But she doesn't say it. And I'm glad. Because I don't have the energy to argue.
I loop the band around my ankle and start the curls.
One. Two. Three.
Outside, the mountains are sharp and white against the sky. Inside, the radiator clanks. The fridge hums.
And I sit here, counting reps, trying not to think about how much space she takes up now.
How little is left for me.
***
ÉLISE
The TV is on when I come back from the kitchen with ice and a bowl of pretzels.
Åre Super-G. The screen shows a racer carving through a steep, technical section, gates tight, the Swedish crowd roaring.
Nico is exactly where I left him ten minutes ago. On the couch, bad leg propped on the coffee table, brace strapped tight, a pillow wedged under his knee. He hasn't moved. Hasn't even shifted position.
I set the ice pack on the table beside him. "Fresh from the freezer."
"Thanks."
He doesn't look at me. Just reaches for it, presses it against his knee with a wince he tries to hide.
I curl up on the other end of the couch, tucking my feet under me, and set the pretzels between us. He doesn't take one.
On screen, the racer crosses the finish line. The clock flashes green. Third place so far.
"Good run," the commentator says. "That's going to be hard to beat."
I glance at Nico. His jaw is tight, eyes fixed on the screen like he's watching something he doesn't want to see but can't look away from.
"You want something else to watch?" I ask carefully. "There's a documentary on—"
"No. It's fine."
"Nico."
"I said it's fine."
I don't push.
The next racer is Thomas.
I feel Nico go still beside me, the kind of stillness that's louder than movement.
Thomas attacks the course, aggressive, precise, threading gates that look impossibly tight. The crowd noise builds. The commentators get excited.
"That's fast. That's very fast."
Thomas crosses the finish. The clock flashes. First place.
The broadcast cuts to him in the finish area, helmet off, grinning, teammates mobbing him. The commentators replay the run, breaking down the sections, praising his line, his technique, his confidence.
"Thomas Kern moves into the lead with a brilliant first run. This could be his breakthrough moment."
