Mara covered her face. “I can’t talk about it.”
“No gossip. Got it.”
Mara hadn’t meant to hurt Kirby. She’d just wanted to stop feeling so turned around. So vulnerable. And she hadn’t known how to tell her that without breaking everything to pieces.
“I shouldn’t have left before seeing Kirby’s sprint final.”
“Everyone—the press, the coaches—they all act like you’re some great leader because you’re a great skier, but a leader wouldn’t have left.”
“I know.” Mara swallowed the lump in her throat. “It freaked me out. I was so worked up, wanting her to do well. So worried. I was too invested. I’d felt like my body couldn’t handle the stress.”
“You probably read the endings of books first too.”
“What?” Mara said. She’d known Lindsey a long time. She hoped they would be friends once this was over. But this was the deepest conversation they’d ever had, and Mara didn’t quite know how to follow Lindsey’s conversational detours.
“I think that hurt her. That you weren’t there,” Lindsey said. “She asked for you afterward.”
“Aww, damn it.” Mara pressed her palms to her eye sockets.
“It’s okay to want to wait until after competition to figure your feelings out,” Lindsey said. “Especially at the Olympics. Like, that makes sense, Mara. You deserve the time and space to focus and compete.”
“Sure.” Logically, that was the truth. Mara had been saying it from the beginning. To herself. To Kirby.
But emotions weren’t logical. And Mara couldn’t get around the fact that she had broken something worth keeping precious and safe.
Lindsey stood up. “Come on. Let’s go watch figure skating. Maybe the lounge won’t be too wild.”
The lounge was a madhouse. American cross-country skiers and ski jumpers were all squished in around a large TV to watch the event. Luckily, Apollo and Kirby were nowhere to be seen. She was pretty sure she wouldn’t be able to see Kirby without crying, fleeing, or starting another fight.
There had been watch parties in the lounge since the beginning of the Games, but the only time she’d been in there had been to film the condom unboxing video with Kirby. She sat on the same couch, in the same spot where Kirby had kissed her, and tried to focus on the screen. It was hard. She kept thinking back to that kiss. To every kiss.
Kirby had the video. It had been unnerving seeing how easily Kirby took her down in that clip. She’d been under Kirby’s spell after nothing but a touch. She hadn’t liked seeing the proof of it.
After Mara had distantly watched a few figure skaters complete their programs, Brandilyn plopped into the spot beside her. Lindsey was still on Mara’s other side, steady like a sentry.
“Hey, Mara May.”
“Hi, Brandilyn. How’s the knee?”
“Shaky.”
“I’m so sorry,” Mara said. “Will you race in the relay?”
“Yeah. I don’t want to let the team down. And who knows? I might not ever get a chance at the Olympics again. I don’t want to miss it.”
Mara turned to her. “You’ll get another chance. You’re talented.”
Brandilyn shrugged. “Not everyone does. Not everyone is like you. Or KB.”
“I’m not…Youcan be. There’s longevity in our sport if you take care of yourself. That’s not something I’ve always been good at, but I hope you will be.”
“The doctors said I can ski on the knee. It’s just a little?—”
“I don’t mean your knee. I mean take care of yourselfhere.” Mara tapped her own temple. “And here.” She touched her own chest.
Brandilyn took that sappiness with as much seriousness as it deserved. Mara never doled out life or skiing advice, and Brandilyn clearly didn’t know what to say. She nodded and immediately started chatting up a ski jumper who was sitting on the floor in front of the sofa.
Lindsey bumped her shoulder against Mara’s. “Hey, hey, leader.”
