Another pause. Softer this time. "You made points. You stayed upright. It wasn't...shit."
But it wasn't good either. She doesn't say it, but I can hear the careful shape of the words she'snotusing. She's learned enough about ski racing now to know when I'm chasing and when I'm attacking. Today I chased.
"French TV commentary was hilarious, though," I say, switching lanes before she can press. "They kept calling me 'le jeune Autrichien audacieux,' like I'm some kind of daredevil instead of a guy who just missed his line."
She laughs. Light. Real. "The young audacious Austrian. That sounds like a compliment."
"It's French for 'reckless idiot.'"
"Still sounds better in French."
I grin despite myself. "Everything does."
Silence. Not uncomfortable, but I can feel the weight of something unsaid sitting between us like a third person on the call.
"What did you do today?" I ask, needing to hear about her, needing the image of her in my flat to fill the space where the race didn't.
"Oh." She sounds surprised. "Not much. Coffee. Read for a bit. Took a walk."
"In the snow?"
"In the village. It's... quiet here."
Too quiet, I think, but I don't say it.
"You should've come," I say instead. "Chamonix is pretty. Very French. You would've hated it."
She laughs again, and I can picture her curled up on my couch, legs tucked under her, that little smile she gets when she's trying not to look pleased.
"Maybe next time."
"Yeah. Maybe."
Another beat of silence.
I almost ask her—did you look at jobs today?—but the words stick in my throat. Because if she says yes, then I have to deal with what that means. And I don't want to deal with it. Not now. Not when I'm already carrying Chamonix disaster like a stone in my gut.
Don't be needy. Just ski faster.
"Nico?"
"Yeah?"
"You okay?"
I roll my shoulders, adjust the bag. "Yeah. Just tired. Long day."
"Go get some rest."
"I will."
"And Nico?"
"Yeah?"
"I'm here. You know that, right? I'm not going anywhere."
Something tight in my chest loosens. She knows what I need to hear without even looking at my face. And I love her for it.
