His upper lip curled. “Brody was always acting the spoiled, backwoods jerk, and I told him I’d had enough, he would regret his outburst. And now that day has come.”
“You have your revenge,” she said softly.
“No, not revenge.” He pointed at her. “Truth. He competed using steroids. I’ve given you your scoop. Now write it, Amanda. And if you don’t, then somebody else will.”
She tried to calm her racing pulse, because of everything he’d told her, this last sentence was the most true.
And it broke her heart.
AMANDA STRODE ALONG the busy street with her hand tucked inside her brother-in-law’s capable arm. The moon shone overhead and their boots squished in the tromped-down snow as they hurried to the edge of the Italian village.
Thanks to Massimo, she knew where to find Brody. Her sister’s husband had worked his network and his phone all evening until he’d found someone who’d seen Brody and his team hunkered down at a tiny, hidden trattoria frequented by locals. She didn’t relish facing the guys on his team, particularly Steve, but Massimo had promised to stand by her for whatever she needed. We’re family, and we’ll support you until the end, Jeannie had said.
Yes, at the end of the day, her younger sister had shown Amanda everything she needed to know that was truly important. Grateful, she patted Massimo’s jacket. Never would she take him or Jeannie for granted.
“Don’t worry, we are almost there, sister Amanda.”
“I know, I trust you.”
She trusted Brody, too.
The love she felt for him had broken open inside her, especially after she’d heard all the details he hadn’t been able to tell her about the motivation behind his comeback. She understood now how guilty and ashamed Brody felt for his mistake, and how responsible he’d made himself for allowing her father to push him into it.
You know what your problem is? You can’t forgive yourself.
She’d said those words to Brody at their parting, and while it was a true statement—even truer than she’d realized at the time—she’d delivered it too harshly. She loved this man. She’d wanted to help him, not alienate or blame him.
She had to show Brody that she knew what had happened to him, that she understood, and that she’d commit herself to helping him make it right. For himself, and for the team he felt so responsible for.
She could taste the urgency. The truth was, she cared more about helping Brody salvage his reputation than she did about her promotion. Because she had nothing to prove anymore. She had let it all go. She felt relaxed with herself, finally. She wanted nothing more than to spend the rest of her life living with him and loving him. Being close to her sister and Massimo, and learning to write the way that Sarah wrote.
She’d already left a message with Chelsea:
Cancel the photographer. I talked with the highly placed official, and there is no evidence of steroid use. I’ve checked and counterchecked, and none of the other skiers believe the allegations to be true. At this point I recommend killing the steroid story entirely.
Yet hours had passed, and Chelsea hadn’t called back. Amanda couldn’t know if her efforts were enough.
“I just want him to know I’ve done all that I could,” she found herself saying aloud to Massimo.
“I am sure he forgives you.” Massimo squeezed her arm.
But Brody hadn’t been able to forgive himself; how could he forgive her?
She dug her nails into her palms and tried not to lose hope. It was below freezing in the night air, and if she let herself spiral downward emotionally, she’d be in no shape to help Brody face the coming storm.
Massimo hustled her inside the crowded trattoria bustling with local families. The aromas of sauce and cheese and baking pizza crust hit her hard. Unconsciously she put her hand to her mouth.
“Sister Amanda, wait here.”
A beautiful brown-eyed woman with sleek black hair stopped Massimo with a greeting in Italian. The owner, probably asking to seat them. Massimo answered her in a beautiful rush of Italian that rolled off his tongue like poetry.
He turned back to Amanda. “She asks if we will eat, but I tell her we are here to look for a friend. You go, I wait, yes?”
“Come with me, please,” she begged. He nodded, his brown eyes somber, and she gripped his arm as they wound through tightly packed tables, dodging waiters carrying baskets of fresh bread and calling out orders.
They turned a corner and came to a room, more like a crowded hall really, with a wooden bar facing the wall and a television playing silently in the corner. Footage flashed from the mountain at the other end of the resort, where the downhill race had run earlier in the day.
All of it served to remind her that Brody had worked for two years, through difficult rehabilitation and exclusion from her father’s team, just to make it to tomorrow’s slalom race. And maybe, in his mind, if he’d never met her, there never would have been any doubt of his secret staying hidden.
She needed to tell Brody she understood why he hadn’t told her. That she would keep her father in the dark about her plans at least through the end of the press conference after the race. Maybe that would be enough to stave MacArthur off. She didn’t believe it would be, but she could hope.
“Ah, here is Brody,” Massimo said.
Her heart jumping, she followed his gaze. There, in the thick of the noise, the action and the laughter sat Brody, at a table in the corner near the kitchen. Rather than wearing his team jacket like some of the racers she and Massimo had passed in the village, he was dressed in street clothes. He wore the dark parka she knew so well, his V-neck sweater over a faded blue T-shirt and worn jeans.
Her gaze rose to his face and her spirits lifted. It was heaven to see him smile. The only thing that would have felt better was if the smile was for her, but it wasn’t. And her worst fear was that it might never be again. His head was cocked as he listened to the people at his table while a grandmotherly woman set a plate of pasta before him and urged him to taste it.
