“They aren’t?” McKenna looks totally puzzled. “I thought they didn’t disclose on the waiver because they were trying to be secretive.”
“No, they are steadfastly in the denial phase.” Reagan pats me on the knee twice. “But you never know.”
“What are you guys talking about?” I shove half the doughnut in my mouth to help with whatever answer they’re going to give me. I’m pretty sure I won’t like it.
Reagan tips her head, shaking it. “Everyone knows you two like each other. It’s the worst kept secret in the entire world.”
McKenna smiles. “Yeah, it’s cute.”
“Oh my God,” I sputter around pieces of my doughnut. “Is it that obvious? I don’t want Cyrus to find out.”
Reagan shakes her head this time in disbelief. “Girl, he’s just as gone for you. The two of you are blind.”
There’s absolutely no way what they’re saying is true. If Cyrus had ever indicated he liked me in the slightest of ways, I would totally know. I’ve been watching for a sign for years.
“Good job on the win the other day by the way,” Reagan says not taking her eyes off the window.
“Yeah, um thanks,” I mumble. Stuck in my own mind, I analyze every single move Cyrus has made in the years of our friendship.
Nothing seems out of the ordinary.
“Don’t freak out about it too much,” Reagan says, but her words aren’t very comforting.
If it’s true and Cyrus does have even a slim amount of feelings for me that I have toward him, he’s done an amazing job of hiding it. Considering he once tried to hide a birthday present for me and lasted less than ten minutes, I don’t think he’s capable.
“When Marley gets here, we should all do lunch.” Reagan keeps on talking like she hasn’t said something that’s completely tilted my entire world off its axis. How can I go to lunch when there’s a possibility Cyrus might like me?
“I just finished a doughnut.” There’s no way I could eat lunch now.
Reagan scoffs. “You’re done racing. Now you’re looking at a few days for you to shove your face full of food and not feel guilty about it.”
I like her and she has a point. One that makes much more sense than anything my mother has tried to reason with me about.
“Okay, let’s do lunch.”
CHAPTER FOUR
“Oh my God, I’m so full I don’t think I can move.” Reagan stops outside the hotel restaurant and pats her stomach lovingly. “I think I have a food baby.”
She juts out her stomach and takes in her view against a long mirror hung on the wall. “Do you think if I do this and tell Knox I’m pregnant he’ll believe me?”
Her comment stops me in my tracks. How did we go from stuffing our faces with lunch to Reagan having a food baby and then a real baby? These damn ladies move fast.
“Are you pregnant?” I ask.
She laughs. “Hell no. I just want to scare the shit out of him.”
And they say snowboarders are weird. “Well, I suppose he’s already finished his competitions, so if you give him a heart attack it won’t be the end of the world.”
I turn to continue down the hall not waiting for her to follow. While Reagan and her brother’s girlfriend, Marley, are absolutely crazy I also love them. I’ve seen them before while watching Cyrus compete, but since this is my first time in the big leagues I haven’t had the chance to hang out with them until now.
And they’re absolutely brilliant. Reagan was right. I’ve finished my race. Now it’s time for me to chow down. And that I did. I started lunch with a side salad and then moved on to a BLT on white bread. My mother would be horrified. I even ate dessert — chocolate cake with chocolate ice cream and chocolate syrup drizzled over the top. Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve had a piece of chocolate cake?
Me either.
No one should go so long they can’t remember the last time they had cake. Someone should make that a law. I’m young, and single, and free. This is the time of my life. And I plan to live it up... at least until I see my mother again. Or the next competition. The fact my body feels like I’ve gained an extra hundred pounds is probably why I don’t eat cake.
“Miss Wilson.” A person sitting on one of the short little benches provided every few feet down the hallway stands when I get closer. She looks friendly enough, a long sleeved team USA shirt and a pair of jeans with her brown hair thrown back in a messy ponytail. One that looks quick and easy, but you know she fussed in the mirror for at least ten minutes to get the messy look perfected.
At first I think she’s a fan. Someone waiting for an autograph. The sports industry sucks. Women aren’t asked for autographs as much as men. I try not to let it make me stabby… most of the time. But it does make me ultra-thankful when I have a fan who sits outside and waits for an autograph. A little hope this may be worth it. It’s not until I’ve already stopped with a big smile on my face when I notice the microphone attached to a small recording device she holds in one hand.
A reporter.
But hey, this is a two-week circus after all. Smile and look pretty for the cameras, they say. There is no “off time” at the Winter Games.
“Miss Wilson, is it true you plan to attend the X Games in two years?” She shoves the microphone closer to my face to make sure and get the audio bite she needs.
I smile. “Yes, the X Games is one of the very first competitive events I competed in on a professional level and it’s one of my favorites. I will definitely be back in two years.” I nod.
“Will you be staying for the rest of the Winter Games or do you plan to get home now that you’ve finish competing?”
I nod. “Of course I plan to stay and support my American teammates.” I smile.
What a stupid question. We’re required to stay the entire two weeks and support the rest of our teammates. Although, that’s not why I do it. I would be here even if it wasn’t part of my contract.
