Page 72 of Well Played

“I’m sorry. We need to speak with her alone, Mr. Bartels.”

Owen opened his mouth to argue, and I placed a hand on his arm. “It’s fine. Just a formality.”

Picking up my skis, I followed the official to the office. They interrogated me for half an hour, and I told them everything. The threats made in the change rooms, the confrontation in the marshaling area. I could tell they were dubious, but I did not need to lie. Showing them the bases of my skis was the tipping point. Their faces changed as they looked at each other. There was no way I would have done that to my own skis, not when I was ranked second in the world and desperately wanted to win the race.

“Thank you, Miss Russell. You may return to the main area, but we will resume racing soon, so don’t go far.”

I nodded, wondering if Natasja would make the second run. There was no reason to think she wouldn’t. It would take longer than that to prove foul play. Owen insisted on helping me wax my replacement skis, staying near me, and even accompanied me to the marshaling area before my second run. As I was called, he spoke a touch louder than necessary, ensuring Natasja could hear.

“Prove to that bitch that she will not intimidate you. Do it for Emmanuelle. I need to get back for my run, but I will see you later, my love.”

Determined to not be a victim, I nailed my second run, hitting every gate and flying across the finish line. My name jumped into first place, and the crowd roared in approval. Waving to the crowd, I knew it was temporary. Natasja was skiing after me and only had to post the same time or better and she would win, again. I tried not to watch but couldn’t help it; she looked good coming down the course, but ever so slightly awkward, she didn’t have the usual fluidity of her turns. She crossed the finish line and dropped her head to her knees as her time appeared on the enormous digital board. Two-one hundredths of a second slower than me. The board refreshed, Natasja was in second place.

My heart jumped into my throat as I cleared the lower area, praying I could hold the lead. But right now, I needed to change and visit Emmanuelle.

By the time I reached the medical center, I had won, not only the race, but the World Cup.Later, I told myself. Right now, I needed to check on Emmy.

She was high on painkillers and waiting on a medivac home, but she was comfortable. The Canadian medical team had confirmed a broken collarbone, dislocated shoulder, and a fractured femur. The poor girl was out for months, facing surgeries and a long road to recovery. She smiled feebly at me and thanked me for visiting in a mix of French and English. I held her hand and promised her I would keep in touch. She was so young, and this was her first year on the circuit. I knew how it felt to be new, and now to be out for months. Likely, she would question everything she had valued.

“Are you ok?” She croaked in her lilting French accent. “They said you hit the stones too.”

“I did. But I was lucky,” I assured her. “I held on. I tried to tell them it was dangerous, Emmy, but you were already on course. But I promise you, I will find out what happened.”

“You know what happened?” Her French accent was made all the more charming by her confusion. We had all experienced enough concussions to know how that felt.

“I have an idea. But I won’t say anything until it is confirmed. I would never want to damage someone’s reputation.”

Emmy nodded and closed her eyes. The nurse gestured to me it was time to leave.

“I will talk to you soon, Emmy. Promise?”

“Oui,” she whispered, barely awake, and I slipped from the room.

Reentering the hotel, the lobby was abuzz with chatter and excitement. Seeing me, Jodi made a beeline for me.

“Everyone is looking for you. Did you hear?”

“Hear what?”

“Natasja was disqualified.”

“Why?” I asked cautiously, suspecting I already knew.

“No time. There is a media conference in a few minutes. Let’s go.”

Jodi raced down the hall to the function room where our last dinner would be held tonight, but was currently being set up with desks, lights, and cameras. All the major sporting networks were here. This was big news.

The Head of the International Federation d’Ski was being shown in and wasted no time in condemning the Austrian skier Natasja Zenina for her actions, which had willfully caused serious injury to the French skier Emmanuelle Marceau. The officials didn’t mention me, and since I had rightfully won the event and Natasja had been disqualified, I was the undisputed winner. For this, I was grateful. I had once won an event by default, and it felt wrong, like I hadn’t earned it. The FIS officialshad compiled enough video footage from both official and media sources to see a man on the side of the course scatter small white stones on the course after Natasja’s run and before mine. They had immediately closed all access to the resort and had picked him up trying to leave. When questioned, he admitted Natasja had paid him to tamper with the course, resulting in his arrest. He had shown them his phone, with the call log from her immediately before her race, sealing her fate.

The Austrian ski coach spoke next, condemning her actions and informing the media that she had been removed from the Austrian team.

“We do not condone cheating,” he spoke clearly and firmly in German, the translator picking up the tone for the English-speaking audience. Natasja herself was nowhere to be seen, likely packing to get home as fast as she could to avoid a media scrum.

Owen slipped into the room and stood beside me, his hand finding mine in the crowd. “Be prepared. You know the media will ask you about it when we accept our medals.”

“I know,” I whispered back.

The next fewhours were a blur. Award ceremonies, media conferences and a last dinner and party. Everyone painted Owen and me as the golden couple of ski racing, but even after all that had happened today, I was jittery. What would happen between us when we returned home tomorrow? The season wasn’t over. There were minor races, and we had publicity commitments. Over the past few days, sponsorship offers had started coming in for me, and us as a couple, but I had no mind for that now. We would both be returning to the States. Me to BeaverCreek to resume coaching the race club kids, and him to Vail. We hadn’t spoken about what we would do when we returned home, and I prayed this wasn’t a holiday romance. The truth was, I had fallen. Hard. Owen was everything I wanted in a man. Considerate, with old-school manners. He held doors open and always made sure I was ok. Asked what I wanted to order, never assuming he knew best. Over the past few months, he had become an enormous part of my life, and I couldn’t imagine a world without him in it. I wanted nothing more than to take him home to meet my family.

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