A pang went through her. He doesn’t eat food he doesn’t trust is untainted. Now, after her father’s revelations, seeing it nearly broke her heart.
“Go to him.” Massimo prodded her. “We have walked all this way, yes?”
But how could she? Though Brody hadn’t seen her yet, his team had. The men sat on barstools and two of them faced her, their eyes hooded, their mouths flat, their arms crossed over their barrel chests.
“I’m not sure it’s such a good idea at the moment.”
“Wait here, dear sister,” Massimo said patiently. He approached the largest of the barrel-chested guys and had a low conversation Amanda couldn’t hear.
He was back by her side in a moment. “The family he sits with is a local family. They ask for the honor of eating with him.” He nudged her. “You will go to him? No one will stop you.”
She watched Brody discussing something with the family, whose company he obviously enjoyed. Besides the grandmother they were two middle-aged couples, their phone-scrolling teenagers and a toddler strapped into a high chair.
He’s part of a family, she realized. Her eyes grew moist. Of all the scenarios she’d imagined for the night before his race, the last thing she’d expected was to see him sitting with a local skiing family and sharing the joy of the togetherness he’d never had as a kid, and wanted for himself as an adult.
I know him. She dabbed at her eyes with the heel of her hand. If she hadn’t been mistaken in her priorities earlier, she could have shared this moment with him, too. Because obviously, Brody had forgiven himself. He was relaxed.
He was happy.
“Amanda?” Massimo asked gently. “Please, he will not bite you.”
She composed herself and smiled at Massimo as best she could. “If I leave him as he is, then he’ll race better tomorrow.”
“Ah.” Massimo nodded. “Yes, I see.”
She was about to do the hard job of walking away from him, but she noticed hi
s team. On the last stool sat the young ski tech, Steve.
An arrow of guilt hit her hard in the chest. “Give me a minute, please, Massimo.”
While he waited, she approached Steve and sat on the empty stool beside him. His head was bowed, his shaggy hair covering his eyes, and his hands were in his lap.
“I want to apologize,” she said. “I put you in a bad position that day in the car, and I shouldn’t have waylaid you like I did.”
“It’s done now,” Steve mumbled without raising his head. “The secret is out.” He wouldn’t even look at her.
She was full of regrets, but there was nothing she could do to change the past. “Yes, the secret is out. But I want you to know I’m not writing about it. In fact, I’ve done everything I can to kill the story. The only thing I can’t control is what will happen at the press conference tomorrow after the race.”
“Why should I believe anything you say?”
She bowed her head. She’d sat here for a reason, to apologize to Steve and to give him the message for Brody. Not to justify herself. “Please, just make sure Brody races well. Take care of him so he can ski at his best.”
Steve fixed his gaze on the label of the beer bottle he’d been peeling. He didn’t move, didn’t answer, didn’t even nod.
“Is there something you’re not telling me?”
He raised his shoulder in Brody’s direction and shrugged.
With dread in her heart, Amanda turned and looked back at Brody.
And saw that he was eating the meal they’d placed before him. With gusto.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
FORGIVEN.
It’s a whole new feeling, Brody thought.
He’d settled into the lift for the second leg of the race and was now swooping over the trees, heading up the mountain. Usually, he had his pre-race thoughts to occupy him, along with his iPod, his visualizations, his process of centering himself in the zone.
But today, all he could think about was how good it felt to ski. For the first time in two years, he felt loose with it.
The sun warmed his face as he pulled on his goggles. He adjusted his gloves and checked his boots in the bindings with new awareness. And then he was in the start house for the second time today. Leaning forward, waiting for the tone to begin.
And then, his reflexes taking over. Muscle memory kicking in.
The crisp winter air bit his cheeks. The click of ski poles vibrated through him. Oh, yeah—rock and roll.
The mountain was a blur as he headed for the first gate. The snow was perfect; just like in the morning run, it crunched beneath his skis and felt as if it was carrying him. Everything felt right; his turns, the placement of his poles, the timing of his breathing, his muscles, his heartbeat. This run was a winner, too; he knew it as he pumped across the finish line with the roar of the crowd in the background, the clang of a hundred cowbells and the loudspeaker announcing his name and his time in three different languages.
He didn’t need to tear off his goggles and gaze at the standings to know how he’d fared. The day just smelled right. He was the leader with two competitors left to ski.
The first man wiped out at the course midsection. A DNF—Did Not Finish—nothing to be ashamed of. Wow, did he just think that?
Yeah, he did. Nothing to be ashamed of.
It’s over, he thought. And it’s okay. No matter what anybody says or uncovers or accuses me of.
He’d let it go. Truthfully, it didn’t even matter if he finished second. Just by showing up and enjoying every moment of the run, he’d already won.
All that mattered was that he could face himself.
Brody searched the crowd for Amanda. It was true he’d waited until now to seek her out, but he’d wanted to give her time to do what she needed to do. Her deadline wasn’t until tonight. And he had so much he needed to tell her.
