Page 101 of Just Let Go

He stood and paced the length of the living room, clasping the football between his hands.

Quinn had challenged him, maybe without even knowing it. What was he going to do? Run away because more was required of him? He owed it to Benji to at least go down swinging.

He owed it to himself.

He pulled out his laptop and muted the TV. He scoured the bottom of his duffel bag for a notebook and pen, then did what Brian and his other coaches had tried to get him to do for years—watched videos of his mistakes.

“What’s the point of reliving my worst moments?” he’d demanded.

“You can learn from your mistakes, Grady,” Brian had said. “This is part of every athlete’s process.”

“Not mine.”

He’d been so stubborn, so pigheaded. Full of excuses and unwilling to admit that he might’ve been wrong, that the mistakes might’ve been his. Instead, he’d only watched the replays of the races where he’d triumphed.

But if he was going to try a new approach, it started here. Would it be easy? No. But it was necessary, and he knew it.

He sat on the couch as day turned to night, watching, studying,rewinding and rewatching to catch what had caused each stumble, each fall. Eventually, he became detached from the process, critiquing it like a spectator would, forgetting that it was his own race, his own mistakes, he was watching.

He stood up, right there in the living room, and pretended he was on the slopes, getting the movement in his body, correcting the missteps.

And it started to click.

Still, he knew—and it was hard for him to admit—that he wasn’t going to be able to come back strong enough by himself.

For the first time in his life, Grady felt like he actually needed someone else.

He’d all but destroyed his relationship with Brian, who’d been with him practically since the beginning. Brian’s career had taken off, and he was now the head coach of the US Olympic ski team. It was a relationship Grady would have to salvage, but not today.

Today, there was only one person he thought might still be in his corner.

He pulled his phone out and dialed his trainer, a solidly built black guy everyone called Happy because of his sunny disposition and endless optimism, something Grady had always endured but now desperately needed. Happy had always been committed to Grady’s training, considered himself part of Team Benson. Grady hoped that hadn’t changed.

Their partnership hadn’t ended poorly; it had just ended. Grady hadn’t even meant for it to happen—one day he just stopped showing up. Maybe because he didn’t like what his trainer had to say? How arrogant he’d been.

“Grady, my man. Where you been?” Happy actually sounded, well, happy to hear from him.

“You don’t wanna know, Hap.” Grady plopped down on the sofa. “Listen, I need some help. I’ve got a race in a couple weeks and I have to get back in shape—fast.”

“Have you been keeping up with your training?”

Grady’s eyes found the ceiling. He could picture his trainer’s earnest eyes, and he knew he owed the man the truth. No sense sugarcoating it. “No. I got sloppy, but I’m committed now. More than ever.”

Happy let out a sigh. Probably frustrated his expertise had been disregarded. “You know what this is going to take, right?”

Grady knew. It was going to take everything he had. And then some. “I’m ready.”

“You know my rules,” Happy said. “No booze. No late nights. Lots of early mornings.”

“You have my word.”

“And you’re ready to change it up a little?”

Grady thought back to the last time they’d worked together. Happy had tried to convince him to make some changes then to compensate for physical limitations Grady wasn’t willing to admit. If only he’d listened, maybe he would’ve already qualified.

“Listen, Hap,” Grady said. “About our last session—”

“Forget it,” Happy said. “I’m just glad you’re coming around now.”

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