The score flashed 79.0. Strong, but not perfect, and shit, it dropped me behind the Swiss rider, Silvan Roth, always my biggest rival.
By the time I dropped in for my third run, my lungs were heaving, legs trembling from the strain of the night, gloves tightening on the board edge as if I could squeeze more strength into them. My heart hammered like a drum; the weight of the crowd, the lights, and my own expectations pressed down on me. I knew this was it—one last chance to put everything on the line, one run to prove I belonged among the very best, one shot that could change my future. Backside 1620 indy to tail—two grabsin one spin, super technical. I launched off the lip, everything clicking into place. The pop was massive, the air felt endless, and I spotted the landing from a mile up. My legs absorbed the shock like steel springs; my arms shot skyward, the landing clean and smooth. The crowd erupted, my teammates pounding the boards on the fence. Score: 91.2. Silver medal position.
I ripped my helmet off, grinning so wide it hurt, snow clinging to my hair. Cameras caught everything, and I lifted my arm high, waving like always. My parents were watching from the hotel, because even though they came to Austria every year to see me compete, Mom refused to spectate at the landing zone; she couldn’t handle it in person. From sleeping on friends’ floors and in shitty hostels to now staying in first-class luxury courtesy of MarvTech, they’d been there for every step, my biggest support system, and I wanted them to see me now, riding higher than ever.
And Jack.
Abel’s hands landed heavy on my shoulders, his voice rough with pride. “That’s it, kid. That’s your name on the Olympic potentials list for sure.”
I whooped; there was no feeling like it.
But this time I was waving at Jack, even if he wasn’t there. Just in case—would he have seen this? Was it even streamed back in the States, up in PA? Was he even interested? I wanted to hug him, I wanted him to see how well I’d done, I wanted him to be proud of me. What the hell was wrong with me? The thought tangled in my chest, fierce and raw, as the cheers washed over me.
What mattered more—standing here on the podium with silver glinting in the floodlights, or the impossible wish of Jack O’Leary looking at me with pride in his eyes?
I couldn’t decide.
NINE
Jack
“You starton the ornaments and I’ll—” I paused with the end of one silver garland strand in my hand. “Fi, don’t argue with me about this anymore. It’s January 1st. The tree has to go. It’s shedding and I have a road trip into Canada that’ll keep me away from home for two weeks.”
“I’ll water it,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest, then setting her chin. She could be really defiant at times. Most of the time, to be honest.
“You’re leaving for the UK tomorrow, then off to Moldova, and then a stop in Berlin. When do you think you can water it?” I waved a hand at the fat green spruce that was growing browner and thinner by the day.
“When I get home.”
“I’ll be back before you will.” Her lips flattened. “It has to go. The holidays are over. I appreciated you buying it, decorating it, and naming it Steve so it would feel more at home here, but the time has come. All good things must come to an end.”
My thoughts pulled up an image of Tian spread over the hotel bed, nude, breathtakingly beautiful, beckoning me to join him. I still missed him. Smoky memories of slick skin, strong questingfingers, and soft laughs haunted my nights. Maybe haunted wasn’t the right word. They lingered in my dreams, teasing me to wakefulness with a craving in my chest and a hard dick. That good thing had ended. And now Steve the Spruce had to hit the curb.
“I wish you’d leave it up just a little longer.” She pouted the prettiest pout ever to be pouted.
I tugged the garland off with a jerk that made a tiny bell on a glass angel ornament ring out.
Her pout morphed into a gasp. “Mom always left it up until January seventh until after the Feast of the Epiphany.”
“That’s not fair.”
She shrugged. “Maybe not but if you take the tree and decorations down before the sixth it brings bad luck. And we do not want any evil vibes to settle on you.”
Okay yes, that was true. This season had been freaking phenomenal. We were solidly in first place in our division, every line was clicking, and everyone was pumped. On a personal note, I was having the best season of my long career. I had twenty-one goals and sixteen assists already, which compared to Gunny and Trick, and a few other hotshot scorers was not huge but for a defenseman midway through the season? I’d take it any time. My TOI was high, my plus/minus was plus thirty-two and my hits were climbing to plus sixty. Penalty minutes were low, blocked shots were high. I’d never played better.
“Fine, we’ll leave it up.” She smiled so sweetly it gave me a cavity just looking at her. “Do you always win every debate we have?”
“Yes.” She skipped over, ponytail bouncing, to hug me tight. A vanilla floral scent engulfed me as she nestled into my chest, cheek over my heart. “I love you.”
“Mm-hmm.” I rested my hairy chin atop her head as the tree dropped a dozen needles in spite. “Love you too.”
“I know. Did you see that Tian?—”
“Fi, that’s off limits,” I reminded her gently. I’d never disclosed that I checked in on him on Instagram and Tik Tok when I had a moment to relax and drift off into recollections.
She tipped her head up to stare at me. “I think you should text him. Just let him know that you’re?—”
“Nope.” I kissed her nose then wiggled free of the hug. “Now, since we’re not taking down the tree…” My phone buzzed in my back pocket. “One second.”
