Page 70 of Well Played

“Sorry?”

Her eyes bore into mine. “How badly do you want to win this race?”

“More than anything,” I admitted. “As you do, I am sure. Why do you ask?”

“I will let you win.”

My mouth gaped. “What? Why would you do that?”

“I want something from you.”

“What?” My mind raced. “What did I have that she could want?”

“I want Owen,” she sneered. “No one knows what he sees in you, anyway. It is just a matter of time before he leaves you. This way you keep your dignity.”

“Why?” I asked.

“Because he wants me. Everyone can see it. You know it. You are in my way. Blocking me,” she snarled.

“Whoa!” I stood and faced her. While she was roughly my height, I was significantly bigger and could take her down without much effort. Regardless, she didn’t flinch.

“Choose. Your career or your boyfriend.” She was in my face now, threatening me. “We will be world champions together and make beautiful babies.”

“No.”

“Do it, or I will destroy you,” she snarled venomously.

“I’m sorry?” I breathed. Surely I hadn’t heard correctly.

“You will be.” Flicking her platinum mane over her shoulder, she pranced out of the room, her hair swishing behind her as she swung her bony hips.

For a moment, I sat there, wondering what to do. Owen. I needed to speak with Owen. But he was racing on the Super G course. We never spoke between races. Focus was everything, and we agreed we would never distract each other from our joint dream of winning the World Cup.

The race marshals were calling numbers, indicating the women’s event was about to start. This was it, my last event for the season. Ski well, and I could place in the top three and secure my place in the Olympic team for next year. Ski badly, and I would need to go through all the qualifying events again seeking a wildcard entry. Australia’s financial support for the WinterOlympics was nowhere near what it was for summer games, and only a few competitors were selected to represent their country.

My bib number was directly behind Natasja in the first race, and she was behind me in the second, so we were in the marshaling area together, a tiny space and with limited capacity to avoid her. As I carried my skis past the ropes and set up in a corner, she approached, leaning so close I could feel each exhale on my face.

“One more chance,” she growled. “I go wide. You let me have Owen. Deal?”

I tried to ignore and sidestep her, but she blocked my exit, and with my back against the ropes, I felt much like a boxer, cornered, but not beaten. Ski boots not being the most maneuverable of equipment, I could not escape her, other than being physical and I knew she would happily label me the aggressor and see me disqualified in a heartbeat. Other competitors were milling around, but they were all absorbed in their own headspace, preparing for our final race, not paying attention. I could call out for help, but then what?

One of the marshals caught my eye, noticing this wasn’t a normal interaction.

“Can I help ladies?”

Natasja leaped back, not hearing him approach from behind her.

“No, no, we are fine,” she said sweetly before giving me one last warning glare. “Just wishing Sophie luck.”

Meeting her eyes, I lowered my lids and glared back defiantly. I would not comply with her ridiculous demands. Tossing her chin, she pranced off, pulling a phone from her jacket. Checking she was well clear, I started getting into my gear, more than a little shaken by the encounter.

“Breathe,” I coached myself as the next competitor was called. “You can do this. One more win and you win overall.”

Natasja was called to the starting gate, and I watched her push out, her lithe, elegant form sliding effortlessly down the first part of the run. I may not be as athletic looking, but I was strong, especially in the legs, and I could push hard out of the start gate. Once she cleared, I moved into the start hut, preparing myself.

As I stood at the wand listening for the countdown, I slowed my breath and pushed hard as the buzzer sounded. It was a great start, and I felt powerful and surefooted as I flew down the first part of the course.Red, blue, red, blue.The gates clacked as I passed as close to them as I dared, keeping my tuck, and transitioning smoothly as I had practiced all season with Owen.

Hitting the home stretch, I dug deep and pushed as hard as I could, the finish line in sight. As I rounded a gate, the surface changed unexpectedly, and I gasped, fighting to hold my balance as I shuddered over the bumpy surface, fighting to regain control.That wasn’t right. Fuck. Had I not been used to skiing on icy, rocky snow in Australia, I would have crashed and ended my race, if not my career. Anger rose in my chest as I corrected the wobble and it spurred me on. I knew exactly what had happened. Someone from the course crew slipped the course every few skiers, but they hadn’t been down between Natasja and me. Flying across the finish line to a roar of applause, I saw Jeff’s thunderous face in the crowd, ready to berate me for my wobble, but I made my way straight to the Chief of Race, who was standing beside the Chief of Gates.

---