Chapter 20 – Pure Gol
The World Watche s
Late Februar y
Amelia
It's been grueling this past month—the kind of exhaustion that lives inside your bones and refuses to let up. Between practice and trying to escape my private life, it's been more difficult than I imagined.
When Jaxson's last antics blew up on the internet, and Bash kicked me out on Christmas, my life didn't unravel slowly. It imploded.
I didn't waste time grieving.
Nita pulled us into my driveway before dusk. Her brothers were already waiting in their trucks, a small extrac tion team. We worked fast. Quiet. Surgical. Everything I wanted to keep from my life with Jaxson went into a storage unit before the night was out. I left everything else behind.
By the time the last box was put away, I was ensconced in Nita's parents' living room, a mug of cocoa warming my hands while her family carried on a Christmas party around me, as if normal still existed.
It wasn't the merriest Christmas of my life. Even in a room full of cheerful people, it was the loneliest.
But it was safe, a small oasis of calm in the storm.
No lingering memories stalking me from room to room, waiting to ambush me. No heavy silences to remind me that I no longer mattered. I had finally shed the dead weight of my marriage and left it behind in that big house that had grown cold.
I didn't feel helpless anymore. I felt…
Empowered.
Ready.
Hopeful.
Filled with possibilities.
A blank page… waiting for my story to unfold.
I scrubbed my social media of anyone remotely connected to Jaxson or Bash.
Since Bash kicked me to the curb after he realized I was Jaxson's wife, he'd repeat edly tried to contact me.
I don't want any lingering digital ghosts breathing down my neck.
If healing is to happen, I need space to breathe.
By January, I moved into a condo in a gated community in the adjacent town. Security guards, high fences, cameras, quiet neighbors. Safety.
In my newly acquired peace, I trained, competed, and kept winning
And now, finally, I'm here. At the Olympics.
The ice stretches beneath me, polished to perfection. The arena hums with anticipation, packed with thousands of bodies. My heart lodges in my throat, not because I doubt my ability, but because somewhere buried deep in the marrow of my dreams, Jaxson is supposed to be here.
Cheering.
Proud.
Mine.
When that dream shattered, Bash slipped into the empty space. He had always called me before and after every competition. His deep voice settled me until he crushed me, too.
The music begins.
Everything else dissolves .
My body takes over, muscle memory guiding me in every edge, every lift of my arms, every rotation. The crowd fades into nothing but a hushed buzz, a vibration. I'm breath and blade and momentum.
Jump.
Land.
Spin.
Extension.
Again.
The final spin coils tight, my body folding upon itself until the world blurs into streaks of color and light. I release, arms lifting as the music crashes into its final note.
Silence.
Then the arena explodes.
Applause crashes over me in waves, like the surf, thunderous and wild. My chest heaves as I catch my breath, adrenaline flooding my system. I bow instinctively as tears sting my eyes.
This isn't a game.
This is triumph.
Scores roll in as my heartbeat slows. Numbers climb, and my breath catches. I can't even fathom it, even as the announcer confirms.
Gold. Pure, undeniable gold .
My hands fly to my mouth as dizziness washes over me. My coach reaches me first, plows into me, and swings me around. Relief, pride, grief, joy, my emotions knot together in my chest.
The cameras swarm as the officials approach. Security tightens around me.
Then I see them.
Jaxson stands near the barricade, eyes locked on me, unblinking like he's afraid I'll vanish. He's smiling and clapping enthusiastically. Bash is a few feet back, cheering too, quieter, more reserved, as if he's trying not to draw Jaxson's notice. He looks protective, remorseful.
My stomach sinks.
Of all the places to see them both again, of course, it has to be here, at this moment. I should've expected it. My last win was covered by every major sports network. Reporters were vying for an interview, but I had managed to dodge them for the most part. I won't be that lucky now, it seems.
I narrow my eyes and straighten my shoulders. This is my moment, not theirs, and I won't let them take it from me.
I turn to the reporters crowding in and answer a few questions. They start slow, with general questions about my career, then turn rapid-fire when they turn to Jaxson.
"How long have you worked toward becoming an Olympic champion?"
"After the last Olympics, fans thought you were done. What changed your mind?"
"There are rumors that you and Jaxson are divorcing. Can you comment?"
"Are you still together?"
"What are your plans for your marriage?"
My manager steps in front of me, lifting a hand.
