Deep breaths.
Don’t bite back at this guy. It’ll only give him more ammunition to use against me.
“No comment.”
I grab the door, but he’s quick to stop me. This close, his brown eyes are menacing.
I really do hate this guy. Worse than all the other press combined.
“One quote. That’s all I need.”
“Then how about no comment?”
I break past him, finding a blissfully empty ski center. Quiet. Unusual, but a welcome respite from the chaos of dealing with that guy. This is the one place reporters aren’t allowed. I’m surprised the douche actually respects the boundaries of this building.
I don’t mind the occasional reporter. I have to deal with them in my position on the ski team.
It doesn’t mean I have to like it.
This is one of the downsides of training here. Reporters from every sports outlet camp out here in the lead-up to the games. They’re bloodhounds, sniffing out any hint of gossip or story. They live for the drama.
Sure, my other teammates provide fodder for their stories, but not me.
Ski, rest, repeat. It’s been like that for the last few years.
Some might say my life is too one-dimensional. I don’t care. After the heartache I’ve been through, I’m fine being on my own. I’m not ready to open myself up to that kind of pain again.
“Meyers! Coach wants to see you in his office,” an assistant calls out to me.
“Sure thing.”
I head to the locker room to drop off my gear and strip out of my outer layers before heading to meet my coach. Before, this would have stressed me out—almost like getting called to the principal’s office. Ever since I tore my ACL on the slopes, I’m in here at least once a week.
Nothing to stress about now.
“Hey, Coach.” I drop into the chair opposite his desk.
“Audrey. How’s the leg feeling?”
“Good. Had a great day out on the mountain.”
He adjusts his glasses. “Good, good. And everything else going okay with training?”
“Other than a camera being shoved in my face every day…”
I don’t know where all this interest came from, following my road back to the games this coming February. Being in the spotlight has never been my interest.
This place is a second home. It’s all I’ve ever known. Being raised in nearby Golden, the mountains here were where I spent most of my childhood. I’ve been training here since I was eighteen. Like with everything though, the new skiers are getting younger and younger.
And I feel like the old lady of the group.
“Everyone loves a good comeback story, Audrey. If you medal, you’d be the oldest female US skier to place in the games.”
There’s that age talk again.
“It’s just a number. I feel good, Coach. I just wish I had some peace and quiet every now and then.”
He eyes me, giving me an assessing stare. “What would you say to getting out of Copper Mountain?”
