What’s the word for a female cuck?
“I should hope so, since we’re married. But yeah, Jett has settled down in a lot of ways. He’s not who most people think he is.”
Okay, this is good.We’re trying to change Jett’s reputation, and this is a good direction.
“Is Jett Landry a secret romantic?” The reporter suddenly looks a lot more intrigued. Any never-been-heard-before news is good news, I guess.
“No… I mean. Kind of? Not in a grand, sweeping gestures kind of way. He’s more of a small acts of service kind of guy. Bringing me my favourite tea, being protective over me, those kinds of things,” I say.
The reporter looks as though she just remembered something, and her pin straight blonde hair falls over her shoulder as she looks down at her notebook and flips a few pages over.
“Speaking of being protective, he punched a waiter in the face for you recently, didn’t he? Maybe you could explain what happened?”
Oh god. Here we go.
“Jett has always valued his family, and now that includes me. He needed to step up and protect me, so he did,” I explain the situation, careful to use keywords I think Brooke might like.
“Values family” seems like a good direction to go, considering what Nuclear stands for. But something I’ve said has put a surprised look on the reporter’s face, and she clicks her tongue before answering me.
“He’s a changed man. That kind of behaviour could get him disqualified from the World Cup. That waiter must have said something that really riled him up,” she points out, and the ground sways beneath my feet.
Jett and I talked about the incident later that night. I knew that his acting out in public might come with some backlash, that it wouldn’t help his case in keeping his sponsorship with Nuclear… but I never stopped to think about the fact that a potential assault charge on top of everything could get him disqualified before he even makes it to the final.
The reporter keeps talking but I can’t hear her over the ringing in my ears.
“Oh my god,” Brooke sidles up to me and shoos away the reporter. “Are you okay, Poppy? What did she say? More importantly, what didyousay? Nothing that could spread like wildfire, I hope. I am so fucking tired of putting out fires.”
“No, no.” I wave the air in front of me in athere’s nothing to worry aboutgesture. “Nothing like that. I’m fine.”
“Good.” She tugs my arm to lead me back to where she and Dan were standing earlier. “Because Jett’s up next.”
The last skier before him has just finished their run, and the announcer shouts the score over the loudspeaker.
I don’t know a lot about skiing, but from what I’ve learned being around Jett the last couple weeks, that’s a near perfect score. Jett will have to beat it, or else he could get out ranked, and his road to the World Cup Final would end here.
This event, the World Cup, it means everything to Jett. This is everything he’s been working toward his entire career. He’s already had the rug pulled out from under him once when he injured himself last year.
I clasp my hands together under my chin as I squint to look up the mountain. He’s too far away to see, but I hear the buzzer sound, and my gaze snaps to the big screens set up around the crowd.
Jett is flying, knees bent, elbows tucked in at his sides for maximum speed.
He hits the incline, then straightens his core as his skis fly off the end of the jump and he sails through the air.
Time seems to slow down while he’s airborne, as if he’s floating.
Come on, Jett. It’s become a mantra in my mind now.Clean landing.
He twists like a corkscrew through the air. The crowd erupts in a cheer as he tucks his legs in so he can grab the back of his skis while he flips and turns. Now, he’s on the downward trajectory, and his skis straighten out as he prepares for impact.
They make a satisfying soft thud in the snow. I watch him as he lands, and while the crowd hollers, chanting his name, I get a sinking feeling in my stomach that something isoff. To anyone unfamiliar with how Jett skis, his landing would have looked half decent. Good, even.
But I’ve watched Jett ski many times on television, and something isn’t right. The way his leg flexed and tensed, it wasn’t a smooth landing, not graceful, and I think it will affect his points.
“Yeah, that’ll cost him,” Dan mutters behind me, and my stomach sinks.
Not because I’m worried he won’t qualify if he takes a hit to his points today. But I feel sick that he might have re-injured himself.
He slides to the bottom of the hill, and as planned, beelines right for me.
