“For you.” Kirby was holding herself rigidly, which was strange. She was usually all loosey-goosey and relaxed.
“For you too. You’re a sprinter. That was a great finish.” And Kirby had placed higher in subsequent fifty-kilometer races. Truthfully, it was disingenuous to call Kirby a sprinter. She wasn’tjusta sprinter. She had worked hard to become well-rounded in the longer distances. But Mara knew it bothered Kirby to be labeled like that.
“I’m the Olympic gold medalist in that event, Mara,” Kirby said flatly.
“That was thirty kilometers, though. Not fifty. It’s different.”
“No shit.” Kirby flipped her phone between her fingers. Her hands were shaking.
“Are you okay?”
“Where’s your favorite place to ski?” Kirby asked abruptly, dropping her phone into her lap. She scrubbed her hands over her cheeks like she was trying to rub feeling back into them.
“My favorite place to compete?” Mara asked.
“Not compete.Ski.”
“I’ve never thought about it. Weather, elevation change, trail conditions, snow totals. They’re simply variables to consider and plan for.”
Kirby spun from her butt and sat up on her knees, facing Mara.
“No, notcompete,” Kirby said again. “Where is your favorite place to just be you with the snow and trees and polar bears, or whatever it is you have up there in Alaska.” A small tremor ran through Kirby’s right hand, and she clenched it into a fist.
Mara frowned. “What’s wrong with you?”
“Nothing. Answer me.”
“God, I don’t know, Bonham. Do you have a favorite place?”
Kirby shrugged and closed her eyes. She held her breath for several seconds before letting it out. Then she did it again.
Mara snapped her hand out and grabbed Kirby’s wrist. Kirby gasped but didn’t open her eyes.
Mara turned Kirby’s wrist over, noticing that Kirby’s hand was cramped into a claw.
“What’s happening right now?” Mara whispered. She checked the hallway to make sure they were alone. “Are you sick?”
Kirby gave a sharp shake of her head and finally met Mara’s eyes. “I’m fine. It doesn’t matter.”
That was so clearly not true. Mara felt almost scared by how untrue that was.
“Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Lie.”
“I don’t know why…” Kirby took a harsh breath. “It’s not like you care anyway.”
“What do you mean by that?”
Kirby clenched her jaw, the muscle popping over and over. “Nothing. God, talking to you is worse than the breathing exercises.”
“Hey,” Mara said, voice frosty. Kirby flinched and looked up at her.
Kirby’s eyes were blue, and her eyelashes were so long. And she had a scar under her eyebrow that Mara had never noticed, but now she wanted to run her thumb over it again and again.
With slow deliberation, Mara rubbed Kirby’s wrist and palm in a great sweep. “There’s this trail in Kincaid Park in Anchorage.”
