“Thank you,” I began, my chin quivering. “You are—”
“Stop.” She threw her hand in the air in front of me. “I suck at goodbyes, and anyway, this is a farewell. I’ll see you soon enough.”
I opened my arms to her, frowning and sniffling. When we finally connected, the floodgates opened.
“I told you not to cry,” she scolded through her own tears.
“Guess it’s a good thing you’re not coaching me anymore. I suck at listening now.”
We laugh-cried and finally broke apart.
This woman had stepped up and opened my eyes to my true potential. She’d seen through my damage because somehow she could sense that there was more to me. Mel believed I was a winner before anyone else did, even me. She’d shown me that victory could be nurtured with the delicate touch of a bonsai keeper instead of the brute force of a lumberjack.
I owed her so much.
“I love you, Mel,” I said.
“I know,” she replied with a wink.
“Hold on, did you just quote Han Solo to me?” I asked.
“I have to keep it light,” she shot back. “Otherwise I’ll be in a corner rocking and drooling, and my kids will wonder what you did to their mommy.”
We laughed and embraced one more time, then Danny walked over with a screaming Caleb and we both were relieved to have a distraction.
The night wore on. I hugged a few million people and cried with a bunch more, until it was time to head out.
Ben took my hand when he saw me lingering in front of the trophy case that was filled with dusty medals and trophies and photos with curled edges.
“You okay?”
“No.” I shook my head. “Thiswas my home. It’s really hard leaving.”
“I know,” he said and squeezed my hand. “I get it. But you know what you’re about to do could potentially help a little girl just like...” He scanned the photos. “Just like that one.”
He pushed his finger on the glass on top of a photo of ten-year-old me. I remembered smiling for the picture because I’d won a junior title but feeling worried because I’d come in second.
Only I could see that worry, just behind my tight smile.
My chest swirled with conflicting emotions, so many that I wasn’t sure what I was feeling.
“If you need more time I can wait,” Ben said. “We’re not in a rush. And you can sleep in the truck if you’re tired tomorrow morning.”
Gratitude consumed me as I watched him study me, because I knew what he was doing. It was a skill we’d both mastered, the gut-check scan that went deeper than the surface-level stuff we showed the world.
Ben knew how to see me, and I could see him.
I looked away from the ancient memories in the case to the new banner they’d hung up at the beginning of the night. It was a photo of me from the awards ceremony, holding up my gold medal and beaming, with the words “Home of Olympic Gold Medal Winner Quinn Albright” below.
Yeah, I’d won. More than I ever dreamed was possible.
Epilogue
One Year Later
“Feels like old times,” Neil crowed as he worked on the camera setup.
Hailey was a few feet behind him with her arms crossed, staring at a monitor. “Um, I think we need a little more negative space to the right of Quinn. Can you come check the blocking, Ben?”
