Chapter 21
CHAPTER
TWENTY-ONE
Mara was hiding.
From her dad, who had started messaging the night before the ten-kilometer freestyle. He had a new job opportunity and wanted it to look as if he had her stamp of approval.
From her mom, who just wanted to make sure she was eating and getting enough sleep.
She was hiding from Lindsey, who had apologized for being snippy. The Olympics were stressful and didn’t bring out people’s best. According to Lindsey.
Mara certainly hadn’t been bringing out her best. She felt out of sorts. Trash talking and fucking up interviews. Sleeping with Kirby. Freaking out over every simple thought in her head that almost, maybe, barely winked at being a feeling.
She was even hiding from Coach Karlsson, shutting down in the practice run for the freestyle ten-k when it didn’t go particularly well. Coach Karlsson kept trying to go over the turns and course breakdown, but Mara had been a brick wall.
And she was hiding from Kirby. From thoughts of Kirby. Hiding from the press clips going around where Kirby said things like, “it’s a lot sweeter defeating the best,” and “I would know,” and “Mara doesn’t matter.”
Mara locked everything away. The good stuff, like the defiant interviews and kisses and the tenderness that had bloomed between them.
The stuff that had made her feel free for the first time in ages.
She locked away the closeness and friendship she’d been developing with Jordan, and Brandilyn, and Lindsey. It was too scary.
And she hid from the bad too.
She hid from her performance in the ten-k interval start. She’d been in a weird headspace, and everything had suffered. It had felt messy and imprecise. She’d tried new sunglasses. A green pair. But they’d felt loose as she’d skied, and she knew she wouldn’t wear them again.
She’d won a bronze. Another bronze.
She had enough to decorate a Christmas tree with them.
Mara should have been happy with a bronze. And, outwardly, she was. It wasn’t an unexpected result. Most betting pools would have forecast her to place fourth or fifth, so some would say she’d outperformed expectations.
But Mara wanted a gold. She wanted to win every race she started.
As she stepped up on the podium, the lowest platform, and listened to the Swedish national anthem play for the gold medalist, Mara’s mind strayed to Kirby’s medal ceremony two days before.
Mara had watched it on silent on her phone, with the covers pulled over her head, so Lindsey wouldn’t see or hear.
Kirby had cried happy tears during her medal ceremony. And Mara had wished she’d seen her race the finals. Mara would never get that back, would never be able to change the fact she’d left.
She’d never get the two days between back, where she’d isolated herself.
Queen of compartmentalization. Of hiding. Of being alone.
But the isolation wasn’t working this time around. The quiet didn’t feel healing. It felt lonely and bad.
Mara stepped onto the ski treadmill. She didn’t love conditioning on the ski tread, much preferring to train on snow, but the coaches and physios were wanting to check her body alignment and hips. Her hip flexor had hurt since she’d finished the ten kilometer.
As she started skiing on the treadmill, she pulled her schedule up in her mind like a security blanket.
One day until Kirby raced the relay.
Five days until Kirby raced the team sprint with Brandilyn.
Nine days until the fifty-k.
One day. Five days. Nine days.
Kirby’s events. Her event.
She only had one Olympic race left.
“Focus, Mara,” Coach Karlsson said, voice clipped and gruff as always. “Try not to hide from the chance of pain when you activate that leg. You’re shying away because you think it might hurt.”
It was true.
She was hiding from the chance of pain. She was shying away from the possibility of being hurt.
Physically.
Emotionally.
“There. That’s better,” the physio said as Mara adjusted. “Feel okay?”
Her hip twinged at first, but then she pushed past it. She nodded.
After a few minutes, Coach Karlsson shut the ski treadmill down, and Mara caught her breath.
She looked up, and Kirby was across the room, leaning against the doorway, openly watching her.
Coach Karlsson followed Mara’s gaze and turned around. “Hello, KB. What are you doing here?”
“Checking out my competition.”
