Edge of Glory

by Rachel Spangler

  She walked over as casually as possible and gave her a high five. “Good race.”

  Tigger shook her head. “I did terrible. They boxed me out on the first turn. I almost went down. I didn’t have the speed to get up the second jump. I had to hop over it, like little baby bunny, or a tiny kangaroo, or—”

  “Whoa,” Corey said. “It happens. You’re fine.”

  “I looked like I didn’t belong out here with you guys. God, what if I don’t?” Her pink cheeks turned ashen, and her eyes shimmered with tears.

  “No,” Corey snapped. “Not here. Geez, what’s wrong with you? Don’t you dare let them see you shake. Turn your back to the cameras and pull your shit together.”

  “What?” Her jaw went slack. “Why are you being mean?”

  “I’m not. I’m saving you. These people will eat you alive. The racers, the media, they can see you. People all over the world will watch these videos to prepare for upcoming events. You’re still competing right now. Everything you do in this moment will come back to you in the next race. You need to act like a badass. You can go cry in a bubble bath later.”

  She sniffed and nodded. “Okay.”

  “You’re a badass,” Corey repeated in her most convincing voice, even though Tigger actually seemed incredibly young, scared, and small amid the crowd and noise. “You’re a professional snowboarder. Start acting like it, even if you have to fake it.”

  “Okay.” She straightened her shoulders and lifted her chin. “I’ll walk out of here like I’m not upset.”

  “No. You’re going to stay right here with me and sign autographs until your hand cramps.”

  “No one will want my autograph. I came in last.”

  “No, you didn’t,” Corey snapped again. “You finished fourth out of a field of twenty. You finaled. You did better than the majority of the field. To the girls in the crowd, you’re a hero and a role model. It took me too long to understand that. I’m not going to let you make the same mistake.”

  “Oh, okay.” She nodded. “How did you learn all this stuff?”

  “The hard way.” Corey laughed, feeling better as the color returned to Tigger’s complexion. “Come on, let’s go meet our adoring public. Holly always has pens because I never do.”

  They strode like rock stars over to Holly, who held out a Sharpie to Corey.

  “The kid needs one, too.”

  “Sure. Holly fished through her bag and grabbed a red marker. “Use something bright. Make a statement.”

  “Thanks.” Tigger grinned as if the marker were a trophy.

  “Start on one side, and I’ll hit the other. We’ll meet in the middle.”

  She bounded off like her usual bouncy self, but as Corey turned to head in the opposite direction, Holly caught her by the sleeve.

  “What was that?”

  “The kid was upset about losing. I told her to buck up.”

  “Did you also tell her anything that might help her beat you the next time around?”

  The question knocked the wind out of her. “What?”

  “She’s a nice kid,” Holly said more quietly. “I’m glad she got to work out with us, but Nate says she has real potential.”

  “She does,” Corey said slowly, not sure she liked the direction the conversation was headed. “She’s got the talent.”

  “And you’ve got the experience. You’re the smartest, most mentally tough rider on the mountain. You each have your own strengths, but she can’t give you hers. Maybe you should think twice about giving her yours.”

  “Where’s this coming from?”

  Holly sighed. “I love you. You know this, right? I abso-freaking-lutley adore you.”

  “Well, I am adorable,” Corey admitted, but the joke did little to settle the tightness in her stomach.

  “And I’m proud of what a good heart you have. I’ve watched you grow from this impetuous kid into an amazing mentor, and someday I know you’re going to take everything you’ve learned and hand the playbook to the next generation.” Holly clasped a hand on her shoulder. “I just want to make sure you’re using all the info before you pass it along to the competition.”

  “Excuse me, Corey,” a young man with a microphone called. “Can we get a quick interview?”

  “Go on,” Holly said, nodding toward the camera that was likely already rolling.

  “Sure,” Corey turned around and then turned on her trademark smile.

  “All right. Stand with the finish line in the background.” He grabbed her arm and steered her around how he wanted her. The cameraman adjusted quickly, then flashed a thumbs ups. “I’m here live with today’s winner, Corey LaCroix. Great race today, Corey.”

  “Thanks. We came down to the wire, but it’s always nice to have the first one of the year in the bag.”

  “A lot of people picked you to finish in the lower half this year. How’s it feel to make a statement early on?”

  “I’m not concerned with what other people think.” She tried not to look too pointedly at Holly. “I only care about racing my race. I can’t change who I am because of other people or my competition or anything else.”

  “It never concerned you when you got into those gates that you’re the oldest person on the course by five years?”

  She blew out a heavy exhale. What the hell was everyone’s problem today? “You want the honest answer, Chad?”

  He laughed nervously. “I’m Jeremy.”

  “Right. Well, Jeremy, I seriously hadn’t considered anyone’s age, including my own, until you mentioned it. Thanks for that, by the way.”

  His big, toothy grinned faltered only for a second. “Well, I guess it’s true what they say, age is more in your mind than your legs.”

  “Maybe,” she said with forced cheerfulness, because since he’d mentioned it, her legs felt like Jell-O on a muggy summer day.

  “Well, we wish you the best. And while we’ve got you here, can I ask a real quick question?”

