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Darius had rolled his eyes at the skater’s careless attitude. “I wish. I’m so scared I can’t stand it.”
“You are too nervous, my friend!” Even now, Darius could remember how bright the man’s grin had flashed in the darkness. “Come! I show you to have fun!”
Despite Darius’s hesitations and questions, the energetic young man had dragged him to the German camp. All the guys were so nice. Sitting with them, Darius found himself feeling better. Even laughing a little at their crazy jokes. And when they clapped a can of German beer into his hands, there didn’t seem to be a good reason to say no.
The effect of the alcohol was instantaneous and miraculous. The anxiety and pain were gone, and instead he felt stronger, smarter, happier. Even the tightness in his muscles eased, leaving a comfortable warmth instead. All the pain inside his soul, the wounds that had ached for so many weary months, seemed to melt under the hypnotizing influence of the beer.
He needed a second can. He got one.
And more after that.
“IWOKE UPwishing I could erase everything that happened that night.” Darius rubbed the sides of his head. Even now, he could remember the pain of that morning—his first and only hangover. “I threw up three times within fifteen minutes.”
He sneaked a look at Terry. Still the man didn’t seem repulsed or withdrawn. If anything, his eyes shone with more compassion than before.
“The race wasn’t until six o’clock that evening, so I had all day to recoup. By race time, I felt—okay. But definitely not normal.”
His head was no longer throbbing, but his skull still felt too small for his brain. And although the incessant vertigo had ceased, the earth continued to wobble and tilt every now and then. A feeling Darius hated, like he’d lost his footing.
Maybe he had.
But as his physical torpor subsided, his mental and spiritual discomfort was just kicking in. Had he really stayed up half the night drinking alcohol and singing ribald songs with a gang of foreign frat guys? His cheeks burned red every time he thought about how he’d tarnished his character.
No matter,he told himself.No big deal. I’ll go out here tonight and score a medal. And I’ll never touch alcohol again.
When he lined up in the starting lane, pre-race alertness had overshadowed most of his symptoms. He was taut, focused, ready to redeem himself—even if his head was still pounding and the stadium lights seemed painfully bright.
He’d skated hard—harder than he’d thought possible. His whole life seemed to have been concentrated in those few minutes. In a field of five, he’d soared ahead of three skaters and positioned himself in second place with relative ease.
But the guy in first was a Dutch skater, and the Dutch were masters of short-track. Darius made his turns as tightly as possible, took longer strides than normal. All of it was no use. The bright orange Dutch windsuit remained in position—ahead of him, but maddeningly close.
The sharp note of the bell had filled him with panic. Only one more lap—and silver wasn’t good enough.
After what he’d done, he had to get gold. It was the only way to wipe out his guilt. The desperation had made him a little careless.
“I thought there was a small gap to pass the guy in front of me.” Darius swallowed hard. “I tried to hug the inside and come up next to him. It was a crazy thing to do. And, of course, he tried to move over and block me. It was a mess for about half a second, and then somehow my blade caught his.”
The moment still dogged his worst nightmares. He’d felt a jerk on his leg, and he wasn’t able to stride forward. He’d grabbed for his balance and found only the air. In a split second, he was crashing into the ice with the Dutchman on top of him and the rest of the field falling over them. The impact had been enough to sling the confused jumble of competitors into the barriers.
“Next thing I knew, I was howling in pain with paramedics around me. I don’t know which hurt more—my back, my wrist, or my leg.” Darius rubbed the scar on his knee, where the skate blade had ripped him just above his Kevlar shin guard. “And the impact was horrific. The barriers are inflatable, but it felt like hitting a concrete wall. I guess when you’re skating at thirty miles an hour, any collision is going to hurt. I got banged up pretty bad, and so did some others. But—” he took a deep breath. “The athlete behind me crushed his ankle and suffered a serious concussion.” He could still remember watching the EMTs lug the skater’s crumpled frame out of the arena. “He never skated again.”
Terry leaned forward, his brow furrowed. “Darius, short-track is a dangerous sport. The guys who do it know the risks and accept them. You can’t possibly hold yourself accountable for the whole thing. It was just a mistake.”
“That’s what the judges said.” Darius shrugged. “Of course, they did an investigation, complete with extra blood-testing on all of us. They found the alcohol in my bloodstream, but they ruled it wasn’t enough to affect my performance.”
Terry stared at Darius. “So how do you get that this is your fault?”
“Because the judges can say what they want. I know my body. I know the alcohol was still affecting my performance. I didn’t feel right.” He swallowed hard. “I betrayed my parents and grandpa. I did something I knew was wrong—something I should have never done. After I got drunk, the responsible thing to do would have been to just bow out of the competition. Instead, I shattered everything for four other great athletes who’d worked just as hard as I had. And...I killed myself.”
“Darius.” Terry leaned forward in his chair, arms stretched out, hands folded.
Darius felt utterly drained. He’d told the secret. The huge shameful thing that had derailed his whole career, his whole self-image, his whole life was out in the open. And the exorcism had wrenched him to the core of his being. His body ached worse than it did after he finished a grueling workout.
He couldn’t bear to look at Terry. Would the man give him a lecture about consequences? Order him out of his office? Maybe fire him on the spot?
“Darius, look at me.”
It was the last thing he wanted to do, but slowly, Darius raised his head. The older man’s eyes shone with an intensity, a burning light Darius had never seen. Terry’s voice almost trembled with the passion of his words. “Darius Payne, I want you to know one thing right now. You are forgiven.”
