The grin softens into something almost shy. “Means a lot, coming from you,” he says. “You know… considering who dragged me through my first World Cup race without letting me cry in the finish.” There’s real respect in his eyes, under all the usual cockiness. But at this moment, it just doesn’t reach me.
“Please,” I say. “You cried. You just did it behind the service cabin.”
He laughs, color high in his cheeks. Some of the tension in my chest eases for a second.
Then his look sharpens, taking in my still-half-zipped suit, the dried snow on my shins. “Nice acrobatics from you, by the way.”
“Thought I’d give the TV guys something to work with,” I say.
He chuckles, then lowers his voice a little. “Look, man, I heard… things. Tabloids. Ex on TV. Mystery girl in Reiteralm. You’re a scandal once again, respect. Just so you know, I’m on your side. They should all leave you alone, we’re skiers, not some freaking politicians.”
I snort. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.” He pockets his phone. “And relax. Women, tabloids, whatever—they come and go. They don’t fit into our lives anyway. Not really.” He says it like gravity.
I stare at the floor for a beat. “They get to me,” I admit finally. “That’s the problem. I lose focus.”
Thomas snorts. “Yeah, well, that’s on you. I never thought to mentor the great Fabio Baier, but you’re overthinking it. If Lena dumped me mid-season, sure, I’d sulk. But I’d still ski. That’s the job.”
“You’ve got Lena waiting at home,” I point out. “That’s the difference.”
He grins, unbothered. “Exactly. That’s how it should be—one girl, far away, not messing with the training plan. No woman actually fits into a racer’s life. If there were, I’d marry her on the spot.” He laughs. “But that’s not how this works. We’re always gone. They either deal with it or they leave.”
“I thought I’d found someone who might actually fit,” I say before I can stop myself. “Not into the schedule, but… into everything.”
He barks out a laugh. “See? That’s your mistake right there. Rom-com brain. Find yourself a Lena: low-drama, likes you even when you stink, doesn’t care about the circuit, admires you, is happy to be the rockstar’s woman. Be happy, ski fast. Simple.”
He stands and grabs his suitcase handle. “Anyway, enjoy the slalom tomorrow. Try not to die before I can beat you again.” He claps my shoulder—quick, warm—and heads toward the sliding doors, rookie win in his pocket, future clean and straight in front of him.
I stay in the chair a moment longer, watching his reflection disappear into the glass. For Thomas, it really is that simple—women on one side, racing on the other, neat line in between.
For me, the line has never been neat.
My life has always been a mess off the hill. Maria shouting, someone new in my bed, unread messages stacking up. Before, it was just background noise. Luca pulled me into the start gate and flipped the switch for me. Skiing was the clean part.
Now Luca’s gone, I’m the one everyone watches, and suddenly the noise isn’t staying outside the net. It’s leaking in. Intoinspection. Into the gate. Into that one turn where I needed a calm head and instead got a highlight reel of my own stupidity.
Like on command, my phone vibrates in my hand.
GOLDEN GIRL: You alright?
I stare at the screen in disbelief. She broke up with me over a text, called me like nothing happened, and now this? The irritation snaps into place before reason can stop it, and I type back.
FAB: A fan with direct access asks questions. Like you care.
Three dots appear, disappear. My heart is beating a little too fast, and I already wish I could take it back. Screw technology. In ancient times, you could outrun the mailman and rip the letter from his hands. Now every wrong word is only a thumb away from cutting somebody off.
ZLA: I care.
ZLA: Unlike most of the fans in your DMs, I care for you.
ZLA: As a person.
I don’t answer. Just stare at the phone.
ZLA: Not sleeping with you does not change that.
Great. Just great. Now things are even more complicated. I pocket the phone, then pull it out again. I don’t want to dive into a conversation. But there’s no need to be an asshole either.