  “Shoot.”

  “Nikki Prince made the finals in her first professional race. Do you think she’s everything she’s been promised to be?”

  “I don’t know about any promises anyone has made, but she’s the real deal.” This time she didn’t shy away from meeting Holly’s eyes. “We worked together in the off-season, and I’m impressed with the progress she’s made, but also with the progress she’s inspired in me, too.”

  • • •

  Elise approached the third turn, wide, flat, smooth, easy to gain speed, easy to slide too wide. She needed balance here. She needed perfection. At top speed, the turn could make or break her race, her comeback, her career. One inch too wide and she might not have the strength to pull herself back in. One inch too close to the gate and she’d replay the disaster she might never recover from.

  “You got a text,” Paolo said from right beside her.

  She opened her eyes. “Are you serious?”

  He shrugged and grinned.

  “I’m four racers from the start of my first race back in over a year.”

  “You told me to watch your phone.”

  “As in ‘make sure no one steals it or runs over it.’ Not as in ‘play social secretary.’ I’m trying to run through the course in my mind. I need to be fully present here. I need to be in my zone, and you, of all people, should understand that.”

  “Okay, okay.” He held up his hands. “I understand, but I also know you’ve been over this course a million times. I bet you dreamt about your line the last two nights.”

  She folded her arms across her chest. No need to confirm his suspicions.

  “You’re pressing, Elise. You didn’t look serene. You looked terrified. I don’t want you so far in your head you’re not here in the moment.”

  “So you decided to interrupt me with trivial distractions?”

  “I only mentioned the message because I thought it might be the right kind of distraction.”

  “Is it from the president or something?”

 
“It’s from Corey.”

  “Oh.” She glanced at the phone in his hand. It shouldn’t have made a difference. She was minutes from the start of a major race. She couldn’t afford any interruptions now, not from anyone, but at this point not reading the text would be as distracting as reading it.

  “You want me to read it?”

  “Yeah. I mean, no.” She sighed and extended her hand. “Damn it, give it here.”

  He handed her the phone with a silly I-told-you-so grin.

  She swiped at the screen and read the simple message. “Have fun out there.”

  She handed it back to Paolo without a word, but she didn’t quite manage to hide her smile. Of course Corey’d said the perfect thing. She always did. Even if she’d sounded juvenile or reductive at first glance, she’d always managed to be on point. No major speech. No silly platitudes or false assurances. Just a reminder that winning is fun, so she should do that.

  Paolo got the message too, or at least understood she’d gotten the right message, because he didn’t press her anymore. He’d been great about respecting the shift in her around Corey. He didn’t tease or ask for details she couldn’t provide. She didn’t have a label for their relationship. They weren’t lovers, at least not yet. They were friends, but not like any other friendship she’d ever had before. Corey soothed her and challenged her and made her ache for things she couldn’t name, but she also gave her space and the freedom to figure things out for herself. They’d only talked on the phone once since she’d left Argentina, and even that had mostly been innuendo-laden conversation about various workouts. Mostly they contented themselves with text messages ranging from the mundane to the mildly suggestive.

  A few months ago, the idea of breaking camp with someone like Corey still in her life would feel suffocating or disruptive. She’d always considered long-term relationships too labor intensive and the people who sought them needy. She couldn’t imagine making that kind of time in her schedule, but Corey presented none of those problems. She offered the perfect mix of peace and motivation to keep doing better. As much as she hated to admit it, Elise found herself wanting more, not less.

  “Two more to go,” Paolo said.

  “Two more racers?” Her heart rate increased. So much for Corey not being a distraction. She’d spent God knows how long daydreaming about her when she should’ve done nothing but visualize the course.

  “You’re fine,” Paolo said, as if he’d read her mind. “Don’t tense up again.”

  “I’m not tense. I’m focused.”

  He massaged her shoulders. “Your muscles are in knots. You’re putting too much pressure on yourself. Don’t go back there.”

  She didn’t have to ask where. He’d never once mentioned the fact that she’d gotten hurt by going against his advice. Not in the hospital, not during the long training sessions—he didn’t even fully allude to it now.

  The skier in front of her slid into the gate. Her heart no longer pounded in her chest. Now it beat in her throat, in her ears, the sound of it reverberating off her skull.

  Paolo stepped in front of Elise and placed a hand on each shoulder, forcing her to meet his dark eyes. “You’re a more better skier when you’re running on instinct.”

  She nodded, but the words only bounced off her brain. Nothing could penetrate the rising sense of panic.

  “Trust your body. Don’t fight it.”

  Her stomach lurched as the skier ahead of her sped off. She didn’t know who it was. She barely knew who she was. As she slid into position, she only knew there was a distinct possibility of her throwing up. God, what was wrong with her? She’d never felt this way in a starting gate before. Her cheeks flushed. Where had all the ice in her veins gone?

  Heat where there should have been cold. Panic where she should’ve felt calm. Distraction where she should’ve had focus.

  The shrill beep of her countdown cut through her ears, and she wrestled her body into a position that should’ve been automatic.

