Chapter 45 Jett
JETT
“I can’t thank you enough for you doing this,” I say to Dan as I approach my hotel room and turn to face him, adjusting the strap of my duffel bag on my shoulder. “The sponsorship, coming all this way. It means a lot.”
Dan and I were up late into the night, poring over the rule book to figure out how I could get to Zermatt without Nuclear.
Buried deep in the fine print was a clause outlining that a previous World Cup champion could sponsor an athlete, and it just made sense.
Now it feels like the only way I’d have wanted to come, having the one person who has pushed me, encouraged me, been like a father to me, standing behind me.
“You need someone to keep you in line.” Dan continues down the hallway towards his room but stops before he disappears inside.
“Seriously, Jett, being able to do this for you it’s…
well, it just feels right. I know it’s just you out there on the hill, but we’re a team, and I care about this as much as you do. ”
I give him a grateful look and a nod as I open my hotel room door, and throw my bag down once I’m inside.
We went straight from the airport to the hotel gym for pre-competition training and some rehab, even though Mark wasn’t here to oversee it. I’m sure he would have told me just to rest today, but I’ve been resting all week, having taken time off to spend with Poppy.
Considering how everything has blown up in our faces, I don’t regret a thing. I’m grateful to have had the time with her, even as the thought of her now causes a sharp, stabbing feeling in my chest.
I fucking miss her. I miss my wife.
I won’t be able to call her that for much longer, and a sharp twinge needles at me anew. I’ve been slowly coming to terms with the fact that I’m not opposed to all relationships. In fact, the idea of a relationship isn’t so bad if it could be like the one I had with Poppy.
I may not be husband material, but I gave it my all for her.
Not because of my sponsorship, just because I wanted to. It’s what she deserved.
Lifting my arms up over my head, I stretch out my stiff back as I look around the room.
I walk over to the sliding door on the far end of the room and pull the drapes back to admire the beautiful view of the city.
Zermatt is beyond anything I’ve ever seen.
The quiet, alpine village nestled between the mountains reminds me a little of home. Of Heartwood.
Now, the sun has set, casting the town in darkness, and a snowy silence. Lights from the buildings glow beneath the looming shadow of the Matterhorn, and stars are just starting to come out, twinkling overhead. It looks like how I’d imagine a village in a fantasy novel, it’s that surreal.
There’s that feeling again. The hollow pain of wishing Poppy could be here and she isn’t. She would love this view. It would take her breath away, just like the view of the mountains from the ski hill did the day I took her and gave her lessons.
That was one of my favourite things about being with Poppy. Showing her new things, experiences, letting her in on the things that light me up.
Doing things with her that she’d never done before.
I take out my phone and snap a picture, thinking I might send it to Poppy.
But when I open our conversation, the image she sent me during our last conversation is still there.
I stare at it for a moment, taking in her chocolate brown eyes, the bitten berry colour of her lips, and then I swipe the messages app closed.
It’s probably better if I don’t text her.
She’ll be trying to focus on the café, trying to put this whole mess behind her.
And the whole point of us ending our marriage was so that she couldn’t be publicly humiliated any further.
For me to protect her now, we need to sever ties.
A clean break. Not give the media any more fodder.
I chuck my phone on the bed on my way into the bathroom and turn on the shower. My skin turns red I stand under the stream for so long, the heat helping my muscles unwind. It does nothing to ease the underlying tension, though, the feeling I have in my gut that something isn’t right.
Poppy’s not here. And although I should be looking forward to competing tomorrow, the idea of winning doesn’t excite me. Because she won’t be waiting for me at the end.
I shut the water off, dry off quickly, and climb into bed. It’s late, and I need to be rested for tomorrow, but sleep doesn’t come. Instead, I just stare up at the ceiling in the dark, occasionally turning to see if another position will help.
After god knows how long of rolling around in bed like I’m on a rotisserie spit, the glow from an incoming notification on my phone catches my attention and I turn over to pick it up off the nightstand.
The clock reads 3:00.
Fuck.
Dan will be able to tell, too. He always can. I stopped partying before competitions a long time ago because I was so tired of him reprimanding me over how unrested I looked in the morning.
Something in me sags when I see it isn’t a text from Poppy, but a notification from my doorbell camera instead.
There’s no preview of the footage, so I have to open the app to see what it is. Probably a reporter who missed the latest World Cup coverage, or someone trying to snoop around my house for intel while I’m not home.
The image is grainy, it’s just starting to get dark there, but the flash of dark hair that passes by the camera is unmistakable.
Poppy is at my house, and seeing her on my screen makes every fibre of me want to hop on the first flight out of here. Because as I watch her use the spare key I gave her to open the front door, it’s almost physically painful that I’m not going to be on the other side of it.
Waiting to pull her into my arms, breathe in the sweet floral scent of her.
If I were there, I would tell her that I fucked up, that I don’t want a divorce.
I’d hold her face in my hands while I tell her that she’s tamed my wild heart and now all it does is beat for her. I’d tell her that I’ll spend every day trying to be the best husband I can be, if she’d let me.
That’s the problem. After the way this all went down, I’m not so sure she will. It was my fault that we’re in this predicament, that the café is at risk. I just couldn’t help myself from making a stupid, snarky remark. I wouldn’t blame her if she wanted nothing to do with me at all.
And maybe I should be giving her space to deal with the aftermath of the scandal, but I can’t help myself as I close the doorbell cam app and find our text thread.
She’s become my best friend, the only person I want to share big moments with.
Hell, I want to share every single mundane and insignificant moment with her, too. Because as much as I tried not to let it happen, I’ve fallen for my wife.