“An hour ago, I was pissed and heartbroken, but seeing you in this chute, knowing you’re about to race again, makes me so fucking happy, I’m not even sad to sit this one out.”
The buzzer sounds, alerting coaches that it’s time to leave their athletes, and I kiss Vox goodbye as I pull my goggles down. I’m competing in his events today because they weremyevents first. I’ll be glad to have snowboard cross out of the way since parallel giant slalom is my main event.
It’s been a long time, but the same laser focus I’ve always managed to find before a race descends on me as I get into position.
Gripping the handles in the front of the gate, I prepare to launch myself out of the chute and down the mountain.
I’m in the far-right lane, which isn’t ideal. Four of us race at a time, which could be worse, but it’s foggy and visibility is low. I stop my mind from thinking about collisions and do my best to focus on the task in front of me. The guys to my left are professionals, not drunken idiots. We know how to respect each other on the mountain.
The warning beep starts, and for a brief moment, I think I may shit my pants, but as soon as the gate opens, the feeling passes, and all I see is the course in front of me.
I begin pumping my legs for speed immediately. I need to hit the first ramp fast but keep my air low, landing quickly. As soon as we land, I squat a little lower and rock back on my edge, keeping my board facing downhill to pick up speed. As the next jump looms in front of us, I do one little hop and get just enough air to see daylight under my board so I don’t get disqualified. I land first, but we’re rounding into a corner, and the guy on the inside has the advantage. Shifting my attention to his hips, I can tell he’s going to come out of the turn andmove to his right, cutting the rest of us off. It’s time to take a page out of Vox’s book and do the brand name on my jacket justice. The jumps make it hard to find the fall line on a course like this, but not impossible. Coming out of the turn, I pass behind the guy on the left and feel my board gain speed as the degree of the slope increases ever so slightly. I pull ahead before the next jump and stay low once again to minimize my air time.
One of the boarders drops back after that, having gotten too much air. There isn’t enough course left for him to catch up. The guy behind me is still fighting, but I’ve pushed him off the fall line, and his only way to get it back is to catch me, which he won’t do. The last guy is making me work for it, but he’s not as good as Vox, and even Vox couldn’t beat me down the mountain.
Throwing my arms behind me, I pull my knees to my chest on another jump. My board is still so fucking responsive. A small twist of my hips, and we’re flying into the final turn. The last jump is directly after the turn, and I swing out to hit the high side on the bank. Sailing through the air in a downward trajectory literally feels like I’m hurtling off the edge of the world. Most boarders, including the guy fighting to catch me, would take the softer part of that jump and already be decelerating by the time they cross the finish line.
But no one said you have to cross the finish line on the ground.
I fly through the air, hand clutched to the back of my board, showing off just because I can, and cross the finish line at full speed.
When I hit the snow, I hop once more, twisting my hips, positioning my board perpendicular to the slope, and skid to a stop.
The other racers congratulate me while my hands are on my knees, and I’m struggling to catch my breath while alsotrying not to cry. I offer fist-bumps and haven’t even straightened up yet when I’m knocked to the ground.
Vox is straddling my waist, his hands on either side of my helmet.
“That was so fucking hot!” he yells. “It’s been so long since I’ve seen you race. I’d totally forgotten how fucking incredible it is.” He smacks my helmet. “First, baby! You came in first!” He leans down to kiss me, totally forgetting about the crowd, not that I expected Vox to give a shit about them anyway.
A laugh sounds somewhere to my right.
“All right, Vox, let the man up, for crying out loud. He has a medal to collect,” Turner says as Vox slowly peels himself off me and holds out a hand to help me up.
“I’m so fucking proud of you,” he says as I unclip and take his hand.
“Couldn’t have done it without you,” I tell him honestly. The first stop I have to make is the media tent. They interview all the winners. I’m about to step inside when a man in a wheelchair catches my attention. “Sam?”
“Helluva race, Connor.”
I drop to my knees, hugging his waist as guilt eats me alive. I didn’t even tell him I was racing. The past couple of days have been so fucked, it didn’t even cross my mind.
“What are you doing here?”
“Vox called me a couple nights ago. Told me the plan.” The tears come whether I want them to or not. “It was good for my soul to see you race again, Connor. You looked good out there.”
“Th-thank you,” I stutter.
Rocking back on my heels, I stand, wiping my eyes. Vox has my board under his arm, and his dad is at my side.
“Handle the media however you want,” Turner says. “You’ll never be silenced by me—or my company. You’ve gotmy full support. Helluva ride, man.” He claps me on the back and makes his way to the tent.
Looking at Sam, I notice Louisa for the first time. Jumping into action, I hug her as well.
“Don’t go anywhere, okay?” I plead. They nod, and I turn to Vox. “Do this with me?” I ask, talking about the media interview.
“Whatever you want, baby.”
I lace our fingers together, and he looks down, a smile splitting his gorgeous face.
