Page 72 of On the Edge

But when I cut in around the gate to head toward the big red finish line, the exact thing Jackson warned about happens—my back seizes up, forcing me to double over in pain. I’m able to stay on a straight course and cross the finish line, but I can’t right myself enough to come to a complete stop easily, and instead I end up on my side, skidding across the snow toward the barriers before the crowd. Somehow I manage to dig the edge of my bottom ski in enough that I don’t crash into the barriers, but I’m lying there in agony when Lyle, Matt, and a medic rush to my side.

“How’d I do?” I ask when they kneel next to me.

“You’re in second with five more racers to go,” Matt says, at the same time that Lyle, ignoring my question, asks, “Your back?”

I confirm, telling my coaches what just happened after the last gate. The medic asks if I think I can walk, or if I need a stretcher. No way am I giving Jackson the satisfaction of beingthatright about this injury.

“I’ll walk,” I grunt out between clenched teeth. They take my skis off and I roll over to my hands and knees. There’s no way I can move my left leg under me, so I bring my right knee up instead and am able to put that foot down and push up so I’m almost standing, still crouched over, and I drag my left foot up under me as well. I can’t quite come to a full stand, but Matt and Lyle each dip under one of my arms and help me start walking, slowly. The crowd erupts in wild cheers, and I’m frustrated and angry that I’m not able to go over and shake hands with the racer in first place, and I’m pissed that Jackson was right, and I’m annoyed that I’m injured so early in the season.

So when Jackson meets us in the tent, her lips pressed together and her eyebrows raised, her gaze judgmental, I spit out, “Just don’t.”

“Don’t what?” she asks, the aggravation as clear as can be.

“Don’t say I told you so.”

“I would never,” she says, and for some reason she sounds hurt.

* * *

An hour later, I’m lying on the table under a blanket, more pissed off at the world than I have any right to be. I should be pissed at myself for racing against the recommendation of my physical therapist, but it’s easier to blame Jackson. She’s sitting next to me, texting. She hasn’t said a single word to me since Matt and Lyle brought me into the tent. The doctor has come by and given me a muscle relaxant and I’m waiting for it to take effect before I can get up. Even then, he warned that I’d be drowsy and sluggish, but I’ll take that over the throbbing in my back that’s sending shooting pains up to my ribs and down my leg.

I close my eyes for a minute, and when I reopen them I’m flanked by the doctor and Lyle. My eyes swing around to find Jackson, and I have a hard time focusing on her down at the end of the table I’m lying on, standing there beyond my feet. Marco’s standing next to her, his arm around her waist. I almost tell him to get his hands off her, but realize that she’s his girlfriend, not mine, and stop myself just in time. Instead, a random jumble of slurred words leaves my lips. I hate this feeling of not being in control of myself.

I must have fallen asleep when the drugs kicked in. I have no idea how long it’s been, but Marco’s not in his race suit so I imagine the race has been over for a while.

“We’re supposed to be leaving in fifteen minutes,” Matt says to the doctor.Whoa, where’d Matt come from?It’s like people are appearing and disappearing out of thin air. “Can he travel?”

We weren’t set to leave for Val Gardena until hours after the race ended. I guess I’ve been asleep, or totally out of it, for that long?

“I don’t think that’s a good idea. He should stay here at least for the night and wait to travel until he’s in less pain. I imagine this intense pain will only last a day or so. But he should give it at least two weeks before he starts training again, or he could re-aggravate the injury and be out much longer. I’ll get you a prescription for him,” the doctor tells Jackson. I hate that they’re talking about me like I’m not lying right here.

Lyle looks up at the ceiling of the tent like he’s praying for patience, and my own frustration—with myself and the situation—grows. “I’ll start looking for accommodations,” he says as the doctor turns to leave.

“He can just stay with us,” Marco says, and all eyes swing to him, especially Jackson’s, which are huge.

She gasps. “Marco, no.”

“It’s fine,” he replies, rubbing her back. Then he turns to me. “My best friend, Christian, has a house nearby and we were going to stay with him for two nights before heading to Val Gardena. You’re welcome to rest there while you figure out your next step.”

The palpable look of relief on Lyle’s face makes me feel like I have to say yes, but the look of horror on Jackson’s face is equally strong so obviously I should say no.

“That’s very thoughtful of you, Marco,” Lyle says before I have a chance to respond.

Jackson sighs.

“Are you sure you don’t mind?” I say. “I can probably just find a room at the resort here.”

“There’s plenty of room. Plus if you stay here, Jackson needs to stay too. You coming with us works out for everyone,” Marco says as he kisses the top of Jackson’s head. I want to punch him less than I thought I would, probably thanks to the drugs.

“I’ll bring your luggage here,” Lyle says and he’s out of the room quickly.

“I’m going to go call Christian and let him know,” Marco says to Jackson and gives her shoulder a squeeze. “I’ll wait outside for you.”

Once Marco’s gone and it’s just Jackson and I, she levels me with a glare.

“Are you more mad that I got myself injured when you told me I shouldn’t ski? Or that I’m infringing on your weekend with your boyfriend?”

“Let’s call them equal. This didn’t have to happen, Nate,” she says as she walks up to the head of the table. “You did this to yourself because you were too stubborn to listen to my medical advice.”

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