Chapter 3
3
Lake Louise, Alberta, Canada
As the season progressed, we became inseparable. Spending every spare minute together, both during the day and every night. Traveling from country to country, we trained together and Jeff backed off as Owen took a hand in my coaching, and with his guidance on finessing my transitions between gates, we placed at nearly all events. Owen was consistently ranked number one in the men’s league, while I was two in the women’s GS events, with Natasja Zenina from Austria being the only skier above me. She was completely different to me, light and lithe. I was strong, and better suited to steeper terrain and heavier snow. But the last event, in Canada, was her type of course, favoring her smooth, elegant style. She would excel and finish the season ahead of me. Second place was wonderful, but I was hungry for first, joining my partner as the world number one.
Owen rolled over in bed, and I could feel that he wanted me.
“Mmmm,” I sighed and stretched as he began kissing my neck and his hands caressed my breasts. Since we had been together, I had never questioned how much he loved my curves. At every opportunity, he told me and showed me.
“I need to go to the gym,” I groaned. “Unlike you, I have serious competition in Natasja.”
Natasja was stunning, tall, slim, and elegant. But she was also a self-centered bitch, the type of woman who knew she was beautiful and expected men to worship her as soon as she walked into a room. She threw herself at all the male skiers, including Owen. He had always politely rejected her, finding her vacuous and self-absorbed. Originally Russian, she had defected and joined the Austrian team a few years ago.
“Cardio with me first, then weights at the gym,” Owen ordered as he rolled me atop him. He knew I couldn’t refuse him, and I loved being on top, Owen kissing my breasts as I rode him. Every night and every morning he wanted me and making love had become part of our daily routine.
“Fine,” I whispered. “But not tomorrow. Tomorrow is my last race of the season, and I do not want to be distracted.”
“How badly do you want this?” The Russian-accented voice behind me in the changing rooms made me jump as I was tying my inner boots, preparing for my first run.
“Natasja! You scared me.”
Natasja scowled and ignored my comment. “Answer the question,” she snapped.
“Sorry?”
Her eyes bore into mine. “How badly do you want to win this race?”
“More than anything,” I admitted. “As you do, I am sure. Why do you ask?”
“I will let you win.”
My mouth gaped. “What? Why would you do that?”
“I want something from you.”
“What?” My mind raced. “What did I have that she could want?”
“I want Owen,” she sneered. “No one knows what he sees in you, anyway. It is just a matter of time before he leaves you. This way you keep your dignity.”
“Why?” I asked.
“Because he wants me. Everyone can see it. You know it. You are in my way. Blocking me,” she snarled.
“Whoa!” I stood and faced her. While she was roughly my height, I was significantly bigger and could take her down without much effort. Regardless, she didn’t flinch.
“Choose. Your career or your boyfriend.” She was in my face now, threatening me. “We will be world champions together and make beautiful babies.”
“No.”
“Do it, or I will destroy you,” she snarled venomously.
“I’m sorry?” I breathed. Surely I hadn’t heard correctly.
“You will be.” Flicking her platinum mane over her shoulder, she pranced out of the room, her hair swishing behind her as she swung her bony hips.
For a moment, I sat there, wondering what to do. Owen. I needed to speak with Owen. But he was racing on the Super G course. We never spoke between races. Focus was everything, and we agreed we would never distract each other from our joint dream of winning the World Cup.
The race marshals were calling numbers, indicating the women’s event was about to start. This was it, my last event for the season. Ski well, and I could place in the top three and secure my place in the Olympic team for next year. Ski badly, and I would need to go through all the qualifying events again seeking a wildcard entry. Australia’s financial support for the Winter Olympics was nowhere near what it was for summer games, and only a few competitors were selected to represent their country.
My bib number was directly behind Natasja in the first race, and she was behind me in the second, so we were in the marshaling area together, a tiny space and with limited capacity to avoid her. As I carried my skis past the ropes and set up in a corner, she approached, leaning so close I could feel each exhale on my face.
“One more chance,” she growled. “I go wide. You let me have Owen. Deal?”