“There’s been talk between the athletes that the women have not been allowed enough time in the team workout room before competitions. Is this something you’ve experienced trouble with?”
My eyes narrow, completely taken aback by the question. I haven’t heard anyone complain about not having enough gym time. The women’s team has their own locker room a full two floors down from the men’s team. We can go in whenever we want. In fact, I should probably be there now rather than eating chocolate cake.
“No, I have not experienced any problems with using the women’s workout rooms.”
“Is it true women in the field of professional sports have started forgoing workouts for fear their bodies will become too muscular?”
What. The. Fuck?
“While I cannot speak for all women who compete in pro athletic sports, I can say that is not a concern I deal with.”
I mean, yes, I have muscles. I work out…a lot. Daily. Sometimes mornings and evenings. You use your entire body when snowboarding. I couldn’t not work out if I wanted to be good at this sport. The notion is crazy.
“I see.” The female reporter, who should feel extra bad about the fact she’s asking these types of questions, repositions her microphone. It’s so ridiculously close to my face she’s probably picking up my breathing at this point. What happened to women solidarity? “Is it true the hills and jumps during the snowboarding cross event were packed at a better angle for the female snowboarders, making it easier to finish the course?”
Now I’m really mad. Is she implying the women had an easier run than the men?
She is.
Maybe I could use McKenna’s PR experience in this after all because without my mother here, I have a strong urge to hit this reporter. Too bad she said she was too busy to come. She looked so pained by her answer it must have been a good reason for her to run out.
“What kind of question is that?” Reagan askes the exact thing I’ve been thinking when she steps up to stand beside me, her belly no longer sticking out.
“The women cross snowbo
arders competed on the exact same slope as the men. There were no differences in the course.” It was the same damn course. My hands tighten into fists and fall to the side of my body. I’m too angry to think of a shakier answer.
“The women in snowboarding compete and train as hard as the male competitors. And to insinuate anything else is disrespectful to the pioneers of this industry. Snowboarding has only been an acceptable event at the golds for the last four competitive terms. There is nothing to indicate women are treated any differently on the field by the players or event officials.” Cyrus steps beside me answering the question so wonderfully it’s annoying. He said everything I wanted to say, but I was too stifled to do so.
He turns, giving me his trademark smile. Which I immediately scowl at.
Who does he think he is? Sure, okay, maybe I was a little frazzled. But I would have pulled it together. All the things he said were on the tip of my tongue. I was getting ready to say them…eventually.
And while I’m discussing annoying Cyrus things, where did he come from in the first damn place? What’s he doing sneaking up on me? How long has he been standing there? Does he know I ate cake without him?
The reporter takes a step back, lowering her microphone. “Mr. Hanson, do you have a moment for a question or two?”
I’ll give her credit. This woman is ballsy.
Cyrus narrows his eyes and leans forward. “Not from you. Learn how to treat people with respect and I’ll see what I can do.”
Her head drops and she takes another step back. “Of course, thank you. Have a good day.”
She scurries on down the hallway not looking back. Cyrus steps around in front giving me his best “I did good” look.
But he is so very wrong.
“What the hell was that?” I ask, popping out ahead.
“Um, guys. I’m going back to the practice spot. I’ll see you later.” Reagan waves three of her fingers and makes a quick exit down the stairwell.
Normally I’d be concerned we offended her. My mother’s voice would be chatting in my head about how rude I have been to have a fight with Cyrus in the middle the hallway. But she’s not here and he is. He is going down.
“What you mean?” he asks like a moron.
“You know exactly what I mean.”
“Apparently not. Maybe you can spell it out for me.” His voice rises in irritation.
Fine. He wants me to spell it out for him. I will. “I had it under control with the reporter. Where do you get off walking up and acting like you have to defend the entire female species?” I don’t need him to take care of me.
“You’re a sex, Charlie. Not a species.”
This man is testing my patience. “No, when it comes to men and women, we are definitely different species.”
Cyrus throws his arms up in the air with a disgruntled sound. “I don’t get you women. What are we supposed to do? You get upset if we don’t stick up for you, and you get pissy if we do stick up for you.”
“It’s simple. You should stick up for me when I want you to stick up for me.”
His eyes widen. “And how would I know when that is?”
“Because…” I cross my arms. “I’ll tell you.”
He grunts. “No you won’t. You’re too stubborn and prideful.”
I gasp. “Did you call me stubborn and prideful?”
“Has your hearing gone bad now, too?”
This time my eyes widen in disbelief. I slip a few steps closer to the wallpapered hallway, leaning one hip against the chair rail to balance myself lest I fall over from anger. “Would you have done that for one your male counterparts?”
“No.”
“See!” I step away from the wall feeling rejuvenated. Why is the topic of equality hard for men to figure out?
This time Cyrus crosses his arms on the defense. “I wouldn’t step up and comment for one of my male counterparts because I’m not in love with one of them.”
My nose crinkles. Why would Cyrus be in love with one of the guys on his team? There’s silent between us for seconds as I work to puzzle it out.
“Take your time on that one, Charlie.” He nods his head like he can see the wheels turning in my brain.