Kirby was layered up like she’d been outside. Her coat was black and luxe. She wasn’t dressed to ski, and Mara wondered where she’d been. And who she’d been with. And what she’d been doing. And, and, and.
Mara wanted to know everything.
“When will you be done, Mara?” Kirby asked. It was a neutral question asked with no emotions or teasing or hints.
Mara was used to the open, dramatic Kirby. Not this unreadable version.
“Now.”
Coach Karlsson looked between them. “What do you need, KB?”
Kirby shook her head and shrugged. “Nothing from you. I was hoping to chat with Mara.” Kirby pulled sunglasses off her head. The sunglasses. The black ones Mara had bought her. Kirby spun them around her fingers deliberately. “I have some questions.”
Uncomfortable silence settled in the room.
Kirby had searched her out. Kirby had found her. It had always been the opposite.
Mara’s heart started to race. Kirby was basically waving the sunglasses at Mara, and it couldn’t have been clearer what Kirby was asking for. What she needed.
“I’ll be right there, Bonham.”
Kirby’s eyes seemed to flash at hearing her last name. She turned on her heel and headed toward the locker room. Mara felt breathless, and it wasn’t from the training.
She hurried through getting unhooked from the treadmill.
Coach Karlsson casually moved closer. “You good, Mara?”
“Of course. My hip is fine.”
“I wasn’t talking about your hip. You seem…” Coach Karlsson cocked his head like he was measuring his words carefully. “You did great in the ten-k. I’m proud of you.”
His words were a blow. They hit Mara out of nowhere. She wasn’t able to barricade herself from the way they made her feel. Coach Karlsson was proud of her.
It wasn’t a phrase they used. Their coach-skier relationship was based on respect, goals, and improvement. Not gushy stuff like being proud. Coach Karlsson was the least sentimental person she knew. That was why they worked so well together.
“Thanks. I should have placed higher.”
“No. You did good.” He frowned. “You’re allowed to be happy, you know.”
Mara clenched her teeth to stop the rush of emotions. Happiness. Joy. Sadness.
Everyone wanted her to open her heart and feel. And she just couldn’t. Because if she did, it would all snowball. The Olympics weren’t the place for an emotional awakening.
Mara nodded at Coach Karlsson, said goodbye to the others in the room, and went to find Kirby.
Kirby was alone in the locker room, looking at her phone.
She’d taken her coat off, and Mara could see she was in one of the many Olympic uniforms they’d received.
It was the one they were supposed to wear during interviews, so it was easy to assume that’s where Kirby had been.
She had on makeup too. Her cheeks were sparkly.
“Hi,” Mara said, and Kirby jumped like she hadn’t realized Mara had come in.
“Hi.”
“Are you… Do you need something?” Mara asked. That was why Mara searched out Kirby. Because she needed.
Needed connection. Needed the heat and excitement and freedom of letting herself be fully herself. Needed release. Needed to fight.
But she had no idea what Kirby needed.
“No. I just—I don’t know,” Kirby said warily.
Mara sat beside her. It had been one hundred and forty hours since they’d spoken, and Mara had so much to say stored up inside her. But she couldn’t allow any of it to come out.
“I was watching our condom unboxing video earlier. I got asked about it in an interview. Got asked about you, of course,” Kirby said. She seemed reserved and aloof. It was strange.
“What did you say?”
“Something biting and off-color. You’ll hate it, which means you’ll also love it. But it wasn’t what I wanted to say.”
“What did you want to say?”
Kirby scooted closer, their hips touching. “That I can’t stop thinking about this.” She lifted her phone and pressed Play.
In the video, Kirby launched herself at a laughing Mara, pinning her to a couch in the lounge and kissing the hell out of her.
“Oh, God.” Mara could hardly watch. She’d known that was on video, that Kirby had a clip of it on her phone. But there were so many other things vying for attention in her brain that she’d barely given it a second thought.
“I’ve watched it a bunch of times,” Kirby said.
Mara frowned and looked at Kirby. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah. Maybe not. I don’t know. I feel weird. Don’t you feel weird?”
