I knew I should stop, just leave it as it was, but I couldn’t get myself to stop.The frustration from last weekend’s race loss, the interview with Ollie, and this morning’s practice had led me to this place.A place that I hated to be but could not escape.
“That’s plenty of distance, and you know it.Maybe—” She stopped herself, but frustration danced in her eyes.
“Maybe what?”
She shook her head.“Nothing.”
“No—say it.”I leaned forward, my pulse quickening.“Maybe what, Lily?”
The air all of a sudden felt thinner, and my throat began to swell.Breathing felt nearly impossible.Reporters leaned forward, phones and records in hand.The constant clicking of camera shutters intensified, a rapid-fire percussion that seemed to come from all directions at once.
Luca shot me a look from beside Lily, his brown eyes almost pleading with me:Stop, before this gets worse.
But I couldn’t seem to stop.Couldn’t pull back from whatever precipice I was standing on.
So much for not digging a deeper hole.
Lily grabbed the mic, her knuckles going white.“Maybe the problem isn’t where I was, Henri.Maybe it’s that you apparently seem to see a ghost whenever there’s even a hint of rain.”
The words hit like a gut punch.My vision tunneled slightly, the edges of the room going fuzzy and indistinct.My mouth hung open as I stared at her, desperately searching for words that would make this okay; that would deflect and smooth over and return us to the safe, professional territory we were supposed to occupy.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing.Henri, I shouldn’t have—” Lily’s voice dropped to just above a whisper.
The room felt unnaturally still, and even the moderator seemed frozen.His hand hovered uselessly near his microphone, like even he didn’t know what to say.With one hand pressed to her temple like she was physically holding back a migraine, Ruth’s face did nothing to control her evident fury.
Expectant faces and recording devices watched me like a hawk.The perfectly crafted answers that Ruth and I had rehearsed repeatedly disappeared entirely.
“Fuck this.”
My hands moved on autopilot, and I set the mic down on the floor.I stood abruptly, my chair scraping against the stage floor with a harsh screech.The moderator’s hand reached out to me, but then he set it down, like he too could see I was done.
My feet dragged me out of the seat and away from the sea of journalists.On my way out I could hear their whispers, and I did everything to shut them out.
I’m sure Ruth will fill me in on what they said later.
As soon as I was outside the room and into the hallway, I felt a tear slide down my cheek, hot and unwelcome, like a physical betrayal of my carefully constructed façade.I swiped at it roughly with the back of my hand.
“Henri!”Ruth’s voice echoed through the quiet.She caught up beside me, breathless, her phone already buzzing with notifications.“What happened to not making a scene?”
“I answered their questions,” I said, my voice rough and unsteady.
“Youdetonatedon live television!”She waved her arms in the air, her phone still clutched in one hand, the screen lighting up with what I could only assume were increasingly frantic messages from team management.“Do you even care how that looked?”
More footsteps joined us.
Georgia.
“Henri.”Her voice was gentle, concerned in a way that made my throat tighten.She was already reaching for my arm, that familiar protective instinct I’d known my entire life written across her face.
“Don’t,” I said sharply.“Please.Just… don’t.”
“Hey.”Her tone was careful.“You’re shaking.”
“I’m fine.”My voice came out clipped and hollow, but my body told a completely different story.My hands trembled at my sides, fingers tapping my side.The slight tremor ran up my arms, into my shoulders.I could feel my heart racing against my ribs, like it might crack through the bone.
Ruth exhaled through her nose, the sound dripping with barely restrained frustration.“Just brilliant, Henri.”
