I stand there, skis on, poles in hand, staring down the tunnel at the start house beyond.
I can hear the beeps from here. The countdown for the racer currently in the gate. Five. Four. Three.
Then the scrape of edges. The explosion of movement. Gone.
The next racer slides forward.
My turn is coming.
I think about the Super-G globe. Fourth place. Still possible. One perfect run and I'm back in it.
I think about Kvitfjell. The way the ski hooked. The way my body twisted. The way the pain hit after, deep and grinding andwrong.
I think about Élise's face in the bathroom.You're exactly like him.
I think about her voice.I'd love you even if you never won again.
I didn't believe her.
But what if she's right?
What if I race, blow my knee, and spend the next year in rehab wondering if it was worth it?
What if I race, win, and still lose her?
What if this isn't about the globe at all? What if it's just about proving I'm not a coward?
The beeps start again. The next racer is in the gate.
Five. Four. Three. Two. One.
Gone.
One racer left ahead of me.
Then it's my turn.
I want to ski in ten years.
I reach down. Unclip one ski. Then the other. The bindings release with a soft click.
"Reiner! What are you doing?"
The starter is staring at me from the entrance to the tunnel. Behind him, Coach Leitner appears, face tight.
"Nico?"
I pick up my skis, sling them over my shoulder.
"I'm not racing."
"What?" Leitner's voice is sharp. "What are you talking about?"
"I'm not racing." My voice is steady. Wrecked. But steady. "I want to ski in ten years. I'm not killing my leg for a story."
He stares at me. The starter stares at me. The racer waiting ahead of me in the tunnel turns around, confused.
Leitner steps closer, drops his voice. "You're sure about this?"
