Chapter Thirty-Eight
I was no longer feeling the cold.
Ben and I kissed our way back to the Village in every secluded patch of real estate, until we were forced to pretend to be
business acquaintances just outside the main gates.
“You have your credentials, right?” I asked him as we approached the checkpoint. “Because getting in and out is intense, even
for me.”
He reached into his parka and pulled out the laminated badge. “Yup. And my two forms of ID, and clean hands for the fingerprints.”
“Do you have an easily accessible vein for the blood draw? Because that’s part of the protocol after five.”
“At the ready.” Ben cracked a smile as he held up his arm.
Olympic Village security was nothing to joke about, and every time I ran the gauntlet I was reminded that I had Ben to thank
for the shiny new driver’s license I handed over. It didn’t matter how recognizable an athlete was, we all had to subject
ourselves to rigorous scrutiny to get back into the Village. Not just the ID, credentials, metal detector, and bag check,
but also a surprisingly thorough Q&A, with everything logged on an iPad.
It didn’t matter that I had every right to be there, the stress of the inquisition still left me feeling like maybe I’d accidentally packed a machine gun in my evening bag and forgotten about it.
We approached the two unsmiling guards who both looked like they took their jobs very seriously. I went through the drill
first, offering all my paperwork and chatting about the event we’d just left. Security felt like a different planet from the
rest of the Village, where the smiles and kindness were nonstop. But I understood the seriousness of security’s job given
the state of the world. The uniformed pair acted like a switch had flipped once they’d confirmed that I was who I said I was,
then they turned to Ben.
“Good evening, sir,” the taller one said in accented English.
“Buonasera,” Ben replied, hitting the accent hard. “Come sta?”
He didn’t even get an eyebrow twitch in response as they looked at his paperwork.
“You’re media, yes?” the taller one asked.
“Sì, sono con Vox,” Ben answered.
I guessed that he’d referenced The Score’s parent company since their signs were all over the Village. All he got in response was a tight-lipped nod.
“I spent today at Livigno, covering freestyle skiing practice,” he explained, abandoning the Italian since it didn’t seem
to be having an impact on the stony-faced men. “But I was here the day before, for hours.”
One guard pointed out something on the iPad to the other one.
“I’m sorry, sir, your credentials don’t allow you to visit the Village after five. No entry until tomorrow morning at eight.”
Ben frowned at them. “Well, that’s not true. I’ve been allowed to stay much later than that.”
The taller guard nodded at him. “Capito. But it looks like something has shifted with your allowances. You’re tier three now, so I cannot let you in.”
He handed the stack of credentials back to Ben triumphantly, like they’d just prevented a felon from entering the safe zone.
An ember of worry ignited inside me.
“No,” Ben stared at the documents in his hands. “That’s not correct. I’m tier one. I have been since I got here. And I’m a
former Olympic athlete in addition to being a correspondent. Bennett Martino?” He tapped his chest and gave the man a hopeful
look.
“I’m sorry, sir. There’s nothing more we can do.”
“è assurdo!” Ben exclaimed, smacking the back of his hand on the documents. “Something’s broken with your check-in process,
because I know for a fact that I have full-access credentials.”
“Non mi riguarda,” the mustachioed guard said with a shrug.
Ben started to say something then stopped himself.
I put my hand on his forearm. “It’s probably just a glitch. It’s okay, let’s figure something else out for now.”
I could see the worry creasing his face, which I totally understood. Too many signs were pointing toward a shake-up at the
show. Ben was cemented in place in front of the guard box, like he couldn’t believe that anyone would refuse Magic Martino.
“Come on.” I gave him a gentle tug. “We can figure it out tomorrow.”
“You can enter, signorina,” the guard smiled at me. “Just not him.”
Clearly. Thanks for the salt in his wound, sir.
Ben finally seemed to come back to consciousness and let me pull him away from the entrance.
“So fucking weird,” he mumbled. “It doesn’t make sense. I was told that our partnership with Vox and their sponsorship of the Games meant full access. And I’ve had full access since I got here.”