“Are you saying you love me? That’s why you did it?”
Cyrus slaps his forehead with the base of his palm. “Are you the only person on the planet who can’t see it?”
“Of course you love me. We’re best friends. It’s a requirement.”
Cyrus rolls his eyes. “No, Charlie. My best friend is Joe.” He mentions a guy on the speed skating team. They do hang out often. “You are so much more than a best friend to me.”
I’m stunned. My mouth opens but no words are exiting. “Joe is your best friend? I thought we were best friends.”
Cyrus’ face falls, becoming pinched in pain. “I don’t know how you can’t see it. The only explanation is you don’t feel anything for me. All this time I’ve sat around and waited for you to notice me and I get nothing.”
“What do you mean you sat around and waited for me?” He’s had a ton of girlfriends.
“You are blind. I give up.” He storms across the hallway, passing me but not sparing me a second glance as his outstretched arms hit the stairwell exit door pushing it forward.
He starts down the stairwell and I follow, standing at the top step with the door open behind me.
“Cyrus!” I yell, but he doesn’t stop.
CHAPTER FIVE
Tracking down Cyrus is easy. There’s only so many places to go. When he wasn’t in the main lobby of the lodge, I knew he had to be back at athlete housing. His room is the first place I looked.
“Cyrus,” I use the end of my closed fist to hammer on his door. “Let me in.”
Nothing happens for a few seconds, but as I’m about to start another pounding regimen, the door opens. Only a crack, but it’s enough to get my foot in the space.
Unfortunately for both of us, he doesn’t open the door the rest of the way. Normally I’d throw my weight into it and knock him on his ass. But I can’t. At least not until he finishes his race. Then all bets are off.
“Cyrus! Let me in.” If he thinks I won’t make a scene he’s dead wrong.
With an audible sigh he steps back. The loss of restriction sends me barreling into the room tripping over my own feet. I stop inches from tumbling onto the bed.
“Look, I’m stressed out.” He closes the door and stays on the other half of the room. “You know I love you like a best friend. And nothing more. I was just trying to be helpful.”
“That’s it?” I cross my arms and sit on the edge of his bed. His roommate’s bed is ruffled, the covers thrown back and the pillow tossed to the edges, but he’s not here currently.
“Yes, that’s it. Now that I’ve cleared that up, can we move on?”
I cross my arms tighter. “No.”
The truth is, I’d love to pretend we both think he was joking. To go back to the way things were ten minutes ago. Except when I think about a future of pretending, my stomach feels like I’m seconds away from vomiting on his tile floor.
I can’t.
I’ve spent years secretly being in love with Cyrus and thinking he didn’t notice me in the same fashion. Now, that there may be a glint of hope, even a small sliver he feels the same, I have to push this. Let’s be honest, even if I do throw up in front of him, it wouldn’t be the first time it’s happened. When you’re learning to snowboard and pushing yourself to the extreme it happens to the best of us after intense workouts.
“No?”
“No.” My head shakes in case he stopped listening. “I think you’re lying.”
Cyrus throws his hands in the air. “I told you I lied.”
“No! You lied right now, not before.”
His eyes narrow. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. You don’t make any sense.”
“You love me.”
“I told you I did. You’re my best friend.”
�
��You love me more than a best friend.”
Cyrus drops to the bed beside me, but as far away as possible. “So what if I do?” He sighs. “The truth is the same. We’re best friends. I wouldn’t jeopardize our friendship for a romp in the hay.”
“Romp in the hay? Who says that anymore?”
His only reply is a quick shrug as he stares down, memorizing the nonexistent pattern on his comforter.
Cyrus is my best friend. In the entire world. It’s true if we dated and things didn’t work out I don’t think we could ever go back. But isn’t it worth it to try? I can’t let him give up so easily without even trying.
Which future is worse — one where I love him from afar but am forced to hide it or the other where we have a possibility of something amazing? When given the chance, I always go with the possibility of amazing. I wouldn’t have gotten nearly as far if I didn’t. Cyrus too.
“Oh a freebie!” I yell the phrase slightly louder than I expected from the way Cyrus’ face pinches together and he leans back. “Don’t you see? It’s exactly what we need.”
I’m a genius. Cyrus and I are already super compatible when it comes to personalities. We’ve been putting up with our own little quirks and foibles for years. At this point in our relationship, I don’t think there’s anything he could do to make me stop loving him. At least not something where I wouldn’t be willing to put the work in to make our relationship succeed. And from Cyrus’ dedication on the mountain, he’s the same.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he says looking skeptical.
I lean over and hit him on the shoulder. “We have sex.” Duh.
“Um, Charlie, have you lost your mind?” He pauses searching my face. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but sex isn’t going to fix our problem.”
“It’s the perfect solution. We already know we’re compatible as friends. We’ll do it one time and see if we’re compatible elsewhere.” I look at his bed in case he’s having a dumb moment and needs extra help.
Cyrus takes a minute, and I give him the time because I know he likes to form his thoughts. If you rush him into an answer, he’s more likely to say no. And he thinks I don’t know anything about him. Silly man.
His Last Hill Page 3