“What are you doing?” I ask, coming up behind him.
Vann jumps, spinning to face me with a guilty expression. He’s clutching a purple teddy bear to his chest. “Nothing.”
I jut my chin toward the stuffed animal he’s holding. “So you’re just feeling cuddly?”
“I’m buying it for a friend.”
Everything suddenly clicks together. Vann doesn’t have friends here outside of our team. He’s close with his parents, but they’re old, stodgy professors. They definitely wouldn’t appreciate a teddy bear with the Olympic symbol on its belly.
But an omega would.
“You can’t go see her, Vann.” I rest a hand on his shoulder.
“I’m not. I’m just getting a jump start on groveling.”He shakes the little bear at me. “She doesn’t have to know who it’s from yet.”
Even with the music playing over the speakers in the shop, my sigh is loud. “Right, ‘cause making her think she has a stalker is so much better.”
“A secret admirer, not a stalker.”
“How often are you sending these gifts?”
He glares at me, then shoulders past. “Lay off, Rhodes. I’ve got to get this to someone on the bus to Milan before they leave.”
I watch as he pays, and we walk silently to the Olympic shuttle pick up. Since this is the most spread out Olympics in history, the officials set up daily buses between the different villages. They said transportation between Milan and Cortina would be monitored and restricted, but in practice they haven’t kept any of the athletes from going back and forth.
Vann quickly finds someone boarding the shuttle who’s willing to give Raven the stuffed animal. It’s kind of cute to see him so obsessed like this, but Tanner isn’t the only one who worries about Vann’s focus. The guy’s got serious ADHD, and can be all over the place on the best day. When he’s hyper-focusing on the game, it can work out great. But when he’s fixated somewhere else, it’s hard to get him to pay attention to anything except his obsession. Right now, all his focus is on Raven.
Which doesn’t bode well for our Olympic ambitions.
I hang back as he talks to the other athlete.
“You should stay and watch her skate if you get the chance, she’s incredible,” my packmate says.
The others in the small group of athletes look around like they’re trying to find a way out as Vanncontinues to ramble on about all of Raven’s accomplishments and how excited he is for her.
He was fixated on her like this when I first met him, too. We’d all just started college, and he’d found out Raven was his scent match not long before. He was determined to get in touch with her, but after a year of failure, he moved on—or at least channeled his frustration into the game. Now that he’s found her again, though, it seems like nothing else matters to him. Not even us.
Why does that make my chest hurt?
“Uh, we really got to go, man,” the athlete holding the teddy bear says, glancing up at the bus.
“Oh, right, well, remember, don’t tell her who it’s from.”
“Couldn’t if I wanted to,” the guy mumbles, which I guess is true since Vann never gave his name.
Vann thanks the guy one more time before coming back over to where I’m waiting. He’s got a giddy smile on his face and a light spring to his step. He really thinks this plan will work.
I’ve never met Raven, but I know a bit about her history with my pack. I also know what it’s like to be picked on and humiliated. A teddy bear and some knick-knacks aren’t going to cut it. I keep my mouth shut, though, not wanting that smile to drop off Vann’s face.
As we turn to head back into the village, he throws an arm over my shoulder. The heavy weight feels surprisingly good. Comfortable in a way I don’t normally experience when being touched.
We don’t talk. What’s there to say? He knows how I feel about what he’s doing. More importantly, he knowshowTannerwould feel if he knew about Vann’s secret gift-giving venture.
We pass by several other Team USA Olympians, giving some nods of acknowledgement and that weird little closed-lipped smile that I think everyone uses in public. We don’t know all the USA teammembers—it would be impossible. There are over 200 of them here this year, from a myriad of different states. But they’re all pretty recognizable by their trademark branded apparel.
When we got here, we were given a literal suitcase of Team USA paraphernalia. Everything from track suits to polos—hell, even underwear with the damn American flag and Olympic Rings all over them. It seems a little excessive, but they want us to constantly represent our country while we’re here.
That’s what’s dangerous about Vann’s obsession. It isn’t becoming of an athlete to act like a certified stalker. We’re on thin ice as it is after he punched that guy on my behalf. Man’s got a stiff right hook.
