But making an entrance depended on confidence, and there was no way she was ever going to let anyone on the women’s US Cross-Country Ski Team see her sweat.
Smell her sweat? Maybe. See her sweat? Absolutely not.
Being late put her on the back foot. She had hoped to get the chance to settle in, to readjust. They had seven days of training and media in Oberhof, Germany before heading off to Italy for the Olympics. She was supposed to arrive the day before but had been held up in LA filming a reunion episode for a dating show. It took her a few days to transform from Kirby Bonham the reality-TV star to KB the athlete. It was mental whiplash, but at least it was whiplash of her own making.
Even if it was hard, even if it put her on lots of people’s shit lists, Kirby was the architect of her own life, and she would do whatever was required to protect that.
So she walked into the private room of the restaurant like she owned it. She’d learned long ago that the only way to survive inthe cross-country skiing world was to make herself so big and in your face that no one could deny her. She deserved a seat at the table, whether the table was a real one or metaphorical.
The room had moody lighting, and everyone was dressed like a fashion plate. She was greeted with cheers and a silly chant of “KB, KB, KB!”
“Ah, guys.” It nearly choked her up.
Almost.
Kirby was a good time. Everyone said so. A good hang. Good TV.
She wouldn’t have been able to heel-turn from skiing to reality TV and back again and again otherwise. But it was nice to be reminded that her teammates were normally happy to see her.
Most of them.
Ninety-nine percent at least.
She gave a round of hugs, even though it had only been days since she’d seen everyone at the recent World Cup event. She started with her primary coach, Coach Wu, who was wearing what Kirby could only describe as formal athleisure. Coach Wu squeezed her hard.
“How was LA?” Coach Wu asked.
It had sucked to hop from the World Cup in Europe to LA for filming and back to Europe for training and the Olympics over a handful of days, but it was what she’d signed up for when she’d agreed to film the dating show over the summer. She’d known the reunion would film right before the Olympics. She’d figured the jet lag would be worth it.
But filming the reunion had run late, and she had missed her flight, putting her a whole day behind everyone else.
“Fine, just more drama than I expected.”
“That’s good, right?” Coach Wu had always been supportive of Kirby’s extracurriculars, even as others gave her side-eye about it.
Kirby laughed. “Very good, yes. You get it.”
Not every skier was able to make a career out of cross-country skiing for their whole lives. Not every former Olympian became coach of the Olympic team. Or a primetime commentator. Or director of a Nordic ski association.
Kirby wasn’t quite palatable enough for that shit. So she had to legacy plan in other, more creative ways.
Brandilyn Rogers and Jordan Siwa were next for hugs. They were two peas in a pod who were so fucking young and looked up to the veterans in a way that was almost uncomfortable. It was their first Olympics. Kirby was envious of their bright-eyed excitement. Everything was new and cool and special to them. Even a boring team dinner to celebrate the most stressful few weeks of their lives.
There were more hugs and jokes and rowdy hellos around the table to teammates, physios, technicians, and staff members. Most of the coaches were bunched up at the end of the table, including the head coach, Coach Redman, who barely glanced up from scribbling in his ever-present notebook to wave. He was the busiest person she had ever met.
Kirby was almost all the way around the table when she spottedher.
Mara May.
Her wavy, dark hair was in a high ponytail, falling halfway down her back—a back that seemed turned toward Kirby in a very deliberate way—and she had on a tight, long-sleeved periwinkle dress that somehow showed nothing and also everything.
Like those pointy-ass shoulder blades.
Ridiculous.
“Hello, Mara,” Kirby said, loud enough that Mara would never be able to ignore her.
Mara turned slowly. Kirby opened her arms for a hug, which forced Mara to stand up and give her one. If Mara was anything, it was too image conscious to make a scene. She’d done that once, and it hadn’t turned out well for her.