Instead he saw Sarah Zimmerman. Hans’s wife was easy to pick out in a crowd—she dressed in shared Swiss-and-Canadian red, and she always screamed like a banshee after his runs. He made his way to the barrier as she was pushing through the crowd to reach him.
“Brody!” Sarah leaned over the fence and hugged him tight, with Hans two paces behind her, his fist pumping in the air for Brody’s success. “I called Amanda’s room,” Sarah said into his ear, “and left a message like you asked, but I haven’t heard back from her yet.”
A gust of panic went through him. He hoped she hadn’t flown back to New York already. He needed to connect with her more than he needed anything else in his life right now, even his skiing success.
He’d finally realized, lying in bed without her for another lousy night, that he’d shut her out, not because of her father or her job, but because he couldn’t forgive himself for what he’d done. He’d shut everyone out, really. He spent time with his team, but never let them get too close, either.
But what he hadn’t realized was that by shutting the world out, he’d shut himself in. He’d been in a prison every bit as real as his father’s, but he’d made it himself. And he hadn’t done his team any favors by locking them in with him.
Amanda had tried to show him that. Until he’d finally skied Alto Baglio this afternoon, he hadn’t truly seen it.
Please, Amanda, be here. He had a press conference to attend, and he hoped she would come. He would answer any question she had for him, whatever she needed in order to complete her assignment. Because he loved her and he wanted to build something with her. These days and nights without her had shown him he didn’t want to be without her anymore.
He left his skis and poles where he’d planted them and headed for the lodge. But at that moment, the loudspeaker called out his name as winner, and a crush of spectators, competitors and photographers converged on him. Pasting a smile on his face and nodding politely at the congratulations, he was forced to wade along slowly with the crowd. His body thrummed with impatience; all he cared about was finding Amanda.
“Brody, don’t go to the press conference!” Steve pushed his way alongside him. He was breathing as heavily as if he’d just battled through Armageddon.
Brody messed up his ski tech’s already shaggy hair. “Don’t worry. There’s nothing they can do to me that I can’t do to myself. As for the rest of the guys, tell them I’ve got their backs.”
“She thinks something bad’s gonna happen there.”
She? Did he mean Amanda? He grabbed Steve by the jacket. “When did you talk to her?”
“Last night. She…said she gave up her article for you, but she can’t promise that another reporter won’t write the story.”
Damn it. That wasn’t what he’d wanted. She didn’t need to give up anything for him; he accepted her as she was.
He stalked into the press conference with one thought in mind. A row of folding chairs had been set up in front of a table with a microphone. Reporters and photographers had crowded into the more choice seats. He scanned the faces, and finally found Amanda, sitting quietly in the back row by herself. Her eyes locked onto his, and so many emotions sped through him at once—relief, joy and hope.
He ignored the protocol, and instead strode past the journalists holding bulky cameras and battered voice recorders, until he reached her chair, his helmet in his hand. She wore the same clothes he remembered from their days alone together in the chalet. She’d never looked so beautiful to him.
She stood, too, and her hand fluttered to her heart. “Brody, you won…”
That didn’t matter. Not nearly as much as she did.
“I’m sorry I lied to you,” he said. “It won’t ever happen again.”
There was a murmur of interest in the crowd behind him, and she reached for his hand to tug him away from it, but he didn’t budge. He didn’t care who heard what he had to say. Hell, he wanted the whole world to hear. “Whatever you plan to do with your story, I’m behind you. I’ll even help you write it.”
But she shook her head. “Paradigm is convinced the story is dead. They believed me when
I told them it was a mistake, and they’ve killed the story. Before long, everybody will know.”
“You didn’t need to do that.” He stroked her hair and pulled her close to him. “Your career is important to you—I want you to succeed, Manda.”
“Thank you,” she whispered. “But I’ve decided I don’t want to work in a job where I’m expected to destroy people for a living.”
He felt a lump growing in his throat. He was glad she’d seen that truth. At heart, she wasn’t a person who tore people down. She was a nurturer who built them up. She’d built him up, hadn’t she?
“You’ll never need an insurance policy with me,” he said. “I promise you.”
“I figured that out, Brody, but not for the reasons you think.” She smiled gently. He could kiss this woman all day.
“I love you, Amanda.”
Her eyes glistened. “Will you say that again, please?”
He turned to a guy with a microphone in his face. “I love this woman.”
But a snort rang out behind him. He turned, and saw Amanda’s father standing with a short, squat young man holding a voice recorder.
“Time to go piss in the cup, Brody,” MacArthur said.
Amanda’s breath hissed in. But Brody already knew the score, had expected it, in fact. The short, squat guy wasn’t a drug-test technician, but a known European tabloid reporter.
“Excuse us a minute,” Brody said to the reporter. Then he grabbed MacArthur’s arm and escorted him away from Amanda. But before Brody could speak, Amanda jumped in.
“Daddy, I’m respectfully asking you not to hurt Brody. And the reason I’m asking is I love him. And I hope that you can accept that. Because you’re the only parent I have left, and I love you, too.”
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