“What do you mean?”
“I’ve got a good trainer I could send you to. Get you out of the thick of things if you want?”
“Really?” That grabs my attention.
He nods his head. Coach Anglia is only a few years older than I am. One of the most prolific skiers in men’s history, he took the job after he retired at the age of thirty.
It’s still hard to wrap my head around the fact that he’s only five years older than I am. Here I am still skiing at thirty-five, not quite ready to give the sport up. I’m well past the age of retirement.
“I can send you up to Jackson. Great skiing, quiet little town. No one would bother you up there.”
“Unless they find out I’m leaving.”
“We can help with that,” he assures me.
“Are you sure?”
Hearing the town of Jackson brings back a lot of painful memories for me. Ones that, while they weren’t painful before, have my heart clattering around in my chest.
All because of one man. One man I don’t want to be thinking about right now.
“It’s not going to do anyone any good if you’re not in the right headspace to compete. Go. I’ll give my buddy Scott a call and let him know you’re coming up.”
“Thanks, Coach.”
He goes back to his computer, dismissing me and ending our conversation. Not wanting to stick around, I fire off a text to my roommate, Lily, to see if she’s home.
I met her when I moved to Switzerland a few years back. She’s several years younger than I am and joined the Olympic team later than most. But we became fast friends—her not knowing anybody over there and me nursing a broken heart. We both moved back here at the same time, and she’s one of the few people I’ve let in.
It’s hard to know who likes you for you, and who wants a piece of your fame. Lily is one of the most genuine people I know. I love her to pieces.
The training center is now full of chaos with the slopes shutting down. This is what I’m used to. People coming and going. Skis being worked on. The loud videos welcoming you here.
Zipping my coat up to my chin, I walk the short distance back to my cabin. My thoughts are rioting.
Do I want to get out of here and leave the craziness behind? Yes.
Do I want to be away from shouted questions from the stalker press when I’m trying to get back to form? Also yes.
But…do I want to go to Jackson?
I haven’t thought abouthimin months. Every time I do, the thoughts are too painful. I went to Jackson to visit him and his family so many times that Jackson feels like a home away from home.
But it’s also his. He lived a short drive from there, so I know the area well. Would it feel like I’m intruding on his territory by going?
It’s a big enough town. Surely I can be in and out of there in a few weeks with my heart intact, right?
With the late afternoon sun dropping behind the mountains, it gets cold fast. Cutting across Main Street, I rush through the door of my cabin to find Lily drinking a glass of wine in the living room with a roaring fire.
The cabin isn’t much. Two small rooms joined by the living room and kitchen. But the stone fireplace in the middle is what makes it cozy.
“Hey. How was your meeting?” she asks.
“I need something to drink.”
“That good?” she calls out after me.
Shrugging out of my coat, the heat of the fire hits me. The temps in the mountains are dropping, getting colder than normal much faster. With the cutting wind, it’s going to make for some hard days of skiing.
