Me: "Take the deal.Might be safer."
Tom: "Didn't know you were this sentimental."
Me: "I'm not.I just don't want to write your obituary."
He doesn't answer for a while.Just long enough to make me regret sending that.
Then:
Tom: "Kat."
Tom: "I'll be fine.Promise."
I stare at the screen until my fingers ache from clutching the phone.
I don't want promises.I want a jury decision that pulls the plug.I want the slope to stay closed and the fog to win for once.
But that's not how this works.
***
Thomas
Start hut energy is dead.That's never a good sign.
Martin lies flat on the bench like a spa client, one arm over his eyes."Wake me when they invent visibility."Roman paces grooves into the floor.No clipboard.Just tension.Niko's gone quiet, thumbs flying, probably texting Katharina, pretending it's memes.
I pull my jacket tighter and glance down at my skis — still flat, still dry.They haven't touched snow today.No one has.And I'm starting to hope they won't.
Do I trust the jury to make the right decision?
Trust is a luxury.
What choice do I have?
One thing is sure, most of them don't give a damn about our lives, bones, or joints.There's big money in the game, venue, sponsors, and TV rights.They don't want to lose that.But if they decide to go on with it and some of us end up in a helicopter, the press would eat them alive.
I don't envy their situation.
Not because I'm scared.Not even because the slope's a mess.But because I can feel it, the air, the nerves, the edge that shouldn't be there.The kind of tension that makes people take risks they shouldn't.
This is one of the moments when we pretend we are all fired up and ready.Because it is not up to us to decide.The jury decides.And if they say we go, we go.Well, technically, we can stay out of it.But we won't.And when the race is on, nobody wants to be the one guy who shows fear.
And then there are the young guys, those who look up to us.As crazy as it is that somebody might look up to me, they do.Even Niko is.And I won't give them a reason to fear.Imagine what they'd do if they saw the fearless, reckless Thomas Kern with a tail between his legs, right?
But I don't envy myself, either.
And then there's her.
She's down there in the fog, probably pretending she's working.Probably trying not to think about what happens if the jury says yes.
My phone buzzes in my pocket.
Kat: "How's the mood up there?"
I smile a little.At least we're talking again.
I know it is not just about me; she cares for the other guys.
