Chapter 10 Ford
Cowbells my last rider before Chase was one of the richest people I knew and just did this for fun.
The $50k he’d get in our split of winnings was chump change to him.
Once, I think I even offended him when he got his portion of a smaller check.
He waived it off, telling me to keep it unless it was over five grand—that I needed it worse.
Today’s prize money was just over $150k.
That would mean seventy-five grand for each of us.
Surely, that would help put a dent on a starter home for Chase and his family.
Thinking about people other than myself had consequences, as I was now worried to death I might fail somehow. I could see why I never did it before.
“Thanks for the phone, Jack,” I said, holding it up.
“Well, I’m going to go check on my racing skis.
They were getting waxed a little earlier,” I said, as I excused myself from the conversation.
Jack nodded; he was too superstitious to wish us luck or so much as ask about how anyone was feeling.
In his years of being an athlete manager, he said his favorite parts were securing brand deals and that watching the athletes perform gave him incredible anxiety.
Suddenly, I understood that. It was because he cared about people, like I did with Chase. Like God does for me.
As soon as I was away from the group of people and standing in line at the wax station waiting for my skis, I realized the crowd of spectators could be seen from here.
I scoured the crowd for a beautiful brunette with bright eyes in a white coat, but I didn’t see anyone.
Catching my eye was the side profile of a woman who looked very familiar in a bright red coat—one that was too bright to ignore.
Kind of like Presley. She turned at that moment and smiled at me: it was Presley.
I smiled back as she sat on the bleachers.
No doubt she was freezing; though the Winter Games were starting soon, it was only about to get warmer for me but not for her, sitting still on a set of metal bleachers.
Once I grabbed my skis and thanked the man for working on them, I gave them a quick inspection and saw all was well, then I went looking for Jack. I had a favor to ask.
“There you are,” I said, finding him in the women's ice-skating competitors’ tent. “How did I know I would find you here?” I cocked my eyebrow.
“I can’t help it. I’m a man who loves a woman in sequins, so I’m here seeing if any of these beautiful ladies are single.
Look at her—she has crystals on her eyelids.
” Jack looked at the women in awe. He was a nice man.
I never saw him objectifying or being inappropriate around women.
But he was incredibly lonely, and I wished he could find a wife.
He wasn’t yet fifty years old; there was still plenty of time for him to have a family, even.