The Winter Games Box Set

by Rebecca Sharp

  He looked up and pulled his thick glasses from his face, giving Jac a hard stare.

  “Ms. Blanchard,” he greeted her tightly, and I knew in an instant that this jackass thought she was guilty five years ago. “It’s been awhile.”

  “Mr. Fitzgerald.” She nodded.

  “What can I help you with?” His gruff question ignored Tyler and me as we stood somewhat behind our fearless leader.

  Jac cleared her throat. She was nervous but the way she stood tall, the relaxed position of her shoulders, and the calm smoothness of her voice would never in a million years give any of it away.

  After five years, she was about to show this man, who most likely hadn’t believed her in the first place, that she was innocent all along—and not just innocent but the victim. For five years, she’d withstood the judgment from this commission, her fellow athletes, the media, and the general public without complaint because the people she cared about were worth more to her than exculpating her reputation.

  Now, finally, she let that weight go.

  I didn’t underestimate what this moment was for her. It wasn’t about winning or being right. It was about freedom.

  “Mr. Fitzgerald,” she began calmly. “When I retrieved my skis this morning from my designated locker, I, for a variety of unusual reasons, double-checked every setting and adjustment that I have them tuned to. During that process, I noticed that the DIN setting on my right binding was turned up three notches from where I usually have it set, from where the left binding was set.”

  “Well, that’s why you check. You probably bumped something,” he interjected gruffly, clearly attempting to downplay what he thought her complaint was going to be.

  Moron.

  “First off, in all my time on the mountain, I’ve never notched it off one setting, let alone three,” she bit out, his eyes narrowing at her tone. “In any event, I know this wasn’t an accident. The change was deliberate.”

  Fire and brimstone flared in the coordinator’s eyes.

  “Ms. Blanchard, I will not have your personal feud with Ms. Jensen taint this competition any further—”

  “And I have proof,” she blithely cut him off, slapping the folder down on the table in front of him.

  There was a second where it almost seemed like he was inclined to ignore it and tell us to leave, but then he reached forward, opening the folder as he slid it in front of his gaze.

  The three of us watched in complete stillness as he perused the images, shock slowly setting in over his harsh features.

  The top few images were of Jeff and Andrea kissing just outside the Patrol building—proof of their relationship. Then, he got to the ones of Jeff using his keycard to let them both into the dark, locked room. But it was the next few that proved they hadn’t just been using the building for their affair. The following photographs Jackson captured through the side window of the building. They’d turned on one light, giving enough illumination to capture what they did next.

  Those last photographs showed Andrea adjusting the setting on Jac’s right binding. Not only that, they showed her with a pocketknife, carving up the bevel on both skis.

  “The way she altered the tune of the skis,” Tyler interjected. “Ms. Blanchard wouldn’t have noticed anything just by looking. Based on my initial assessment just a few minutes ago, the bevel was only altered by maybe a degree in certain areas along both skis that would have made them entirely unbalanced at moderate speeds, however, at the speed with which Ms. Blanchard would be racing, such an alteration could easily be deadly, even if her binding was corrected to release her boot from the ski on impact.”

  The DIN alteration was a decoy. Even without my warning, out of habit, Jac would’ve checked and corrected that. But the change to the bevel? Without these photos, there was a good chance it would’ve been missed until it was too late.

  Fitzgerald’s head jerked up, “And who are you?”

  “I’m the tuner you hired to take care of your athletes, sir. Tyler Moore.” He gave a small wave with his badge.

  With a nod, he looked back down at the photos—the proof that Andrea Jensen had, in fact, sabotaged another athlete’s equipment.

  “How did you get these?”

  I took a half-step forward. “I hired a private investigator because I overheard some of their conversations and, after learning the truth about Ms. Blanchard’s past, I had reason to believe she might be in danger.”

  He let out a heavy sigh of resignation and I realized, by the subtle shift in his expression, that he didn’t dislike Jac because he thought she was guilty, he disliked her because he thought she invited drama into his events where there should be none. Now, he realized that it had never been her; it had been the one who played the victim.

  “This is going to be worse than the Harding scandal,” he grumbled with distaste as he stood.

  My body tightened, ready for anything, as he walked around the table and planted himself in front of Jac, coming up to eye-level with her.

  “Ms. Blanchard, it appears that you have been the victim here of unsportsmanlike misconduct. Of course, I will want to talk to this accomplice, however, I cannot argue with the evidence that you’ve provided.” He paused to clear his throat before uttering the last, “In light of this new information, I would like to apologize for how I handled our last meeting. I had no reason to believe you, but I also had no reason not to. I’m sorry that it came to this.”

  “Thank you,” she said quietly.

  “Joan!” he yelled and the woman who brought us back here entered the room a few moments later. “Where is Andrea Jensen?”

  She looked down at her clipboard.

  While she scanned the lines on the paper in front of her, Tyler murmured to the two of us. “Do you want me to get your skis fixed up? I know you have to head up there soon and I know you aren’t going to race on them like this.”

  Jac looked startled for a moment, like she hadn’t considered the fact she still needed to race and that, even though she’d adjusted the binding, the photos showed that there was still something wrong with her skis.

