The sun sparkled off the sheets of perfect snow as they made their way outside. Kirby knocked the sunglasses from her forehead down over her eyes. The sky was clear blue. The energy in the stadium was charged.
Relay days were special.
Kirby was usually humming with excitement and adrenaline before a relay. But instead, she was fuming. They skied their warm-ups, and then, before Kirby knew it, Jordan was off on the lead-off scramble leg. The crowd’s cheers were earsplitting.
Kirby often raced the third leg, with Brandilyn pulling the anchor, since they were both strongest at the freestyle versus the classic style of the first two legs. But with Brandilyn’s injury, the coaches had switched them around. Kirby had to bide her time and stay warm and primed through three legs.
She had to stayangrythrough three legs. The sound of the crowd faded in her head as the first and second legs transitioned in the relay exchange zone.
“You got this,” Kirby said to Brandilyn. They hadn’t practiced their exchange—Brandilyn tapping Kirby versus the other way around—as often as Kirby would have preferred, but it was going to be okay.
Kirby wasn’t going to fuck this up for anyone else.
When Brandilyn was tapped to start her leg, the US was in sixth. Brandilyn was a great pursuit racer, though. She raced better when chasing someone.
Kirby moved into position in the relay exchange zone. She slowed her breathing and tugged on that thread of anger. It was sharp and red, a consistent drumbeat in her chest.
Fuck Mara. Fuck everyone.
Brandilyn came back into view. They were still in sixth, but she had closed the gap significantly, and all the top teams were clustered up.
Kirby started skiing when Brandilyn was a few meters away. Then she felt the tap on her shoulder, and she burst forward, through the stadium and out onto the course, leaving the cheering crowds behind.
She focused on her skis and poles, on skiing hard and clean, and on the skier in front of her.
Fuck everyone.
Kirby pushed up a hill, drawing level with her first victim. She passed the German skier. Hills were her favorite. So hard, so much effort.
The next skier came into her sights.
Her legs burned. Her chest burned.
She gained ground on the downhill and hit the final curve and straightaway back into the stadium.
She pulled into fourth. Third place—Finland—was within reach.
She was going to finish this hard. No one would ever say again that she wasn’t focused. That her attention, and ambition, and drive were split between skiing and the reality TV, influencer shit.
Fuck Mara. Fuck everyone.
She could do both. Shewoulddo both.
She wasn’t the princess of cross-country skiing, but she was the workhorse.
CHAPTER
TWENTY-FOUR
The sound stage was bright.Mara always forgot how bright TV studios were.
She had her bronze medal around her neck. Lindsey had the silver around hers.
And Kirby had two bronzes around hers.
Mara felt breathless just thinking about Kirby on that straightaway coming into the stadium during the relay. She’d never looked faster.
When Kirby had crossed the finish line, she’d screamed. A primal, visceral scream that Mara had felt in her bones. Mara wanted a frame of that scream on her wall. She wanted to live in its echo.
