“While the young Mabel and Ryder have been gallivanting around Milan, sources have told us that their marriage might be legal, but it is in no way authentic. Two Las Vegas natives, who have asked to be referred to by their stage names, Kitty and Lola, have toldInside The Gamesthat the snowboarding duo spent their wedding night partying on The Strip, hopping from strip club to strip club and indulging in all varieties of drugs and alcohol before deciding to walk down the aisle. While it was clear from the videos posted by the couple to their own social media pages after the ceremony that they were under the influence, we hoped we were seeing two kids indulging in some celebratory champagne after tying the knot. That couldn’t be further from the truth.”
“Oh my god,” I groan. Embedded in the article is a video from that night in Vegas. I still don’tremember most of that night, but I vaguely recognize the dark nightclub in the video's background. On the screen, Kitty and Lola are sitting topless in Ryder’s lap, taking turns sticking their tongues down his throat. It’s disgusting, but it jogs my memory. Five seconds before that, the topless showgirls had been inmylap, giving me the same treatment. The video ends, and Danny keeps on reading.
“Lola also claims that she and Ryder have been involved in an affair for the last month, and while Mabel has been falling in love with her fake husband, he’s been making the aspiring influencer promises and indulging in digital liaisons. This reporter doesn’t know what’s worse. That Mabel and Ryder would put on a charade to save face, or that young Mabel could be dumb enough to believe that a tiger could change its stripes. We all remember the infamous photos of Ryder Finch in Cancun. Once a playboy, always a playboy, it will seem.
Hopefully, this scandal won’t overshadow the rest of the athletes on Team USA who don’t feel the need to rely on scandal and lies for relevancy.”
“Fucking Sarah Hannigan. You know I’m a feminist, but?—”
“She’s a fucking cunt!” I growl. “How dare she?”
“Right? She dares to call you dumb when her shitty articles read like they were written by a middleschool newspaper editor? Bitch couldn’t make it past the World Rookie Tour and decided to make it everyone’s problem.”
I pick up my discarded beanie and throw it at the wall of the tent.
“I don’t give a fuck what she calls me. How dare she talk about Ryder like that? ‘Once a playboy, always a playboy’ fuck that. Ryder is a perfect fucking angel. He’d never even—” I snap my mouth shut, cutting myself off. It doesn’t matter how emotional I am, Ryder’s sex life is no one’s business but his. “Whatever. It doesn’t matter. I’m going to tear that bitch to shreds.”
I’m seething, pacing back and forth like a caged animal, and Danny…
Danny is watching me with a sinister grin, looking like the cat that got the cream.
“Well, well, well. Maybe a tiger can change its stripes after all.”
“I’m too pissed to decipher riddles right now, Danny.”
“It’s just funny. A few weeks ago, Ryder was the bane of your existence. Now you’re ready to yank out Sarah Hannigan’s cheap extensions to guard his honor. It’s cute.”
I sigh, rolling my eyes.
“I fucking love him, Danny.”
“Of course you do, Captain Obvious.”
“This is going to hurt him. All he’s ever done is try to protect me from the stupid shit people say about me, and I couldn’t protect him from this. No one gave a shit about the dumb stuff he got caught doing before we were married, and now he’s going to be forever tainted because I’m an easy target for the Sarahs of the world. I’m the worst wife ever.”
Danny stands and pulls me into a hug, and I collapse against his chest.
“You’re not the worst wife ever, Mabes.”
“What if he leaves me?” I whisper into his jacket.
“Oh my god, Mabel. Ryder is not going to leave you. He fucking loves you. Just because you were the last one to figure it out doesn’t mean it’s not true. One shitty article isn’t going to ruin what the two of you are building together.”
I bite my tongue, staving off tears I refuse to let fall.
“Trina is totally going to kill us when she finds out the whole “married while drunk” thing leaked.”
“Oh yeah, you and Ryder are dead men walking. I’ll miss you, boo.”
I laugh, and the tech comes back in to bring me out for my run. The emotions flowing through me are overwhelming, and no amount of deep breathing seems to shove them down. When I strap my boardto my feet and stand up, waiting for the green light to go, I choose to let rage take over.
I kick off, thinking about how fucking unfair it is that my every move has been scrutinized since I was thirteen. That no one cares about my accomplishments in competition or the degree in Environmental Science I earned from Stanford when I was twenty-one if I’m wearing the wrong thing or not smiling enough. When I hit my first backside 360, I’m cursing Sarah Hannigan in my mind for dragging Ryder down to my level. The back-to-back frontside 1080 flips I hit are powered by the rage I feel towards the system that sets these goddamn impossibly high standards for women in sports to live up to and then drags them through the mud when we inevitably fall short. And with my last trick, when the weight of the world feels like it’s finally fallen off my shoulders, I find myself shooting for something I’ve only ever done in practice. Instead of the third 1080, I use my momentum to gain a little more height. In the air, I grab the back of my board and brace my core for an inverted rotation as I spin once, twice, three times, and another half for good measure.
My board hits the snow and I glide off to the end of the pipe to the soundtrack of the crowd chanting my name.
I just pulled off Ryder’s signature move,flawlessly. If that doesn’t tell the world exactly how I feel about my husband, I don’t know what will.
I hit my knees, and I’m flanked on all sides by my teammates. Someone rips my goggles off my head while another someone unstraps my feet. Once I’m free from my board, the women of Team USA’s snowboarding team are hauling me up over their heads, joining the throngs of onlookers in the rhythmic chanting of my name. Every camera in a five hundred foot radius is pointed my way, and the sound of the crowd dulls as the judges enter their scores. The seconds tick like hours as I watch the leaderboard, and when my score pops up, the roars of the crowd echo off the mountains.
