“I’ll pass. But I appreciate you asking.”
As I settle in the passenger seat and crank the heater up, Alara and I agree on grabbing lunch at the Latte Lounge. We drive back into town in a comfortable silence, Sabrina Carpenter singing about an older man buying her Christmas presents on the radio. Just as I tear my beanie off to ruffle my hair, a sharp pull in my shoulder makes me wince. Today’s the kind of day when my body screams at me to take it easy, but I don’t listen. I never listen to my body, and that’s undoubtedly why it’ll take time to fully recover.
When I meet up with Dr Ellis, I’m torn between being entirely honest and lying about my pain. I find myself lying more often than not, telling him I’m fine and nothing hurts, but I think he sees right through me. I mean, I’m not being smart enough. My injury happened less than a month ago, so there is no way I could already feel like I’m ready to train and perform like I used to. My biggest issue is that I don’t trust him – not completely. I’m scared he’s going to tell Coach that I’m not ready to go back, that I can’t compete for another six months or, worse, a year. Can you imagine? Fuck that. So, that’s why those little white lies escape my mouth when he asks if my shoulder or leg hurt.
“You’re hurting.” Alara’s observation echoes softly through the car, and even if I’m compelled by the tenderness in her tone, I keep my eyes on the moving landscape. I’m positive that I barely pulled a face, so the fact that she knows I’m in pain even while she’s driving and focusing her attention on the icy road is beyond me.
“I’m fine,” I say, more coldly than intended.
I shut my eyes, relieved that she doesn’t press the subject or try to find out more about the injury that might cost me my entire career.
“Have you ever considered coaching?” she asks, after another beat of silence.
“Snowboarding?”
She gives her head a little nod. “Or skiing.”
She’s probably asking this because she noticed the way I’ve been with Lou. I’ve been patient and considerate and helpful, but that doesn’t mean I suddenly want to make such a massive change in my life. Or maybe she’s asking to help me open my eyes to other options if I ever have to stop riding at a professional level. But even the thought of that makes anger rush down my spine and my chest constrict.
“Not in my plans.” I don’t want anything else other than to be a professional athlete.
By the bite in my tone, she can tell I’m keen to change the subject. I don’t want to be a dick, but I also have to keep a certain distance between us. Her being able to read me is terrifying enough as it is, so I can’t let her see more. Can’t give her my broken pieces, because it wouldn’t be fair on her to lay everything out and expect her to fix me. That’s not what I’m trying to get from this growing friendship.
I have no choice but to be here, and it might not seem like it, but I’m grateful to be in Alara’s company. I could’ve been stuck with some silent, bizarre teenager, but instead I have a pretty girl who’s not afraid of putting me in place when I need it.
I’ll be her friend, but that is where I draw the line.
She points to a bakery I haven’t seen before. “Have you had the chance to test out their donuts yet?”
Surprisingly, I’m not annoyed by our small talk as we continue the drive through town, and I find myself slightly disappointed that we’re almost at our destination. Being at work means talking to people, socializing, and stocking up a ridiculous amount of gloves. And it means our bubble has to burst.
Alara parks the car in front of the gear shop, then we cross the road to head into the Latte Lounge.
The café is packed. I spot Gaby running left and right as she processes the orders with her co-workers.
“Should we eat in the staff room?” Alara asks.
“I was thinking the same thing.”
Once it’s our turn to order, Gaby looks between her best friend and me with a cheeky smile – one I half want to wipe off her face because there’s absolutely no reason to grin like that.
Alara orders a veggie sandwich, and I ask for a salmon bagel, before having a quiet word with my sister while Alara is distracted.
Gaby then takes the cash I throw down, slides the paper bag across the counter, and extends her palm. “Plus VAT and tip.”
“It’s already included,” I tell her blandly.
Because Gaby is annoying as fuck, she doesn’t relent, so I slap another twenty in her hand. She beams. “Thank you. Have a lovely day, my friends.”
I don’t want to keep the other customers in line waiting, so I lead Alara out of the café with my hand on the small of her back, Gaby’s soft laughter following us until we’re outside.
“Did you pay for me?” Alara peers up at me from over her shoulder, her brows bunched together.
I’m no longer touching her, but the warmth of her body still lingers on my fingertips. “Yes.”
We cross the road again, and her hazel eyes narrow on me. “What do you want?”
“What?”
