He pauses. Just for a second. Then keeps packing.
"To Kvitfjell?"
"Yeah. Keep you company. I asked Katharina. There’re spare rooms in your hotel."
He zips the duffel halfway, tests the weight, unzips it again. "It's not a good weekend for it."
"Why not?"
"I just need to focus. Tunnel vision. No distractions."
The word lands wrong. I feel it in my chest before I can stop it.
"Distractions."
"Élise, you know what I mean."
"Do I?"
He sits down beside me, the duffel between us like a barrier. "I just need this weekend to work. Kvitfjell is huge. Double downhill. If I can pull off two solid runs, I'm back in the rankings for the overall. Back in the conversation. Back in..."
He doesn't finish.
"Back in control," I say quietly.
"Yeah."
I want to argue. I want to tell him that I wouldn't be a distraction, that I could help, that he doesn't have to do this alone.
But I also know what he's not saying.
He can't afford to bring me. Not emotionally.
And he definitely can't afford for me to watch him fail again.
"Okay," I say.
He blinks. "Okay?"
"Yeah. Go. Do your thing. I'll be here when you get back."
He searches my face like he's waiting for the catch. When he doesn't find one, he leans in and kisses me. It's soft, brief, almost apologetic.
"I'll bring back a trophy," he says, grinning. "And a better mood."
"You better."
He stands, zips the duffel, slings it over his shoulder. He's halfway to the door when I say his name.
"Nico."
He turns.
"Be careful."
He smiles. That easy, golden-boy smile that used to make my stomach flip. Now it just makes me sad.
"Always am."
