“Not true. We have a million more to do when the Games are over. Even more when you wind up sweeping your events and go home with three gold medals.”
“Motherfucker, if you just jinxed me, I swear to Beyoncé, I will slice your balls off with a dull hockey skate,” I growl, tossing a balled up t-shirt in Ryder’s direction. I’m not superstitious, but I have a healthy respect for the unknown factors that influence a competition. I’ve got qualifiers in an hour, and I don’t need Ryder’s big ego and overblown expectations getting to my head. Even though his faith in my abilities does make me a tiny bit giddy.
“That guy from San Francisco, Alex Holmes, is the backup goalie for Team USA this year, right? Think you could get your hands on one of his skates? He’s hot. I wouldn’t mind getting some of his essence near my dick.”
This time, I throw a balled-up pair of socks at Ryder, beaming with pride when it nails him right between the eyeballs.
“Either way, we’re done now. Besides the post-run interviews and a handful of press conferencesafter the competitions, that is.” I shoot Ryder a pointed look when he groans in response.
“I’m sorry, Mabel. Is it such a crime that I don’t want to be stuck in a press room trying to think of creative ways to answer the same five questions over and over when I could be, I don’t know, actually snowboarding? Enjoying the Italian Alps? Laying back in bed while you ride my face and smother me with your hot little sugar pussy?”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Trina howls from across the room, and I stop in my tracks with only one arm and my neck in the moisture-wicking thermal I was putting on. Ryder’s face goes beet red, the fear in his eyes and the accompanying gulp in his throat almost cartoonish. It’s bad enough that we haven’t gotten around to telling anyone in the know that our fake marriage has turned into a real relationship that we have no plans of ending, now Trina knows I’ve been spending my nights in Milan sitting on Ryder’s face.
If looks could kill, my husband would be a dead man, and I’d be wanted for murder.
“I’m just teasing,” Ryder says in an octave that, if it were any higher, would only be heard by dogs. “I never…I mean, we never…I don’t…”
“Shut up, Ryder,” Trina says, her heels clicking on the floor as she comes to stand between us. “You two? For real?”
That’s something I’ve always admired about Trina. She might make her living spinning words, but she doesn’t need more than a few of them to get her point across.
“Yeah, us two,” I answer with a nod. Trina looks between us with her perfectly manicured brows raised, not a hint of emotion on her sharp face. And then, to my utter surprise, we’re being pulled into her chest.
“Well, it’s about damn time. I’ve been waiting for you kids to get together for years. I was hoping your stupid Elvis wedding would give you the kick in the ass you needed.”
Smushed against Trina’s bosom, Ryder and I exchange confused looks. I don’t think either of us has ever been hugged by our ice queen public relations manager before, and I’m not fully convinced that this embrace isn’t going to somehow turn into a double murder. But in the spirit of maturity and opening my heart to change, I hug Trina back.
“Thanks, Trina. We’re really happy,” Ryder murmurs, shooting me a ‘can you believe this?’ look.
“And we’re planning on staying married, so theoretically, you shouldn’t have much to deal with from the PR side. But we’re on board with whatever you want to do, of course,” I add, and Trina snorts.
“There’s always something to deal with from thePR side. The two of you are a nightmare.” Trina breaks the hug, stepping back and patting each of us on the shoulder. “Just a few things. Keep the whole ‘blackout drunk when we got married’ thing to yourselves, please. I’m still not risking the IGC penalizing you for misconduct. If either of you ever talks about your sex life publicly like that again, I’ll kill you both with my bare hands. And for fuck’s sake, Mabel, put on The North Face fleece. I’m relying on the commission from that partnership to put a sauna in my home bathroom.”
Ryder and I can barely contain our laughter, the door just clicking behind Trina before we’re in hysterics, crying and clinging to each other to try to stay upright.
“You know, of all the ways I pictured that conversation going down…”
“Ah, c’mon, Ryder. It’s not that bad. So Trina knows what we’ve been getting up to, anyone with two eyes could see that you’re a little subby for me,” I tease.
“I prefer the term ‘Simpy wife-guy’, but subby works, too.” Ryder hands me the fleece with The North Face logo in the corner. “Now, wife. Are you ready to crush your qualifiers?”
“You fucking know it, baby.”
The International Games Committeetakes no chances when it comes to snow at the competition. Over the years, due to location and the disastrous effects of climate change, they’ve gone from relying on a possible mixture of real and artificial snow to one hundred percent artificial snow on competitive circuits. As a result, the snow is nearly perfect for each sport, mimicking powder that has freshly fallen in temperatures hovering around twenty degrees Fahrenheit. The IGC has no control over the actual weather, however, so it is pure luck that today in Milan, the temperature is a brisk eighteen degrees with no humidity and low winds. The conditions are practically perfect, and I’m ready to use that to my advantage.
I’m near the end of the pack, so by the time I’m suited up and waiting for the go-ahead, I’ve already watched most of my competitors complete their runs. I only need a 91.25 on my best of three to qualify for the medal competitions next week. Theoretically, that should be a piece of cake, but I know better than to get too cocky before it’s my go. I take a quick scan of the crowd as the announcers call my name and the trainers help strap my feet to my board. Mom andDad are right in front, sitting with Ramona and Robert and wearing the sweet but obnoxious Team Mabel sweaters they had made before my first juniors over a decade ago. I give them a small wave, then turn my attention to Ryder, who’s seated between our moms and dressed in his gear, since his qualifiers begin immediately after the women’s end. He catches my gaze and winks, and I watch as he pulls the gold chain from under his jacket and brings it to his lips.
His good luck charm. God, I love him.
With a giant smile on my face, I hop to the edge of the half-pipe, pausing only long enough to take a deep breath before beginning my run. The second I feel the dip in my stomach from the sensation of gliding down the pipe, the rest of the world floats away. There is only the sound of my board carving through the snow, my body whipping through the air, the rustle of my jacket as I bend and flip. The run is easier than breathing. Method air to start followed by a front side 1080. Switch 900, switch backside 540, maneuvering my body perfectly in space to land in my switch stance twice in a row. Another 1080 to end it, and I don’t need a ruler to know I’ve got more height on this last turn than my other flips.
The judges throw up scores, confirming what I already know. I won’t need another two tries to qualify; I’ve already blown the leaderboard out of thewater. The snow goes flying all around me as I cut to the end of the run, falling to my knees and screaming at the sky. Fuck, I wish this weren’t just the qualifiers, because I know it in my bones that run would have been guaranteed gold.
Four years ago, I might have smiled demurely and said I was just happy to be here, but fuck that. I earned this. I worked my ass off, and I deserve to celebrate myself. Over in the stands, my family is losing their minds, and Ryder is the wildest of all, jumping up and down and knocking his parents over with the force of his hugs. When I point a gloved finger in his direction and call out, “You’re next, baby!” I know he probably can’t hear me, but it doesn’t matter. The cameras caught it and in a few hours, the world will know that in my proudest moment in Milan so far, my husband was the first thing on my mind.
27
THE ROAD TO GOLD