Mara didn’t know how to respond to that. She carried low-level discomfort on her like a base layer, so of course she felt weird.
But she didn’t want Kirby to. Maybe she would be able to take Kirby’s mind off the weirdness, to set her at ease and get her back on track.
Mara checked the room to make sure they were alone. She brushed Kirby’s hair behind her ear, and Kirby’s eyes fluttered shut.
Mara followed her fingers with her lips, kissing Kirby’s neck, her jaw. “We can’t do this here, Bonham.”
“Don’t call me that.”
Kirby. KB. Her name, her nickname. They had tasted so good, had felt so good when Mara allowed herself to say them, but she couldn’t right then. She couldn’t be that vulnerable. If Kirby needed to fuck, Mara could do that. If Kirby needed something deeper, she couldn’t.
“Where can we go?” Mara asked, her lips at Kirby’s ear.
Kirby grabbed the back of Mara’s head, gripped it, and kissed her. It was all clashing lips and teeth for a few seconds before Kirby’s incredible finesse kicked in, and she slowed way down. It was bone-quaking, gold-medal kissing.
The best kissing. It was as wonderful as the orgasms they’d shared. It was as wonderful as anything Mara had ever experienced. As everything she’d experienced.
Kirby backed off and stared at her warily.
“What do you think your life would be like if you hadn’t become a cross-country ski racer?” Kirby asked.
“What? What do you mean?” Mara was still reeling from the kiss. She could hardly breathe, much less talk.
“If your life had zigged rather than zagging. Your parents sign you up for piano lessons instead of ski and voilà.”
“Why are you asking that?”
“God, Mara. It’s called a conversation.” Kirby stood up, ripping herself away from Mara’s greedy hands.
“Don’t you ever think about anything besides the competition and winning?
Like where you’ll enjoy skiing when this whole circus is done chewing us up and spitting us out.
Who you would have been without skiing. Who you will be without it.
I’m trying to make small talk with you.”
Mara had no idea who she was without skiing. Without racing. She would find out soon enough, but she didn’t want to worry about it yet.
“That’s not small, and you know it.”
“Okay, I’m trying to get to know you a tiny bit better.”
“That’s not what…” That’s not what this is. Mara almost said it, but the words stuck in her throat. “I’d probably have married my high school boyfriend, had some kids, lived up in the fancy houses on the hillside in Anchorage. He’s a cosmetic dentist now.”
“You’d have such pretty veneers.”
“Yes.”
“Do you even like men?”
“Not particularly, no.”
Kirby laughed, and it made Mara feel way too happy to make her smile. It wasn’t good for Mara to be so invested in Kirby’s laugh, in her happiness, her joyful smile.
“I don’t want to talk about stuff like this,” Mara said.
“Why?”
“We need to focus. I need to focus.”
“And talking to me in an empty locker room is really cramping your intentionality, momentum, and rhythm? Or whatever nonsense buzz words you drop in interviews.”
“Yeah, Bonham. It kind of is.”
“Don’t call me that.”
Mara didn’t like where this was going. She wasn’t sure if it was the pressure cooker of the Olympics, or maybe it was her own hang-ups, but everything felt heavy.
Every word. Every action. It had been building for days.
Since her crash in the skiathlon. Maybe since their kisses in Oberhof after Kirby’s panic attack.
And it was all getting mixed up in Mara’s brain. Her plans and goals.
To craft her legacy.
To win gold.
To enjoy her last experience at the Olympics.
To do her best.
What was her real purpose here?
Surely, it wasn’t… it couldn’t be to fall for her biggest fucking rival. It just couldn’t be.
Mara met Kirby’s eyes. They were the brightest blue. Like a glacier-fed lake. And so wounded. So hurt, even though Mara hadn’t pulled the trigger on their situation yet. But Kirby knew it was coming. She had to.
Mara refused to put her skiing at risk. This—Kirby—was taking up too much emotional bandwidth. Too much mental load.
“If you want to fuck again, let me know, but I’m not your emotional crutch, Kirby.”