Chapter 18 #2
Sam said nothing. Gripping her hands together behind her back, she clamped her lips together.
Her chest tightened painfully. Part of her wanted to forgive him, but the other part remembered missed birthdays, constant training, early mornings and putting herself second.
Her eyes stung as he stood before her, suddenly looking smaller and older than she’d ever realized he was.
He’d given his life to this sport. He’d won awards and accolades, but he’d also lost so much.
Jake shifted and shrugged. “Tomorrow—”
“Tomorrow, I’ll do it my way.” Sam cut him off, her voice stronger than before. “I think I’ve earned that right.”
Jake’s eyes met hers. For once, there was no judgment, no anger, no power. Only something raw and lost. He nodded.
Before she could say anything else, Sam spun away and walked as quickly as she could to the exit.
Her heart didn’t race; she didn’t long to turn around and apologize for speaking out.
A quiet resolve warmed her, from her feet up.
She was done being told what to do. It was going to be her way from now on—and that meant she was going to focus on herself.
A sliver of sadness made her stop for a moment.
She glanced back at Jake. Something softer gripped her heart.
For a second she wanted to run back to him, to tell him it was okay, and that they could fix it—that she could fix it.
But she couldn’t. She turned away. Her face crumpled.
Wiping her nose with her cuff she blinked back her tears.
It wasn’t up to her to fix it anymore—in truth, it never had been.
She’d taken on that role blindly, trying to make everyone happy, not seeing that it was like putting a Band-Aid on a brain hemorrhage.
It was never going to work, never going to mend them all.
No, she had to fix herself, and hopefully her dad would learn that he had to do that too.
Crowds milled around outside, and she skirted the larger groups, pausing every now and then to pose for a photo, her hands trembling as the conversation with her dad rattled around inside her.
She felt awkward, like an imposter, but no one seemed to notice or care.
The crowds dispersed and she spotted Maya and Gabe by a hot food stand.
“Sam!” Maya waved both arms like she was directing traffic. “Over here! Emergency carbs!”
Sam made her way over, smiling and nodding to people as they called out to her.
“Look!” Maya shoved her hand under Sam’s nose. She rolled her eyes playfully. “It’s called a Würstel, sounds exotic, I know, but it’s basically a hot dog—though it tastes far superior to a hot dog.”
Gabriel snorted. “I tried to have a panini, but now …” He held up his hands, a Würstel in each. “She couldn’t decide on toppings.”
Maya beamed at him. “Well, I needed expert advice. And who’s more qualified than a man who treats mustard like a life decision?”
For a second, Gabriel stared at her, like he couldn’t quite believe she existed—and then, to Sam’s astonishment, he laughed. “Some of us like a more understated approach to … chaos.” His eyes glimmered as he handed Maya a Würstel.
“Ooooh what are these?” Maya picked up what looked like a pepper.
“Peperoncini—a little pickled spicy pepper,” Gabriel said, leaning heavily into his Italian accent. “A little like you—you should enjoy them.”
Maya lowered her chin. “Is that a promise?”
“So, this is how it begins.” Sam laughed, her mood picking up.
Gabriel’s face froze and Sam burst out laughing.
“Don’t say I didn’t warn you!” She slipped her hands into her pockets.
Her fingers brushed against something cold, hard.
She frowned, curling her hand around it she pulled it from her pocket.
Finn’s medal.
The gold glinted under the bright lights, the ribbon hung loosely from her hand.
She bit her lip. She’d shoved it into her pocket last night and had forgotten about it—it looked like Finn had too.
But how could anyone forget they had an Olympic gold medal?
Sam turned it over in her palm, her finger tracing the surface lightly.
The weight of it pressed against her skin—a reminder of how his body had pressed against hers last night—real, hard—and within her reach.
She pushed his medal back into her pocket.
Finn—she really needed to see him—to talk to him about them.
And now was as good a time as ever—maybe even the best time.
“Enjoy your … Würstels.” Sam grinned. “I have to go. I’ll see you later.” Sam pulled her gloves from her pockets and tugged them on as a swirl of butterflies danced in the pit of her stomach.
Inhaling the cold, sharp air, she slipped away, avoiding the crowds and cameras by dodging down a quiet street.
The snow hadn’t stopped since this morning and had only gotten heavier as the day progressed.
Now it was beginning to really come down and she tilted her face up for a moment, letting the large, soft flakes land on her nose and eyelashes.
This was what she loved, the stillness after the adrenaline, and the sense of achievement.
But right now, she couldn’t wait to see Finn, to see his warm, open face—and how he seemed to smile in a certain way only for her.
She wanted to share his space, her tummy rumbled, and his food—and if it went well, then she’d maybe tackle that she wanted more than friendship.
She’d have to wait and see how he took some normal conversation first before launching into how much she wanted him.
Crossing her fingers, she quickly turned the corner and dashed across the road to Rustico.