though I took off after, I land first. He’s still downhill of me, but the gap is closing.
My thighs scream at me as I cling to control by the finest margin around the next turn.
If we don’t go too high, I can pass him.
I tuck my arms in close, focusing on the moment, whether it’s a bump or a lapse in concentration that will give me the opportunity I need to get by.
It comes as we round the last curve before the final pitch.
The bells and whistles are going wild at the bottom, and for the tiniest moment, the German leans a little too far to the side.
He has to dig in his edges to keep his skis from sliding out from under him, and that’s all the chance I need.
I point my skis down the slope and slip past him.
He disappears from my peripheral vision so fast he might as well vanish and then I’m clear.
Nothing between me and the last fifty metres to close before I cross the finish line.
I don’t hear anyone coming before a blur of red and grey shoots past me like a rocket. He’s moving so fast he must have been thrown from something. Kage flies by me tucked into the tightest ball imaginable and with only one target. The finish line.
In first place.
It’s too late. All of this happens in a matter of seconds, and before I can even think of a way to respond to his challenge, we’re over the line, amidst the throng of cheering fans. The world spins wildly and for the first time all day, I take a breath that I can feel all the way to my toes.
What happened? How did it happen?
But before I can even look for him, Kage charges at me, throwing his arms around me like he did in the tent. He laughs and screams and his excitement takes hold of me.
We won.
Gold and silver. Canada at the top of the podium.
It’s not the perfect ending I imagined. Kage isn’t Austin. But his victory cry and the answering calls from the Canadian fans is enough to wipe any regret from my mind for now.
We won.
We’re engulfed in cheers. The German who came third.
The American who had the poor luck to fall when it counted most. Matthieu.
Ivan. My mom and dad. Two men who I’ve seen before and finally remember are Kage’s two dads.
I’m not even sure civilians are allowed in the finish area, but no one stops them. It’s controlled pandemonium.
Then Austin’s there, at the edge of my vision, hovering beyond the crowd. I fight my way through the people, accepting slaps on the back and congratulations offered without ever stopping to engage anyone. In this moment, possibly the biggest moment of my life so far, I only have eyes for Austin.
I stop when we’re a few inches apart. No one has noticed me slip away.
Someone’s hoisted Kage onto their shoulders and he leads the crowd in another round of cheering and celebration.
I hope, after everything, his is the story that makes the headlines tomorrow.
Who needs clicks from gawkers who want the gossip about queer ski crossers when you can tell the whole country about the twenty-year-old barely out of junior racing who is now an Olympic gold medalist?
“You did it,” Austin says, voice warm.
I can’t help my smile. “Yeah. I did. How about you?”
He smiles too. And he doesn’t ask why I don’t know the result of his race.
Austin gets it. Always has. There’s no one I would want to spend this career with.
This wild and dangerous ski life. No matter what risks lie ahead .
. . what accidents and injuries lurk in the woods .
. . he will always be there and he will understand.
“I came fifth,” he says. Fifth. First in the Small Final. On any other day, he’d have been right up there with me and Kage.
He knows what I’m thinking and his grin widens.
“You’re lucky I wasn’t in the Big Final. I’d have mopped the floor with both of you.”
“I’d like to see you try,” I say, closing the space between us.
“Just wait,” he says, tugging at my bottom lip between his teeth. “In four years, you’ll eat my snow.”
“That’s what you think. You’ll probably fall in the starting gate.”
He laughs and I kiss him. This is it. My ending. My gold medal. Until the next race. The next mountain. In this brief moment between the highs of the sport we have chased our whole lives together, the only thing I need or want is Austin. In my life, in my arms, in my bed.
Falling is part of skiing, and falling for him is the easiest thing I’ve ever done.
Thank you for reading Ski-Crossed Lovers.