My sigh is heavy as I pull myself back up to sitting. “What do we do? What doIdo? I don’t want to deal with that. Not today.”
“Then don’t.” He shrugs.
“But it’s...it’s everywhere.” I pick up my phone, but even the sight of the notifications on the lock screen is enough to turnmy insides to acid, so I put it down again. Social media tags. Text messages. How am I supposed to ignore that?
Matthieu holds out his hand. “Give me that.” I do. He tucks it into the drawer of his bedside table. “I’ll give it back after the race.”
I want to protest. Tell him I don’t need him to protect me. That I can handle it. But the way my hands are still shaking says maybe a little help wouldn’t be so bad.
He must see the decision on my face, because he nods. “Good. Now put the rest of it away. Let people say and think what they want. You know what to do. You’ve trained for this. You know how to make these thoughts a problem for another time. Today is for racing and only for racing.”
The longer he speaks, the heavier his accent gets, and I expect him to launch into a passionate speech fully in French any second now. That is, until a fresh knock comes at the door, interrupting him. It’s Austin, with Tara and Ivan standing behind him, glowering like twin thunderstorms.
“I found them in the hall,” he says, entering without further explanation.
“I’ll let you talk,” Matthieu says, leaving again.
There are a few seconds of awkward silence as the rest of us get settled. Ivan takes the single chair by the hotel room’s desk. Austin and I sit side by side on my bed. Tara paces in tight circles.
“You don’t have to worry about any of this,” she says.
“Kind of hard not to,” Austin says.
“She’s right.” Ivan looks like he wants to punch something, and leans back in his chair while he folds his arms over his chest to control himself. “This is her job to deal with. Today your only job is to race.”
He sounds like Matthieu. They’re probably right. What do we know? This is Matthieu’s third games, and Ivan’s raced in andcoached at least ten. If they say this isn’t our fight, we should listen.
“I’ve got it under control,” Tara says. She has her phone out, texting furiously. “I’ve sent calls out to the Olympic Committee press office. The Chef de Mission. I sent someone down to the CSBC media hub to ask them what the goddamn fucking hell made them think that this bullshit clickbait horsesh...” She presses her lips together, giving us a guilty glance. Then she straightens, pulling her shirt down at the waist and smoothing over the front. At first glance, she’s pressed and polished as always this morning. Only on closer inspection, her ponytail is lopsided, and while she’s got some makeup around her eyes, it looks like it was scribbled on in a hurry instead of the usual painstaking application she must undertake most mornings. “Sorry. I have it handled. I’ve already requested extra security to keep the media away from the athlete’s village and during pre-race warm ups. If anyone approaches you, all you say is ‘no comment.’ Understand?”
We both nod. But a thought tugs at the back of my mind.
“Don’t you want to know if it’s true?” I put my hand on Austin’s thigh and he wraps his fingers around mine. We look up at Tara, a united front. We won’t hide. We were never hiding. But we also weren’t very smart about the whole thing.
Ivan coughs, but when I glance back at him, he’s trying and failing to hide a smile. Tara rolls her eyes, still jabbing at her phone.
“Of course it’s true. Anyone who has ever seen the two of you together wouldn’t doubt that for a second. You just have really terrible timing. But don’t worry. I’ve got your back. Don’t say anything to anyone and do your best. I’ll see you after seeding.” Then she holds her phone to her ear, and her voice echoes after her as she walks out to the hall and disappears. “Roland? It’s Tara. Yeah, I know. That’s what I’m calling about. Listen...”
“I told you I wanted to tell you after the games,” Austin mutters, staring down at his hands.
“You blabbed your secret last year,” I remind him.
Ivan stands, the action requiring a long, tired grunt as he rises. He’s undoubtedly thinking he doesn’t get paid enough to deal with our bullshit. Not today especially, but never on any day, really.
“Should I go get Adiola?” he asks. We both shake our heads. She’s not going to tell me anything I don’t already know. We’ve been over this before. Maybe notthisthis. But the bigger part of her job, when she’s not talking me through my guilt and mixed-up feelings about Austin’s accident, is helping us learn all about compartmentalization and how to stay focused on racing even when there are a million other things going on in our lives. To the best of my knowledge, no one’s ever been revealed kissing in national media before, but I know guys who have raced the day after a bad fall or after they get the news a loved one has passed away. This is no different. Focus on the job at hand. Deal with everything else on another day.
Ivan gives us a stoic nod. He’s taught us well. Done everything to prepare us and give us the resources to not only get through today, but kick ass in the process.
“I’ll see you downstairs for breakfast,” he says, then leaves us alone to get ready for our Olympic morning.
CHAPTER
TWENTY-ONE
Breakfast is surprisingly low-key.We get a few looks as we walk into the dining room. More than our team is eating, but even if the international crowd has seen the news and the pictures, no one here is going to waste precious attention and energy on the two dumbasses from Canada who couldn’t be bothered to find a private place to make out. Like us, they have one of the biggest race days of their careers ahead. No one has time for us.
Matthieu and Kage are sitting together, and Matthieu pulls the chair closest to him out, prompting us to sit. Kage is looking better than last night. Well rested. Less green. He gives us a nervous glance, but Matthieu quietly clears his throat, and whatever question Kage was about to ask dies before he can set it free.
After breakfast, we do a final round of dressing, then ensure we have all the gear we’ll need for the day. Extra gloves. Extra goggles. Dry socks. We’ve gone through this process a thousand times on different days at different mountains all over the world, and the act of checking my bag one more time helps to settle me. This is an important day, but it’s only another day. Another race on another hill.