"Gentlemen. Ladies. We're steering this away from Ms. Smith's personal life," she says firmly. "We won't be addressing rumors. We're here to celebrate Amelia's career and her win. Nothing more."
She eyes the grumbling crowd.
"If there are no further questions about figure skating, Amelia's returning to the locker room to rest until results are finalized."
My security escorts me through the crowd.
As I head down the athletes' corridor toward the locker rooms, a tall blonde in a tight skirt and heels steps into my path. I dodge right. She slides in front of me again. My security detail steps forward.
"How'd you get back here?" I ask .
"I have my ways," she says sweetly, licking her lips. Her smile sharpens, her eyes glittering with something ugly underneath. She doesn't even acknowledge the two giant bruisers beside me.
I recognize that voice.
She steps closer. I don't move.
"What do you want?"
"I want to congratulate you on your win," she purrs. "Guess sleeping your way to the top really does work."
The words glance off years of sweat and sacrifice. They don't land, but they do piss me off. I narrow my eyes as recognition settles in. This psycho is Mandy.
I look over her, unimpressed. The tight skirt and tank top leave little to the imagination. Her blonde hair's brassy and clashes with her heavy makeup. Under different circumstances, she'd probably be attractive. Instead, she's packaged herself to invite the kind of attention I wouldn't touch.
You do you, girl. I'm not judging how anyone lives their life.
But it says a lot about Jaxson if this is what he goes for.
The difference between us is night and day. Her whole vibe gives off you take me home, but not to momma. Mine's always leaned more toward the girl next door.
Don't get me wrong, I enjoy sex. I enjoy intimacy, heat, and the connection when it's real.
Jaxson and I once had a steaming-hot relationship, until he ruined it.
Now, I can't even imagine wanting him or letting him touch me.
I won't share my body with a man who can't be trusted or keep his vows.
A married man chasing other women isn't tempting. It's pathetic.
If I didn't already know my marriage was over, this sight right here would seal it. If this is the type of man Jaxson's become, I'd never compete for his attention. Not with her. Not with anyone.
Believe me, I'm not vain, but put me in something similar, with a more polished look and better blonde hair, I'd blow her out of the water. Her look tells me everything I need to know about her, about just how deeply the rot in Jaxson goes, about the demise of our marriage.
"Careful, Mandy," I say lightly, matching her energy, meeting her gaze. "Your jealousy's showing. Green's not your color."
Her eyes flash. She leans in, aggressive.
A firm arm blocks her .
Her gaze lifts to the solid body looming over me—Jaxson.
"Baby…" she moans in obvious pain.
Jaxson's grip on her arm is brutal.
"What are you doing here?" he snarls.
I haven't heard his voice in months, and it makes my heart clench in pain.
He slings her arm away, causing her to fall.
Her eyes glisten as she looks at him.
"B—baby?" she stutters.
He doesn't soften.
"I asked why you're here?" he spits. "You don't belong."
"I—I followed you," she says weakly.
My security team lifts her to her feet and stands her in front of me.
Mandy glares at me, chest heaving, her hands out like she's ready to strike. I lift my hand.
"No," I say, calm and cutting. "You're not worth dirtying my hands over."
She jerks forward, pouncing, desperate, trying to hit or scratch me.
I step back, and her claws meet nothing but air.
Her forward momentum carries her straight to the concrete floor, and she hits it hard—face first. A sicken ing wet crack echoes as blood gushes from her nose. She screams, crying, holding her face.
I have no sympathy for this unhinged woman.
"You won't touch me," I laugh breezily. "You never could."
Security helps her to her feet once again, one of them offering her a handkerchief.
"He chose me, time and again," she shrieks, blood splattering.
Jaxson steps forward, voice harsh and cutting. "I would never choose you over Melly."
"You did choose me, Jaxson," she looks at him, pleading. "Who warms your bed every night? It's not her, it's me!" She reaches a bloody hand out to him. He cringes, both at her words and her touch.
"I don't want you, Mandy. I never did," Jaxson says, low and remorseful. "It was just sex. You were just there."
Her mouth drops open, her face pales with shock as her eyes fill with tears. I tilt my chin up, forcing her to meet my glare.
"If he weren't so disgusting to me right now, I'd show you how he is still mine. Always was. But I don't want anything that was ever yours in any way. Once he touche d you, there was no coming back from it. He lost me. Keep him—he's your problem now."
I hear a sharp gasp from Jaxson and look his way. His face pale, his shoulders slumped, he reaches for me. But my guard blocks him. They know the drill.