“Just a hiccup, I’m sure of it,” I said. I glanced around the street and now wished I’d worn a hat, not because of the cold
but because our proximity to the Village meant that the people clustered around were starting to recognize us. Fans seemed
to understand that waiting near the entrance almost guaranteed athlete drive-bys.
“Let’s walk,” I said, putting a few steps between us to continue the plausible deniability of us being together.
I could see a couple of people in my peripheral vision starting to speed walk toward us. I knew the always affable Ben was
processing what the possible credential shift meant, so it was my turn to run front. I steered him toward an alley, then pulled
him through a door with red lettering that was either to a private home or the world’s smallest bar.
Thankfully, it was the second option, a windowless brick room that felt subterranean. The walls were crowded with paintings
and oddities, so the décor combined with the low, sloped ceiling and dim lighting meant that we’d found the perfect hideaway
spot.
“Shall we sit?” I asked him.
He was finally starting to shake out of his trance. “Sure.”
We found two open chairs at the end of the bar, right near the server station. The place was crowded with people wearing shades
of black and gray and not a single star-spangled banner tribute among them. No one even looked our way as we settled in.
A bartender with slicked-back black hair nodded his chin toward us.
“Hai qualcosa di analcolico?” Ben said.
“Certo,” the man replied and handed Ben a small menu.
He turned to me. “Do you want a real drink? Because I’m having a mocktail.”
“Mocktail for sure,” I agreed. We were two days out from competition and I was doing my best to stay true to my meal planning
despite the upside-downness of my life in the Village.
“What are you thinking? Sharp, or fruity . . .”
“Bartender’s choice,” I shrugged.
Ben rattled off our order and then started fiddling with the coaster in front of him.
“I’m fine,” he said abruptly. He turned to me with his face arranged in a smile that neither one of us believed. “I’ll figure
out the credential bullshit tomorrow. Let’s talk about something else.”
I placed my elbow on the bar and leaned closer to him. “Maybe we should talk about a detour to your hotel after this?”
“Oh, sure.” He barked out a laugh. “My roommate, Barry, would love it.”
I hid my pout. All I could think about was getting him alone again, and we were getting derailed at every attempt.
“Are you serious? They’re making you share rooms?”
“Yeah, a bunch of us are but Kim and the other execs aren’t even in the same hotel as us. They’re in some luxury hotel down
the road.”
“What’s she like? Kim? Because her vibe is Business Barbie. And she was sort of cunty to me during the press conference.”
I hadn’t mentioned the tense few minutes to him.
“What? Seriously? What did she say?”
He sounded like a dad hearing his kid had been bullied.
“Don’t worry about it. I handled it. Handled her. But what’s she like to work with?”
His expression pinched as he considered the question with the new information. “We got along great at first. She went to bat
for me despite . . . everything. Now, I’m not so sure. But she knows her shit. She has a vision for the show that can verge
on dictatorial.”
His tone made it sound like he had more to say but he broke off abruptly.
“Do you like her?” I asked.
“I did. We’ve sort of been butting heads lately.”
The bartender delivered our order and I was delighted to receive a Creamsicle-colored drink with slices of orange hanging
off the rim, and a black-and-white-striped straw in it. The thing was a party compared to Ben’s tumbler of muddy liquid over
ice.
I held up my drink. “To us.”
He tapped his tumbler to my glass. “Cin cin.”
I wasn’t used to being the cheerer-upper for Ben, since it seemed like the man never had a bad day. It felt like every topic
I wanted to get into with him was off limits, specifically what the hell was going on with the show, and more important, what
we were to each other.
Ben broke the silence first. “You’re ready,” he said.
It was a non sequitur but he didn’t have to explain what he meant.
“Yeah.” I nodded. “I am. I feel really good. Confident in a way I’ve never experienced.”
“That’s the most important part,” he said. “If you can keep your peace in here,” he clutched both hands over his chest, “then you’ll be fine. It’s easy to get caught up in the weirdness of being at the Games, but all that matters is staying true to you.”
“Agreed.” I took a sip of the drink that tasted like dessert in a glass.