  “Yes, thank you,” she murmured with a small smile.

  Joan spoke up again just as Tyler left with Jac’s skis clasped in one hand. “I, uhh, I believe she’s at the top of the mountain already, sir. She’s in the first heat for the Giant Slalom.”

  “Well, then I guess she’ll get to enjoy one last race as a member of this event,” he said distastefully. “Can you please ask the head of Ski Patrol to come see me?”

  She nodded and left.

  “What’s going to happen?” I demanded.

  He turned and gathered the photos back into the folder before resting back on the edge of the desk.

  “I’m going to talk to the accomplice and inform him that if he doesn’t want criminal charges brought, he’s going to tell me everything that happened last night. And then, assuming he admits to what these photos show, I’ll have to get in touch with the authorities since there was intent to harm.”

  His shoulders sagged as he continued, “When Ms. Jensen is finished with her run, I’ll inform her that her rankings for the event are to be stripped and she is forthwith banned from competing in the World Cup. I have to assume that the U.S. Ski and Snowboard Association will follow suit. And then I’ll turn her and these images over to the police.”

  Thank God.

  I had an idea that was what was going to happen, but I needed to hear it. I needed to know this guy wasn’t going to drop the ball on making sure Andrea paid for what she’d tried to do, because if he did, I’d take those photos to the police myself.

  “This is going to take me at least an hour or so, Ms. Blanchard. So, I suggest you get your skis fixed and prepare to race like you normally would. I’ll see what we can do about extra security, however, I would prepare for the media to be out in full force once this breaks.”

  “Unfortunately, I’m used to being prepared for them, Mr. Fitzgerald,” Jac replied calmly as we turn
ed to leave. “Hopefully, this is the last time that skill of mine will have to be used.”

  I ALWAYS FELT A RUSH on the days that the mountain was mine to conquer. It’s like the chill in the air carried its own magic.

  Kyle thought I was mad at him. It was the way he stood tensely by my side as Fitzgerald informed the rest of the judges and committee what was about to happen and what their response to any question should be, like any moment he expected me to turn and tell him that his presence was no longer needed.

  After a few more minutes of confusion and questions, we were finally allowed to leave so I could get ready to head up the mountain. I heard his uncertainty in the way his gait fell heavily behind me, the worried cloud that fogged his gaze, and the way that beautiful mouth of his was reduced to a thin line even after we’d basically caught the bad guy—or girl.

  It was my own fault.

  I pushed him away because I was afraid to admit how much I cared about him. I was afraid to admit that I’d been emotional and hasty and cruel when I’d demanded he leave the other night without really listening.

  I wasn’t good at apologies. I rarely gave them out. But last night, just before my head that had been focused on the race all day hit the pillow, I knew that I owed him one—if he would accept it.

  No, I more than owed it to him. I wanted to apologize because I loved him. I needed to apologize for making him think that loving him would be a detriment to my strength when, if today was any proof, it only made me stronger.

  I usually didn’t check the DIN on my skis right before a race. Never, in all my years competing, had it been a problem. It wasn’t the easiest thing to bump and knock off, for obvious reasons. But today I did because I knew, deep down in my stomach that Kyle was right about Andrea—and that something was wrong.

  Seeing that it was wrong, the first thing I did was correct it. The wrong thing I did was assume that it was the only tampering she’d done. I knew it was the wrong thing the second Kyle broke through the barrier toward me, risking being thrown out or arrested to get me those photos.

  Honestly, it took a beat for me to believe what I was seeing—to believe that she’d go this far not only to win but to hurt me. I’d never have noticed the change in bevel on my skis even if I had been looking. I assumed she’d changed the DIN and that would be enough to throw and injure me. It wasn’t. She’d made sure I was guaranteed to fall whether the binding was changed or not.

  I always thought at some point she’d realize that Evan had cheated on me—that he’d hurt me, too. Maybe I always hoped. But I couldn’t hope anymore. Whatever she felt, whatever her motivations, the fact that he’d betrayed me too would never change how she saw me—as the reason for her loss.

  I choked down a breath. And Kyle… He could’ve taken this right to the authorities. The man I accused him of being would have. But the man I knew he was all along didn’t. Instead, he’d brought them to me; he let it remain my choice how I wanted to handle this even though I could see from the rage on his face how he wanted it to play out.

  Sometimes, being Prince Charming wasn’t about saving the princess; sometimes, it meant handing her a sword because she was strong enough to save herself.

  And if I was unsure before, that moment showed me that a lifetime of denial would never change the fact that I was in love with him—that his determined warmth and love had melted the ice frozen around my heart.

  That I’d fallen for the Prince Charming I believed could never really exist.

  I spun to face him just as we were far enough away from the people crowding around the tent.

  “Jac, I—”

  “Ms. Blanchard,” one of the base staff interrupted Kyle. “We need to get you on the next lift. You’re in the next heat.”

  Judging by her rushed and flustered tone, she’d been searching for me for some time.

  “Jac!” Tyler’s voice drew both our gazes as he jogged up to us and handed me back my skis.

