Race bibs. Wax brushes. Boots piled by the door in a heap that would give my mother hives. A single framed photo on the windowsill, him and Thomas and a few other guys, mid-laugh, somewhere snowy and chaotic.
It's not much. But it's his.
And for now, it's mine too.
I pull out my phone and open Instagram, flipping to my close-friends story. Snap a photo of the burned moka pot, the chipped mug, the catastrophic kitchen.
Caption: Domestic goddess. Pray for Nico.
I post it before I can overthink it, grinning at my own ridiculousness.
***
The shower is long and scalding, the kind of luxury I didn't know I needed until I had nowhere to be and no one watching.
I take my time. Moisturizer. His hoodie, oversized, soft, smelling like him. Hair damp and loose because there's no pointin blowing it out when the only person who'll see me today is still half asleep on a slope somewhere.
I settle onto the couch with my phone, a laptop, and a second cup of coffee, scrolling through articles about Nico's season.
Austria's Rising Star.
Reiner's Chances After Schladming Collapse.
Will His Messy Personal Life Get In The Way?
Every headline makes my chest tighten in a way I don't want to examine.
I click through to a video. Highlights from Beaver Creek. The way he launches off Golden Eagle, body compact, skis aligned, landing so deep it looks impossible.
I watch it three times.
My pulse picks up every time he's airborne.
I'm still watching when my email pings.
I swipe over and my eyes go wide. It’s the cosmetics brand that pays me generously for featuring their product, they are firing me. Yesterday, I got the same message from Audi, but it didn’t bother me much. That contract was attached to me driving to luxurious places, of course, they didn’t want to pay for posts from a calm alpine village. But this cosmetic brand had been with me for three years, and now they are firing me. Why?
I sigh and brace myself to open the calendar.
No Eiswerk tasks. Of course, they did not end the contract officially, they wouldn’t. They were just told to get by without me until father thinks I am worthy of their attention again.
I frown. Could he pull strings with an Austrian cosmetics brand as well? Would he care to be that effective? Learn what face cream I use and post about it with proper hashtags and do whatever he does to make them fire me? Should I expect other contracts to dry out?
A wave of cold dread washes over me. Those contracts are my only source of income, it has never been much, but it wasthe only money I could bring with me into this tiny apartment. When it’s gone, Nico will be the only one with a paycheck.
I open my calendar app.
It's empty except for race dates on the weekend.
His races. Not mine.
I stare at the screen, the coffee going cold in my hand.
I finally stepped out of my father's schedule, and I somehow landed in nobody's. Not even my own.
The thought isn't panic. Not yet.
Just a ripple. Small. Quiet. Easy to ignore.