“So I’m guessing it feels different this time around?”
Here I was maintaining a boundary for him, yet he was crossing one of mine. But I’d always insisted that we couldn’t talk
about my past on the record. This was a case of a fellow athlete checking in on me, not an attempt to trauma harvest for public
consumption.
“It really does feel different. I can’t even compare the two experiences, because I was so miserable in Switzerland that my
memory has holes. Like, I can’t remember entire days.”
His expression went pained as he watched me. “Trauma can do that to you.”
I stopped fiddling with my fancy straw and returned his gaze.
“How much trauma are you dealing with right now? Because you’re not you, Ben, and it’s sort of freaking me out.”
“Quinn,” he sighed. “Let’s not.”
“No, let’s. Because I’m getting some really weird vibes about what’s happening with you and the show and I’m worried.”
“Now’s not the time,” he insisted, staring at his tumbler and not me.
“Ben.”
I said it so sharply that he jumped, and the couple next to us glanced over.
I lowered my voice. “Talk to me. Please. You should know firsthand that keeping everything bottled up is unhealthy. I can
handle it, I swear.”
He sighed again, heavier and deeper. I wanted to rub his slumped shoulders but worried that touching him might derail us.
“Fine. You want to know?” His voice was sandpaper. “I’m getting the sense that the show might not sign me, and I’m worried
about what’ll happen to me if they don’t. I’m feeling, like, these echoes of how I felt four years ago.” It came out in a rush, like it was hard for him to admit it out loud.
A stone formed in my chest as I watched his face go ashen.
“I feel weak,” he whispered, finally turning to stare at me with haunted eyes. “I don’t want you to see me like that, at any point, but
especially now. I want to be strong for you, Quinn, and all of a sudden I’m worrying that I won’t be able to. I’m terrified
that I might wind up back on my couch for months if this thing doesn’t pan out. Because how fucking humiliating would it be?”
He looked queasy at the thought.
“But why wouldn’t they hire you?”
He seemed to grapple with his response. “It’s complicated. All I know for sure is that it’s not looking great,” he finally
admitted. “On paper, I have the tools to deal with a setback like this. Not getting hired. But . . . what if I can’t?”
“Then I’ll be strong for you,” I insisted. I threaded my hand around his arm.
“No, but that’s what you don’t understand, Quinn. You’re about to experience some pain with the transition back to being a
regular human being. Trust me, it doesn’t matter how strong you feel now, or what medal you bring home, the aftermath of the
Olympics will be tough. What you experienced last time was different.
This is your final Olympics, no chance for another shot at glory, and that brings a totally different kind of bullshit.
That’s where I’m supposed to come in to help you, because I’ve been there, done that, bought the therapy.
But if that black dog comes back? I’m worthless. ”
I squeezed his bicep. “Ben, stop. You don’t have to be my hero, you just have to be here.”
He didn’t answer.
The bartender came over to check on us and Ben shifted away from me. It felt deliberate.
After we finished our drinks we began the slow walk back to the Village, making small talk about the Vox party while I tried
to pretend that everything was normal. But there was a new wall between us courtesy of Ben, and it was my turn to do some
demolition.
It was probably the last time we were going to connect in person before I skated, and I couldn’t resist pushing for a little
clarification. I didn’t want to have to worry about our status as I fell asleep in addition to every other challenge whizzing
around my brain and keeping me awake.
It felt selfish, but I knew that we could weather whatever was to come if we faced it together.
“Are we okay?” I asked him quietly. “You and me?”
Saying it out loud made me feel itchy. We’d danced around defining whatever was taking root between us, but what our bodies
had been saying left little doubt.
“What do you mean?”
Him not following the implication was a dagger in my heart. How could he not know what I was talking about?
“Nothing. All good.” I pulled my coat across my chest and crossed my arms tightly.
“The only thing that matters right now is both of us doing what we came here to do. No distractions, right?”
I nodded. Not exactly what I wanted to hear, but it was what I’d agreed to.
“Focus on winning,” he added. “We’ll figure the rest out later.”
I nodded again and hoped my heart would get the message.