Chapter 19 #2
I confirm, telling my coaches what just happened after the last gate. The medic asks if I think I can walk, or if I need a stretcher. No way am I giving Jackson the satisfaction of being that right about this injury.
“I’ll walk,” I grunt out between clenched teeth.
They take my skis off and I roll over to my hands and knees.
There’s no way I can move my left leg under me, so I bring my right knee up instead and am able to put that foot down and push up so I’m almost standing, still crouched over, and I drag my left foot up under me as well.
I can’t quite come to a full stand, but Matt and Lyle each dip under one of my arms and help me start walking, slowly.
The crowd erupts in wild cheers, and I’m frustrated and angry that I’m not able to go over and shake hands with the racer in first place, and I’m pissed that Jackson was right, and I’m annoyed that I’m injured so early in the season.
So when Jackson meets us in the tent, her lips pressed together and her eyebrows raised, her gaze judgmental, I spit out, “Just don’t.”
“Don’t what?” she asks, the aggravation as clear as can be.
“Don’t say I told you so.”
“I would never,” she says, and for some reason she sounds hurt.
An hour later, I’m lying on the table under a blanket, more pissed off at the world than I have any right to be.
I should be pissed at myself for racing against the recommendation of my physical therapist, but it’s easier to blame Jackson.
She’s sitting next to me, texting. She hasn’t said a single word to me since Matt and Lyle brought me into the tent.
The doctor has come by and given me a muscle relaxant and I’m waiting for it to take effect before I can get up.
Even then, he warned that I’d be drowsy and sluggish, but I’ll take that over the throbbing in my back that’s sending shooting pains up to my ribs and down my leg.
I close my eyes for a minute, and when I reopen them I’m flanked by the doctor and Lyle.
My eyes swing around to find Jackson, and I have a hard time focusing on her down at the end of the table I’m lying on, standing there beyond my feet.
Marco’s standing next to her, his arm around her waist. I almost tell him to get his hands off her, but realize that she’s his girlfriend, not mine, and stop myself just in time.
Instead, a random jumble of slurred words leaves my lips.
I hate this feeling of not being in control of myself.
I must have fallen asleep when the drugs kicked in. I have no idea how long it’s been, but Marco’s not in his race suit so I imagine the race has been over for a while.
“We’re supposed to be leaving in fifteen minutes,” Matt says to the doctor. Whoa, where’d Matt come from? It’s like people are appearing and disappearing out of thin air. “Can he travel?”
We weren’t set to leave for Val Gardena until hours after the race ended. I guess I’ve been asleep, or totally out of it, for that long?
“I don’t think that’s a good idea. He should stay here at least for the night and wait to travel until he’s in less pain.
I imagine this intense pain will only last a day or so.
But he should give it at least two weeks before he starts training again, or he could re-aggravate the injury and be out much longer.
I’ll get you a prescription for him,” the doctor tells Jackson.
I hate that they’re talking about me like I’m not lying right here.
Lyle looks up at the ceiling of the tent like he’s praying for patience, and my own frustration—with myself and the situation—grows. “I’ll start looking for accommodations,” he says as the doctor turns to leave.
“He can just stay with us,” Marco says, and all eyes swing to him, especially Jackson’s, which are huge.
She gasps. “Marco, no.”
“It’s fine,” he replies, rubbing her back. Then he turns to me. “My best friend, Christian, has a house nearby and we were going to stay with him for two nights before heading to Val Gardena. You’re welcome to rest there while you figure out your next step.”
The palpable look of relief on Lyle’s face makes me feel like I have to say yes, but the look of horror on Jackson’s face is equally strong so obviously I should say no.
“That’s very thoughtful of you, Marco,” Lyle says before I have a chance to respond.
Jackson sighs.
“Are you sure you don’t mind?” I say. “I can probably just find a room at the resort here.”
“There’s plenty of room. Plus if you stay here, Jackson needs to stay too. You coming with us works out for everyone,” Marco says as he kisses the top of Jackson’s head. I want to punch him less than I thought I would, probably thanks to the drugs.
“I’ll bring your luggage here,” Lyle says and he’s out of the room quickly.
“I’m going to go call Christian and let him know,” Marco says to Jackson and gives her shoulder a squeeze. “I’ll wait outside for you.”