I tried to ignore and sidestep her, but she blocked my exit, and with my back against the ropes, I felt much like a boxer, cornered, but not beaten. Ski boots not being the most maneuverable of equipment, I could not escape her, other than being physical and I knew she would happily label me the aggressor and see me disqualified in a heartbeat. Other competitors were milling around, but they were all absorbed in their own headspace, preparing for our final race, not paying attention. I could call out for help, but then what?
One of the marshals caught my eye, noticing this wasn’t a normal interaction.
“Can I help ladies?”
Natasja leaped back, not hearing him approach from behind her.
“No, no, we are fine,” she said sweetly before giving me one last warning glare. “Just wishing Sophie luck.”
Meeting her eyes, I lowered my lids and glared back defiantly. I would not comply with her ridiculous demands. Tossing her chin, she pranced off, pulling a phone from her jacket. Checking she was well clear, I started getting into my gear, more than a little shaken by the encounter.
“Breathe,” I coached myself as the next competitor was called. “You can do this. One more win and you win overall.”
Natasja was called to the starting gate, and I watched her push out, her lithe, elegant form sliding effortlessly down the first part of the run. I may not be as athletic looking, but I was strong, especially in the legs, and I could push hard out of the start gate. Once she cleared, I moved into the start hut, preparing myself.
As I stood at the wand listening for the countdown, I slowed my breath and pushed hard as the buzzer sounded. It was a great start, and I felt powerful and surefooted as I flew down the first part of the course. Red, blue, red, blue. The gates clacked as I passed as close to them as I dared, keeping my tuck, and transitioning smoothly as I had practiced all season with Owen.
Hitting the home stretch, I dug deep and pushed as hard as I could, the finish line in sight. As I rounded a gate, the surface changed unexpectedly, and I gasped, fighting to hold my balance as I shuddered over the bumpy surface, fighting to regain control. That wasn’t right. Fuck . Had I not been used to skiing on icy, rocky snow in Australia, I would have crashed and ended my race, if not my career. Anger rose in my chest as I corrected the wobble and it spurred me on. I knew exactly what had happened. Someone from the course crew slipped the course every few skiers, but they hadn’t been down between Natasja and me. Flying across the finish line to a roar of applause, I saw Jeff’s thunderous face in the crowd, ready to berate me for my wobble, but I made my way straight to the Chief of Race, who was standing beside the Chief of Gates.
“Don’t send the next skier!” I tried to yell, still catching my breath as I pulled up in front of them. But it was too late. She had left the starting line and all I could do was watch in horror as the young skier from France hit the uneven surface, lost her balance, and plowed into the B netting. It was horrendous to watch. Emmy’s crumpled form lying lifeless tangled in the net, her skis ejected and sliding down the slope. The paramedics raced up the hill in their snowcat and I fought to get the attention of the officials.
“There is stone, grit on the course near that flag,” I huffed.
He nodded, listening to me explain.
“We will check it out.”
Jeff had pulled up in front of me and opened his mouth to berate me, but I put a gloved hand up.
“Don’t. Someone threw rocks on the course. I’m more worried about Emmanuelle right now.”
Jeff’s face changed instantly. “Are you serious?”
“Deadly. Small white rocks. Look at my skis,” I clicked off my right ski and showed him the bases of my freshly waxed skis, now sporting several deep gouges down to the core.
“Fuck.” Jeff looked like a volcano about to erupt as he ran his fingers down the deep cuts.
“Agreed. Did Natasja wobble?”
“Not that I saw.”
“What I thought. She threatened me in the marshaling area.”
“That is a serious allegation, Sophie.”
“I know, but it is true. I can prove it. One of the officials saw.”
“Leave it with me.”
Suddenly, I felt lighter. Jeff hated me, but he hated cheating more. Pushing through the crowd, he was on a mission to find the Technical Delegate. The racing stopped as they transported Emmanuelle to the medical center and investigated my claims. As the snow cat passed containing Emmy wrapped in a space blanket, her eyes closed, I caught sight of Natasja’s face, black as thunder. I glared back. Not only had she tried to injure me, but she had also hurt a young girl, barely nineteen, and a newcomer to the circuit. Being Australian, we skied whatever type of snow we could get—bullet proof ice, elephant snot and death cookies, as we called the small icy pellets that appeared after a weather change in Australian ski resorts. But for a European or North American skier, used to powder and well-groomed piste, that would have thrown any skier off their game. I checked the scoreboard. Natasja was in first, and despite my wobble, I was only slightly behind, in second place. Had I crashed, they would have groomed the course as they transported me to the med center, and no one would have known. It was genius, except she had hurt the wrong girl.
