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“I’m glad to hear it. He’s my cherry, you know.”
“You’re what?”
“He’s the baby. We thought we were done, but the good Lord had other plans. His brothers would tease him when he was little, telling him he was the ‘oops’ baby, but he was the cherry on top of our family. I swear he’s been going a hundred miles an hour since he could walk, trying to keep up with his big brothers,” she says, her voice full of pride.
“I can believe that.”
“He doesn’t know it, but he’s got everything they do and more. Langford’s drive and determination, Graham’s generous nature, Corbin’s intense loyalty, Weston’s devilish charm, Garrett’s sense of adventure, his father’s quiet patience and those beautiful Tuttle genes that melted my heart all those years ago. Langford plans to have him running things alongside him one day, you know.”
“I do. Langford told me when we first sat down to talk about me coming on board. He wanted me to get to know Morris. To help guide him. He made me promise not to go easy on him, which I respected,” I tell her.
“He wants him to learn from the ground up.”
“Yes. I’ll tell you a secret. That’s why I put him with beginners on the bunny slopes. To learn humility. He’s better than any of the other instructors, but I wanted him to understand that a ski school is only as good as it treats the least of its students.”
“That’s true for any business,” she agrees.
“He’s come so far in just a few weeks. He’s naturally taken the lead in the group without having to be asked. Helping to guide or at least rein in Scooter and some of the others.”
“In no small part because of you. I know Langford is very happy you’re here and is hoping perhaps it won’t be just for a season.”
“Yeah, I haven’t made any decisions on that. I learned a long time ago to live in the moment and not to plan too far into the future.”
“Why is that?”
“Because wanting something badly and losing it is hard to recover from,” I admit.
“Oh, Zoey. Sometimes, dreams—”
“I’ve heard enoughdreams changepep talks for a lifetime,” I interrupt.
“Not change, morph,” she says.
“What does that mean?”
“It means, if you still have Olympic dreams, then maybe you have to get there a different way. If you can’t get there through the front door, then you use the back door, or you grab a brick and bust through a window,” she says, pounding her fist on the steering wheel.
I shake my head.
“The injury didn’t change who you are. You’re a survivor. A champion. Period.”
“I have been considering an alternate career. One that still chases the gold,” I confess.
“What’s that?” she asks.
I hesitate for a moment.
“I want to coach,” I whisper.
“Olympians?”
“No—well, yes, and no. I want to coach from the beginning, all the way to hopefuls.”
“Children?” she asks.
I nod. “Children to Olympian hopefuls to gold medalists.”
“I think you might have found your window,” she says.
