“Hey, let’s start over. Otherwise, this season is already lost. If you don’t trust me, I can’t help you, and what’s the point of coming out of retirement to coach a kid who doesn’t trust my advice?”
“Well, first of all, I’m not a kid,” he argues, and I can’t help but roll my eyes at his semantics. “And second, you call that disappearing act ‘retirement’?”
Dammit, I’m trying, but he has to meet me halfway, so I lighten my tone when I respond, completely ignoring the retirement comment.
“You’re right. My apologies, you crusty old curmudgeon.”This earns me an eye roll in return, as well as a shake of his head.
“You’re kind of an idiot,” he says, the barest hint of a smile pulling at his lips. It’s too soon to tell, but it feels like progress.
I shrug. “Eh, I’ve been called worse. So, what do you say?” I ask, holding my hand out.
He doesn’t back down as he asks, “I say it depends on why you left the sport.”
Immediately, my fingers pinch the bridge of my nose because I. Can’t. Fucking. Answer. That.
“Look, man,” Vox continues. “This is my whole career we’re talking about. This is it for me. It’s all I’ve got. And if I don’t do well at the Games, my best shot at getting back to the Olympics goes out the window. So, if you left because of some shady shit involving doping or rape or something that’s going to come back and bite usbothin the ass, then no, I’m not interested in working together.”
The worst part is that his concern is valid, and I totally respect it.
Trying to find middle ground, I offer the closest thing to the truth as I can get.
“There are reasons, including an NDA, as to why I can’t fully answer your question, but I’ve never cut corners by doping. And itabsolutelywas not rape. For fuck’s sake, Vox, what kind of monster do you think I am?”
“I don’t know!” he bellows louder than I was expecting. “That’s what I’m trying to get you to tell me!”
I’m losing him. Whatever ground I had just gained is slipping away, and I need this season as much as he does.
“All right, I hear you,” I say, pausing as I try to figure out how much I can divulge and how I can phrase it so I’m within legal bounds because the truth is, I don’t know Vox any better than he knows me. He doesn’t strike me as the kind of guy torun his mouth, but am I willing to risk a lawsuit over that? Considering I’m financially broke, definitely not. “There was an incident. It was handled privately to keep my name out of the press and off the Olympic Committee’s radar. I left the sport when my sponsors dropped me.”
“But whathappened?” he asks again. “What was theincident?”
“I didn’t rape anyone. I didn’t murder anyone or bury any bodies. I didn’t dope. I didn’t cheat. I didn’t steal. And I’m sorry, but that’s as much as I can tell you.”
He sits with this for a minute before dropping his voice and asking, “Did youwantto stop boarding?”
This question is much easier to answer.
“Fuck, no. Like you, boarding was my whole fucking world.”
This seems to be the right answer because Vox nods his head slowly, but thankfully, he doesn’t ask any more questions.
“Okay, then. Let’s start over,” he says, holdinghishand out this time. “Vox Montgomery. It’s nice to meet you, and also, I’m going to smash your record in parallel slalom this year.”
I’d be pissed at his arrogance, but the smile he throws me is the most genuine smile I’ve seen from him yet, and it does a whole helluva lot to ease the tension between us.
I place my gloved hand in his. “Connor Lang. Pleasure’s all mine. If you can beat that record, your drink’s on me.”
Vox lets out what can very loosely be described as a snort, but maybe there was a little laughter mixed in.
The sound is nice. Deep. Full of testosterone. I hope I get to hear it again.
“Come on, let’s get you back up top,” I tell him, finally remembering I have another athlete I’m supposed to be watching. We’ve been out here all of twenty minutes, and already I’m completely consumed with the force that is Vox Montgomery.
Vox takes off for the lift below us as I head for the far edge of the slope to ride the snowmobile back to my starting point.
As soon as I’m settled, Renner boards over to me, coming to a stop. “What do you want to see from me this morning, Coach?” he asks eagerly, obviously wanting to make a good impression.
“Why don’t you take off at moderate speed? Three runs. Just let me watch and figure out your mechanics before I start demanding changes.”