Officials cleared us to return to the skiers’ area at the top of the hill as they investigated, groomed the course, and released the final skiers of the first run. This could take a while as they reviewed video footage. I was told to wait in the main area, and knew I was being watched, although not in a nasty way. Jeff’s booming voice was audible off in the distance, so at least it was under control.
Owen came flying through the doors, still in his race suit, and scanned the room for me. I stood and waved, and he scooped me into his arms, not caring who saw.
“Are you alright? What happened?”
“I’m fine. Emmanuelle isn’t. Last I heard, she has suspected fractured vertebrae and at least one broken leg.”
“Was there something wrong with the course?”
I nodded, gesturing for him to join me in the corner. The official watching me looked cautiously at us moving away but gave us privacy.
Within minutes I had filled him in on my two run-ins with Natasja, and her threat to destroy me.
“You think she dropped something as she raced?”
“I don’t see how she could. She posted a great time. But it was clear she had no problems, and I certainly did. Emmanuelle too.”
“Well, let’s just wait. It could be a genuine accident, but doesn’t sound like it.”
“Look at my ski bases.” I gestured to my skis resting along the wall. Owen and I had tuned our skis together the night before, so he knew the condition they were in. Like all of us, I did my course inspection in different skis, keeping my race tuned skis for my two timed runs only.
Owen stood and turned the skis over, running his fingers along the deep gouges in the bases. “Ah, no. Not an accident. These can’t be repaired, the damage is so deep.”
“Miss Russell, can you come with me, please.”
It was an instruction, not a request. Owen stood, ready to accompany me, but was promptly dismissed by the official.
“I’m sorry. We need to speak with her alone, Mr. Bartels.”
Owen opened his mouth to argue, and I placed a hand on his arm. “It’s fine. Just a formality.”
Picking up my skis, I followed the official to the office. They interrogated me for half an hour, and I told them everything. The threats made in the change rooms, the confrontation in the marshaling area. I could tell they were dubious, but I did not need to lie. Showing them the bases of my skis was the tipping point. Their faces changed as they looked at each other. There was no way I would have done that to my own skis, not when I was ranked second in the world and desperately wanted to win the race.
“Thank you, Miss Russell. You may return to the main area, but we will resume racing soon, so don’t go far.”
I nodded, wondering if Natasja would make the second run. There was no reason to think she wouldn’t. It would take longer than that to prove foul play. Owen insisted on helping me wax my replacement skis, staying near me, and even accompanied me to the marshaling area before my second run. As I was called, he spoke a touch louder than necessary, ensuring Natasja could hear.
“Prove to that bitch that she will not intimidate you. Do it for Emmanuelle. I need to get back for my run, but I will see you later, my love.”
Determined to not be a victim, I nailed my second run, hitting every gate and flying across the finish line. My name jumped into first place, and the crowd roared in approval. Waving to the crowd, I knew it was temporary. Natasja was skiing after me and only had to post the same time or better and she would win, again. I tried not to watch but couldn’t help it; she looked good coming down the course, but ever so slightly awkward, she didn’t have the usual fluidity of her turns. She crossed the finish line and dropped her head to her knees as her time appeared on the enormous digital board. Two-one hundredths of a second slower than me. The board refreshed, Natasja was in second place.
My heart jumped into my throat as I cleared the lower area, praying I could hold the lead. But right now, I needed to change and visit Emmanuelle.
By the time I reached the medical center, I had won, not only the race, but the World Cup. Later , I told myself. Right now, I needed to check on Emmy.
She was high on painkillers and waiting on a medivac home, but she was comfortable. The Canadian medical team had confirmed a broken collarbone, dislocated shoulder, and a fractured femur. The poor girl was out for months, facing surgeries and a long road to recovery. She smiled feebly at me and thanked me for visiting in a mix of French and English. I held her hand and promised her I would keep in touch. She was so young, and this was her first year on the circuit. I knew how it felt to be new, and now to be out for months. Likely, she would question everything she had valued.