Once Marco’s gone and it’s just Jackson and I, she levels me with a glare.
“Are you more mad that I got myself injured when you told me I shouldn’t ski? Or that I’m infringing on your weekend with your boyfriend?”
“Let’s call them equal. This didn’t have to happen, Nate,” she says as she walks up to the head of the table. “You did this to yourself because you were too stubborn to listen to my medical advice.”
“I thought I could do it.”
“Well, you did end up in fifth overall. Your best finish yet. So I guess in some respects you were right. But at what cost?”
“I know.” I sigh. I’m going to miss at least the next two races, including my first Downhill event.
“Let’s see if we can get you sitting up. How’s the back feel?”
“Better than it did before the shot.” Jackson slides her forearms under my back, and her hair hangs right next to my face. I turn my head just enough to smell her hair, the scent of her is familiar and nostalgic at the same time. “All right, see if you can sit up with me helping you.”
She gets me to a sitting position, which hurts less than lying down because it’s stretching the muscle a bit.
Then she takes my race suit off and when Lyle brings my bags in, she gets me my ski team sweats and sweatshirt to put on over my base layer.
It takes forever to get me ready to go, but eventually I’m standing and ready to walk out of there, very slowly, on my own.
I reach out and put my hand on her arm as she walks next to me, and she stops and turns to face me. “Thank you,” I say quietly. It’s been so long since I’ve needed to rely on anyone else like this, and it’s difficult to be open to her help when I’ve always been the strong one helping her.
Well, not always. Not when it really mattered, I guess. That’s where Marco stepped in and maybe—it occurs to me for the first time—just maybe that means he deserves her more than I do.
Coravara, Italy
It’s already dinner time when we pull up to a two-story house.
Even in the dark I can tell from the way the house is situated at the top of the hill that it has an amazing view of the valley, facing the flat, jagged tips of the Dolomites in the distance with the rolling hills and the river playing out below.
The exterior of Christian’s house is white stucco with large windows or glass doors every few feet all the way around, and a balcony with wooden decorative railings that runs around the entire perimeter.
There’s a steeply pitched wood-shingled roof with small patches of snow on it here and there.
The stone foundation has a garage built in, and Marco uses an automatic door opener clipped to the sun visor in his SUV before pulling into the space, so I assume he must be a regular here.
He unpacks the bags from the trunk of his SUV, setting them on the garage floor and saying to Jackson, “Why don’t you take Nate up and introduce him to Christian. I’ll get the bags into the house.”
She nods, but her face has the look of someone who has swallowed something rotten. “Can you do the stairs up to the first floor?” she asks me.
“We’ll see,” I say, because I know it’s going to hurt like a bitch, but I don’t plan on being a baby about it either. Neither Jackson nor Marco need to see that weakness from me.
Luckily I’m able to step up with my right foot on each stair, and then bring my left leg up to the step. It’s slow going, but I make it without complaining about the pain. Given how badly it still hurts, I doubt I’d be able to move if I hadn’t had that muscle relaxant.
We enter a long hallway with a heated slate floor and a steeply pitched wooden ceiling that meets an exposed wooden beam running along the peak of the roofline. Jackson bends over and unties her boots, leaving them in a metal tray by the door, then she turns to me and unties mine.
“I can do it,” I say.
“Sure,” she mutters and continues untying my laces.
I glance down the hall to the left, where beautiful old wooden doorways lead to what I assume are bedrooms. To the right there’s an arched entryway to the kitchen on one side and another arched entryway to the living room on the other side.
The hallway opening at the end leads to the dining room, where a substantial wooden table sits in front of enormous windows and below a large chandelier made of antlers.
Even at first glance I know it’s exactly the kind of house I’d buy as an investment property.
Jackson leads me to the kitchen as Marco comes up the stairs behind us and heads the opposite direction with our bags.
Christian is standing at the stove stirring a pot and opens his arms to Jackson when we enter, sweeping her up into a hug with kisses on both cheeks.
He murmurs something in her ear in Italian and the only word I understand is interessante.
Jackson introduces us and we shake hands. His English is not as good as Marco’s and I wonder if they usually speak Italian when Marco and Jackson visit.
“You do not eat meat, yes?” he asks me.
“Yes, sorry. I know that makes it difficult.”