“Sam Harrington really hasn’t shown up for the Games at all,” he said confidently with a cheeky grin. “It’s like she’s skipped the Games, again, this year. Maybe we’re just not fashionable enough for Sam Harrington, the current darling of Instagram.”
Gabriel, commanding and elegant in his tailored black wool coat, his collar turned up against the cold, his trademark charcoal turtleneck hugging the strong line of his neck, shifted away ever so slightly from Seb, his face closed but dark. “Fashionable?” He flicked his eyes up and down Seb’s body, a small smirk barely evident on his lips. “Well,Seb, not everyone needs to make an entrance as dramatically as you do. Sam Harrington prefers to let her performances speak for themselves.”
Seb’s eyes narrowed momentarily and Finn, from his position at the barrier, watched, mouth open in surprise as the exchange on the screen continued. Seb laughed tightly. “Ah gallant Gabriel, always the stoic protector—does the lovely Sam know that you’ve become her unofficial spokesperson?” His grin widened, self-assured and cocky.
Before Gabriel could respond there was a sudden commotion to their left. The camera caught Maya, juggling two steaming cups, hurrying behind them. A sudden gust of wind caught the end of Seb’s ridiculous scarf, whipping it into the air and into Maya’s face. Finn gasped, gripping his own steaming cup, as the spectacle unfolded in a split second.
Maya, unable to see, stumbled, and like a cartoon character, kept on stumbling. She tried to catch her step, but couldn’t, and she staggered, blindly and directly into Seb. A fountain of hot chocolate burst into the air, landing all over his pristine pink scarf and shiny puffer jacket. Finn burst out laughing as she floundered against the rotund man.
The picture shook as if the cameraman was laughing, then zoomed in on Seb’s shocked face. His mouth was frozen in an O as he rapidly blinked while the steaming hot chocolate dripped onto the snow at his feet. The camera zoomed out to show Maya, in her satsuma coat, frantically dabbing at Seb’s chest with a rapidly disintegrating tissue, only to leave little chocolate-colored flecks of tissue stuck to the man’s jacket so that he looked like an overripe banana.
“I’m so sorry,” she kept saying. “It just … the scarf … the wind …why is that scarf so long?”
Seb snatched the tissue from her, his grin painfully fixed in place. “No panic. It’s all fine. Don’t worry.”
Gabriel’s lips twitched. “What was that you were saying, Seb? Something about fashion?”
Finn choked on his laughter, doubling over on the barrier. Sam would love this. It was TV gold!
Maya, now in the background, was offering to get the jacket dry-cleaned, but Seb dismissed her with a broad wave. “No need, sweetheart. I’m a professional—these things happen.”
Finn grinned. Seb deserved every drop of hot chocolate he got. Seb, visibly tense as he flicked a tissue ball from his scarf, laughed harshly. “And now, back to the slopes, before I drown in hot chocolate.”
Gabriel, ever composed, shifted his attention to the monitors. “Looks like we have to move away from our fashion advice expert and back to the slopes as our next rider is at the top of the run. Let’s see if Harper Reynolds can keep her lucky streak and take home another medal by landing something as bold as Seb’s wardrobe choice.”
Seb’s laughter was forced, but the sound of the crowd swelling drew their attention. The camera feed cut to the glistening halfpipe as snow softly began to fall. Harper adjusted her goggles and smiled in preparation for her turn.
Seb’s voice cut over the crowd. “Canada’s golden girl, Harper Reynolds, looks set to add to her gold medal collection. She has come to this competition ready to show us what she’s made of.”
Finn grimaced and pushed up from the barrier as even Gabriel sounded impressed.
“You’ve got to give it to Harper Reynolds, that was a sick and flawless frontside 720, and there she goes—did you see that! Straight into a corked 1080—a daring move. And there it is—the highest score yet in this round of qualifiers. Harper is one hundred percent in the final.”
The crowd cheered. It sounded like Harper had aced it. Finn wrapped his fingers around his mug and leaned back against the barrier. His foot tapped and he bit his lip. Sam would be looking for him, possibly. He tweaked his orange beanie hoping she’d spot him. A slight tone in Gabriel’s voice made him stop tapping his foot.
“Becky Stanford. A fashionista if I ever saw one. I’m sure you know all about Becky’s newest aprés-ski clothing collab with Valestré, Seb.”
Finn raised his eyebrows as he listened to the commentary. If he didn’t know better, it seemed as if Gabriel had a bone to pick with Becky. His voice had been borderline acidic. Finn leaned forward on his elbows and watched as Becky took her turn. She didn’t make one mistake, but her performance was lackluster. Nevertheless, she had done enough to grab a coveted place in tomorrow’s final.
Sam’s face appeared on the screen. Her chin high, her eyes focused. Finn breathed out hard. Good, she looked ready, she looked … angry. Finn’s toes scrunched tightly in his snow boots.
“Here we go.” Seb’s voice filled the air. “Harrington, looking for redemption and a place on the podium after failing to make the cut in the big air round. Can she pull itoff under such pressure—both Reynolds and Stanford are already set to compete in tomorrow’s final. It’s a tall ask.”
Finn’s jaw clenched. Gabriel’s voice, smooth and measured, took over. “Don’t write her off just yet, Seb. Everyone’s allowed an off day, and history shows us that Sam Harrington is capable of pulling out the magic when it matters.”
“Let’s see if she can channel her past energy today.” Seb’s tone was slightly skeptical.
Finn frowned, his eyes glued to the screen as Sam dropped into the pipe. He leaned forward, his coffee almost spilling from his cup. The cup was hot, but his hands felt cold. Quickly he put the cup on the snow at his feet, afraid he’d crush it.
“Come on, Sam!” His foot tapped up and down. His stomach flipped as Sam’s first hit was okay, not enough for her to catch her usual trick, but enough to catch attention from the crowd. Finn’s stomach sank as Sam’s second hit was cleaner, but safe. He knew that behind her goggles she was frowning, squinting, and calculating her next move—very unlike her normal exuberant and feisty runs. Her body language was off, she seemed stiff, controlled and not fluid. Wringing his hands together, Finn bit his lip. This wasn’t Sam’s game—she thrived on spontaneous moves, on how she felt on the board.
“Playing it safe,” Seb said theatrically. “I was expecting more from Harrington. This is one of her best disciplines.”
Gabriel cut in sharply. “Safe is smart. She knows exactly what she needs to qualify.”
Finn bit back a smile. Gabriel wasn’t wrong.
In a swirl of snowflakes, Sam’s last hit sent her high off the lip into a clean frontside 720. A pit formed in Finn’s stomach as he registered the crisp, cleanness of her run. It was uninspired and she landed smoothly and solidly. But there was no doubt she’d make it to the final now. Finn dropped his head forward, running his hands through his hair as Sam unclipped herself from her board. A heaviness settled over him. He should be glad Sam would make it to the final, but her run had been … He rubbed his hands over his face and groaned as the wordheartlesscame to mind. Heartless was something Sam most certainly was not.