“Are you ok?” She croaked in her lilting French accent. “They said you hit the stones too.”
“I did. But I was lucky,” I assured her. “I held on. I tried to tell them it was dangerous, Emmy, but you were already on course. But I promise you, I will find out what happened.”
“You know what happened?” Her French accent was made all the more charming by her confusion. We had all experienced enough concussions to know how that felt.
“I have an idea. But I won’t say anything until it is confirmed. I would never want to damage someone’s reputation.”
Emmy nodded and closed her eyes. The nurse gestured to me it was time to leave.
“I will talk to you soon, Emmy. Promise?”
“ Oui ,” she whispered, barely awake, and I slipped from the room.
Reentering the hotel, the lobby was abuzz with chatter and excitement. Seeing me, Jodi made a beeline for me.
“Everyone is looking for you. Did you hear?”
“Hear what?”
“Natasja was disqualified.”
“Why?” I asked cautiously, suspecting I already knew.
“No time. There is a media conference in a few minutes. Let’s go.”
Jodi raced down the hall to the function room where our last dinner would be held tonight, but was currently being set up with desks, lights, and cameras. All the major sporting networks were here. This was big news.
The Head of the International Federation d’Ski was being shown in and wasted no time in condemning the Austrian skier Natasja Zenina for her actions, which had willfully caused serious injury to the French skier Emmanuelle Marceau. The officials didn’t mention me, and since I had rightfully won the event and Natasja had been disqualified, I was the undisputed winner. For this, I was grateful. I had once won an event by default, and it felt wrong, like I hadn’t earned it. The FIS officials had compiled enough video footage from both official and media sources to see a man on the side of the course scatter small white stones on the course after Natasja’s run and before mine. They had immediately closed all access to the resort and had picked him up trying to leave. When questioned, he admitted Natasja had paid him to tamper with the course, resulting in his arrest. He had shown them his phone, with the call log from her immediately before her race, sealing her fate.
The Austrian ski coach spoke next, condemning her actions and informing the media that she had been removed from the Austrian team.
“We do not condone cheating,” he spoke clearly and firmly in German, the translator picking up the tone for the English-speaking audience. Natasja herself was nowhere to be seen, likely packing to get home as fast as she could to avoid a media scrum.
Owen slipped into the room and stood beside me, his hand finding mine in the crowd. “Be prepared. You know the media will ask you about it when we accept our medals.”
“I know,” I whispered back.
The next few hours were a blur. Award ceremonies, media conferences and a last dinner and party. Everyone painted Owen and me as the golden couple of ski racing, but even after all that had happened today, I was jittery. What would happen between us when we returned home tomorrow? The season wasn’t over. There were minor races, and we had publicity commitments. Over the past few days, sponsorship offers had started coming in for me, and us as a couple, but I had no mind for that now. We would both be returning to the States. Me to Beaver Creek to resume coaching the race club kids, and him to Vail. We hadn’t spoken about what we would do when we returned home, and I prayed this wasn’t a holiday romance. The truth was, I had fallen. Hard. Owen was everything I wanted in a man. Considerate, with old-school manners. He held doors open and always made sure I was ok. Asked what I wanted to order, never assuming he knew best. Over the past few months, he had become an enormous part of my life, and I couldn’t imagine a world without him in it. I wanted nothing more than to take him home to meet my family.
“What’s wrong darling?” he asked gently as we sat at dinner, the volume of the conversation increasing as more alcohol was consumed. It was the last time we would be together as a group for some time. Many had already left or were flying home in the next few days.
“Nothing,” I assured him, but he was far too perceptive.
“Are you worried about going home?”
“A bit,” I admitted.
“It will be fine. Vail and Beaver Creek are only 15 miles apart. We can see each other all the time.”
“I know.” But my heart sank. How could I say we had grown so close over the past few months, and it felt like reality would ruin that?
“Let’s talk on the plane tomorrow. Come on. Dance with me.”
Owen pulled me out of my seat onto the dance floor. Just as we stepped onto the illuminated surface, a slow number came on and he pulled me close. Low appreciative “ooohs” reached my ears, but I had no mind for anything but him.
“Goodness, I love you,” he murmured as his lips met mine in the semi-darkness.
“I love you too,” I admitted, scared about what this meant.