  And she was off. Pump, push, bend, tuck. The trees blurred as she flew by. Fast—too fast, and yet not fast enough. She couldn’t see the course coming up in her mind’s eye. She was reacting to obstacles instead of acting on instinct. One turn barreled down on her, then another. She wasn’t having fun, not on any level. The idea of winning fell below the more pressing desire to simply stay upright. She was out of her tuck and then over a jump. Her right ski landed a half-second ahead of her left. Normally the minor discrepancy would mean a lost second. Now it represented the deeper fear of losing everything once more.

  She bore down with every muscle, frantically trying to regain her form, but as she tightened into her tuck, a jagged knife sliced through the back of her calf. The pain, sharp and sudden, drew her up short, and she slid out of bounds with more relief than she cared to admit even to herself.

  • • •

  Corey watched the replay again as she dialed the number she’d tried not memorize over the last few months. She paused the video from the point where Elise stood doubled over, panting on the sidelines, and tried to read her facial expression. She’d watched the race at least fifty times over the last three days and still couldn’t make sense of what she saw.

  The phone rang, and she rewound once more. The early parts of the track weren’t hard to decipher. It didn’t require a deep knowledge of skiing to see Elise didn’t seem comfortable. Her lines were off and her form shaky, but she hadn’t lost control. She could have finished, albeit not strongly. Still, a rating of Did Not Finish in the first race of the downhill season created an uphill battle for making the Olympic team.

  Corey tried to count the rings instead of rehearing the conversation she’d eavesdropped on back at Lake Henry. One ring. Two rings. Three rings. And . . .

  “Hello.” Elise sounded über professional, as if she hadn’t already seen Corey’s name on her caller ID screen. Well fine, if she wanted to pretend, then Corey would, too.

  “Hello, Ms. Brandeis?” Corey said, in her most telemarketer-esque voice.

  “This is she.”

  “Good evening, Ms. Brandeis, I’m Michelle Amanda Tiffany Jones-Smith calling from the National American Foundation for the Preservation of the Southern Woodland Beaver. May I have a few moments of your time to discuss the dire state of affairs we’re facing due to beaver neglect and misuse?”

  Elise sighed. “Actually I’m very busy right now. Can I send a check to your organization?”

  “While I appreciate the gesture, and you can certainly text your credit card information to this number, the Southern Woodland Beavers need more than your donations. They need attention, care, and regular exercise.”

  Elise snorted. “Exercise?”

  “Yes, regularly and under the supervision of a trained beaver caregiver. The position, if you want to call it that, though the term is reductive because it actually takes multiple positions to do the job right—”

  “Hi Corey,” Elise said. All the distance was gone from her voice, but the exhaustion had grown as the formality faded.

  “I actually prefer to go by Michelle Amanda Tiffany, but for you I’ll make an exception.”

  “Generous of you.”

  “Yeah, well what’s new with you?”

  “Corey,” Elise said solemnly, “can we skip the chit-chat? I’ve got a lot on my mind.”

  “Well, I was going to stick to chit-chat, but since you brought it up, you kind of shit the bed last weekend.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “I’m not judging.”

  “You said I ‘shit the bed.’ I don’t even know what that means exactly in this context, but it sounds pretty judgmental.”

  “Nah, happens to the best of us.”

  “Bed shitting?” she asked. “Please tell Santa to cross me off your Christmas list.”

  Corey laughed heartily, perhaps even more than the comment warranted, but she’d desperately needed to hear the fire come back into Elise’s voice.

  “I got a cramp,” Elise f
inally said.

  “Right now?”

  “No, during the race. I overcorrected on the turn, and I wrenched a small muscle. It felt like someone shanked me in the back of the leg. I felt like . . . like—”

  “Like you’d reinjured yourself,” Corey finished.

  “Yeah. I mean, not exactly. Not my knee, but I, I pulled up.”

  “Better safe than sorry?” Corey asked.

  “I don’t think I made a conscious thought. I didn’t have time,” Elise released a jagged exhale that came through the phone and clawed at Corey’s heart. “I panicked.”

  “We’ve all been there.”

  “I haven’t,” Elise said. “I’ve never felt so out of place in my life. I completely disconnected, like I’d had someone else’s brain dropped into my body.”

  “What did Paolo say?”

  “He said I was too tense. My body went into a fight-or-flight mode and overloaded my senses. My movements became less about the slope and more about survival.”

  “And when it ended?” Corey tiptoed right up to her main reason for calling.

  “I don’t know. I was breathing heavy, and the needles in my calf, and I couldn’t hear the crowd or even see straight. Later I freaked out about the DNF rating. My Olympic chances. Corey, I don’t know if they’ll let me on the team.”

  “Right.” Corey waved off those concerns. The team would come or not. Elise’s psyche presented the more pressing concern. “But when you pulled up, you were relieved?”

  “I’m pissed!” Elise exploded.

  “Now you’re pissed, but you weren’t in the moment. You wanted out more than anything right then. And your body gave you the out.”

  “You think I threw the race on purpose? How dare—”

  “Elise,” Corey snapped. “Stop and listen to me. You’re a champion. You’re the most badass woman I’ve ever met. You bend the world to your will. I’ve seen you. If you’d wanted to finish the race more than anything, you would have.”