  “Thank you,” I said with a sincere smile. Without Tyler, even with everything we’d uncovered, I wouldn’t be heading up the mountain right now, not with my skis in the condition they’d been in.

  He nodded. “Good luck.” And then with a glance at Kyle, he turned and made his way back to the crowd of staff congregated near the base tent.

  “Ms. Blanchard—”

  “I’ll be right there,” I informed her tightly. She obeyed begrudgingly and backed away with wide, raccoon eyes. I still had a reputation on the slopes, for better or for worse.

  “Jac, I—”

  I felt bad for the guy, being cut off from whatever he wanted to say for the second time. But not too bad since this time he was cut off by my mouth pressing over his.

  Apologies and confessions and love were all rolled into this kiss; there wasn’t time for anything else. His tongue dove inside my mouth and mine encouraged him to claim it.

  There was a sense of justified relief when I watched Fitzgerald look through those photos, when he apologized to me, and when I knew that Andrea was going to be held accountable for what she’d done. And since it was the right thing to do, I was surprised my relief wasn’t greater.

  But as I kissed Kyle, melting into the safety of his arms, I knew why.

  I didn’t give a shit what the world thought or if they finally exonerated me from my past reputation. The only people I cared about knowing the truth already believed it; they believed me before I had proof. And one of those people believed me so much that he protected me even when I pushed him away.

  So, I kissed him before he could say anything because some things are too big for words, for thank yous or apologies. The Star Wars nerd in me whispered that this feeling was like the Force; stronger than fear, it surrounded us and penetrated us; it was the tension and the balance that bound us together.

  It was love.

  And it had worked its way inside me, made me stronger, and bound me to him in ways I now admitted to desperately wanting.

  “Jac,” he said softly against my mouth as I dropped down off my toes.

  I stared up into his gaze, happy to lose myself in it.

  “Ms. Blanchard!” the woman yelled from a distance.

  Pressing myself against him, I cupped the side of his face and whispered, “I love you.”

  There was no surprise or doubt in his eyes. No, he’d always been sure that what was between us was the kind of thing worth fighting for.

  “I know,” he rasped with love and pride.

  He kissed me hard one last time before I jogged over to my spot in line. Glancing back at him one last time, I thought about his response.

  It wasn’t until I was on the gondola up to the top of the mountain that I remembered the last time I’d heard our exchange and its similar significance; it was only one of the most famous lines between Leia and Han Solo—the one where she finally admits to the feelings everyone but her could see that she had.

  With the smile that projected on the screens as I took my spot, one would think I’d already won. They didn’t know it, but I had. Not the gold, of course, but love—and that was worth far more.

  I pushed out of the gate strong, my smile and speed growing as my now-perfectly-tuned skis carved around each corner. My poles ticked off against each flag, a subtle countdown to the bottom of the slope. I wasn’t racing to win; I was racing to get to him.

  This was what it was meant to feel like.

  For five years, I competed wearing the perspective that each win brought me closer to redemption, that each win staked my claim—my right to be on the mountain. Every run was my proof that I didn’t need to cheat, I didn’t need to damage someone else’s skis to take the gold. For five years, I competed feeling like my best was never good enough. I competed because I needed it to outweigh the guilt, anger, and secrets I carried.

  Today, I skied better because losing would no longer take everything from me.

  In fact, losing couldn’t take anything from me.

  Today, I flew down the course
because I loved it, not because I had to be the best. And there was a freedom in knowing that difference and without Kyle, I wouldn’t have found it. Without Kyle, I probably would be mangled in a ditch somewhere because someone had messed with my skis.

  The wind thundered like waves past my ears as I bent close to the ground around the final two turns. Happily-ever-afters take time, but mine was worth the wait.

  Snow swung out in a whooshing arc as I came to a stop at the bottom of the slope, my smile only growing from where it was at the top of the mountain. I’d just completed the best run of my career, I didn’t need to wait for the judges or my time to show up on the projector screens to confirm it.

  Staking my poles in the snow, I pulled off my goggles and helmet and scanned the crowd that was buzzing in anticipation. The giant screens on either side of the base area lit up with my time and clips of my flawless run down the mountain and the crowd went wild. For whatever they thought I was capable of, they sure did get excited to see me win every year.

  And when the cameras zoomed in on my face, they showed that I didn’t really care about any of it; my eyes were too busy searching for him.

  I found Kyle standing in the front row of the crowd next to Marissa, Shawn, Jessa, and Chance. On my side of the barrier, talking to them, was Danny and Tyler.

  I nodded my head to the side, motioning them to meet me over in the holding area, as I liked to call it. It was the place where the competing athletes would go to sit and wait for everyone to complete their pass. It was a row of tents, the back walls and tops covered with sponsors of the event and chairs to sit in underneath.

  I barely got out a few nods and smiles to those congratulating me as I passed by them; I was too eager to see Kyle.

  My steps slowed though as the scene unfolded in front of me.

  I saw Fitzgerald standing with one security officer from the resort as he questioned a reddening Andrea. Coming to a stop, I watched her shake her head vehemently, the action giving her a glimpse of me approaching. Pure malice dripped from her eyes as she pointed at me, and I could only imagine what she was blaming me for now.