I carve through the snow, gliding down the pipe, all the while feeling like I’m watching myself from above like an out-of-body experience. Two frontside double cork 1440s back-to-back, a frontside 540 followed by my signature move, a double cork and a 1260 rotation, something no other pro has been able to replicate since I debuted it in Pyeongchang. I top it all off with another double cork 1260, this time holding the front side of my board, and it’s perfect. I’ve never managed the 1260 back-to-back in competition before, but today is my day. By the time I hit the ground, I know I’ve done it. Gliding to the end, I yank my goggles off my face and punch the air, pride screaming in my chest. The crowd is going wild, American flags being hoisted over heads as they chant my name. My teammates are hugging, already celebrating what we know will be another gold for Team USA
The press is already swarming by the time the judges scores are up, confirming that I’ve clinched the gold medal with a score of 98.75, and I’m ripping the straps off my feet, scrambling to get the fuck outof here and over to the women’s halfpipe before it’s too late. Microphones are shoved in my face, and I try my best to keep my cool as I push past the wall of bodies.
“Ryder! You just broke the world record for the highest height achieved on a halfpipe jump. What do you have to say for yourself?”
“Ryder, how does it feel to win gold in three consecutive Winter Games?”
“Ryder, tell us what was going through your mind when you attempted that second 1260?”
The questions fly at me from all directions, and I find myself wishing Trina was here to help field some of it. Instead, I hold up my hands in what I hope is a polite refusal.
“I would absolutely love to talk to all of you, and I will, but right now I need to get over to the women’s halfpipe to see my wife compete. Thank you.”
I try to push past, but a reporter I recognize fromInside The Games, Sarah something or other—a low-level writer who has been particularly vicious towards Mabel over the years—grabs my shoulder. I sneer down at her hand on my jacket, tempted to flick her off like an annoying little bug.
“About that wife, Ryder. I was wondering if youwanted to take this opportunity to explain today’s news.”
I open my mouth to ask what news this pest could be talking about when she shoves a tablet in my face. And on the screen…
“Oh no,” I whisper. “Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck.”
I drop the tablet and break out in a sprint, praying to any god that will listen that I get to Mabel before it’s too late.
29
WHAT HAPPENS IN VEGAS?
MABEL
“Fucking hell, Ryder. Get your shit together, baby. You can do it.”
“Please stop muttering under your breath, Mabes. You’re freaking me out.” Danny presses his thumbs harder into my shoulders, working to relieve some of the tension there while I wait for my third and final run of the Games. The competition is insanely close, and even though my highest score as of now is a solid 97.50, the sixteen-year-old from Canada just scored a 98 and is now the one to beat for the gold. I’m not worried about myself, though. Even if I take silver today, I’ll still be going home with two gold medals and a lot of pride.
Ryder, however, is at risk of not medaling at alltoday after the fall on his second run, and that just won’t do. If I’m going to be the better snowboarder in our marriage, I want it to be because I earned it, not because he had a rare slip-up. I’ve got a grainy livestream of the men’s halfpipe competition rolling on Danny’s phone while I wait for my run, and Ryder is about to take his third shot at making the podium.
“Babe, you have to relax,” Danny sighs, digging into my flesh with the pads of his fingers. “If you go out there all rigid, your breathing will be off. You won’t be able to find your balance or your spot in the air, and you’ll wind up hurting yourself."
“I will relax. As soon as Ryder is done and they confirm he’s on the podium, I will be the epitome of relaxed, okay? Now let go of my shoulders; you’re gonna leave a mark.”
“Fine. Take your hat off; let me redo your braid.”
I pull the beanie off my head and let Danny run his fingers through my hair while I hold his phone with one hand and chew on my thumbnail with the other. I’m fucking anxious because as soon as Ryder and I are back together later, I’m going to tell him I love him. I’ve been killing myself by keeping it in all week. I swear, every time he looks at me, I have to bite my tongue to keep from screaming those three words in his face and then immediately dropping tomy knees to show him just how much I mean them. I’m not scared of what he’ll say. My gut and basic common sense tell me he feels the same way I do, but I haven’t wanted to risk throwing him off his equilibrium before a competition.
So tonight, after I win my third gold medal and taunt him a bit for having as many or more than him, I will tell my husband that I’m in love with him.
“Mabel Quinn, you’re up next,” a tech pops her head into the tent, and I curse under my breath. I guess it was too much to hope that we’d get held up so I could watch Ryder’s run before my own.
“Don’t worry, honey. Ryder is going to do great, and you’re going to do even better,” Danny says, reaching around to grab his phone out of my hands, but the notification from Danny’s news app that pops up on the screen stops us both in our tracks.
“What the fuck does that say?” I ask, as if it’s not clear as fucking day.
What Happens In Vegas: Mabel and Ryder’s Epic Lie Story
Iclick the stupid pop-up, already seething as the page loads.
“Pro-snowboarders born to best friends. Childhood friends turned lovers in adulthood. A bond so strong, they couldn’t possibly wait to tie the knot. Mabel Quinn and Ryder Finch are the quintessentialAmerican couple, or so they would have you believe. Here atInside The Games, we strive to pull back the curtain and show our readers what is really going on in the lives of the pro-athletes representing our country on the world stage. And while the Quinn-Finch legacy may seem perfect on the outside, inside, it would appear it’s all a lie.”
I read the article out loud, feeling sicker and sicker with each word. When I can’t read anymore, Danny takes over.
