Read Online Carry Your Heart by Audrey Bell - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Audrey Bell
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resented Ryan’s success and then felt guilty about it.
“You will eventually. Don’t stress,” I promised him.
But, he didn’t win any races at Snowbird two years ago. He finished second in three and crashed out the fourth race he entered.
Ryan won every title.
And Danny had pretended to be happy for him, while he was quietly devastated.
I remember him standing in the room with a cell phone cradled to his ear and talking softly to his demanding father. I remember the exhaustion in his voice when he tried to explain. The way his shoulders shuddered silently when the phone call ended.
I remember the hurt look he wore on his face when it was over. How he held his arms around his ribs, like he was protecting them, and tried not to cry. I remember all the things I would have done to take that all away. I remember wishing I could bear the pain for him.
Chapter Nine
The nerves catch me a few minutes before the race begins. On top of the mountain, shivering in a thin racing suit and a coat that’s not doing its job.
There are 100 elite American skiers here, jockeying for a position on one of the US Ski Teams. Only half will qualify for the final. Only three will receive medals.
I take a breath and close my eyes. It’s a long course, but not a particularly challenging one. The question will be whether you can keep your feet. The answer will require patience and control.
The first competitors all clock in around 1:47 and 1:48. I had done a 1:46.4 in practice. If I did that here, it wouldn’t just good enough to qualify for the final, but it might even put me in top ten.
I swallow thickly. I also had done a lot of crashing in practice. And nobody else seems to be having that problem.
I see the dark-haired young skier from Vermont that Lottie had told me about. Penelope Graham—seventeen years old—a real force to be reckoned with.
She starts like a rocket out of a cannon and then carves down the mountain at a breakneck pace. She’s smooth. Like a lean ship born to careen down a mountain, it doesn’t look as hard for her as it does for the other girls.
She immediately jumps to the top of the leader board. 1:44.55. Jesus Christ, that’s fast.
A full second is an eternity in downhill skiing. And Penelope leads by two whole seconds.
I watch her take off her helmet and shake out her hair and grinning up at her time illuminated on the leader board. She looks so much younger than me.
I see Laurel fold her arms and swear.
Yeah. Join the club, Laurel. Shit.
I close my eyes. I wish I hadn’t been slated to start so late.
Mike ambles over calmly: “Ready?”
I nod. He smiles sympathetically, seeing it all across my face that I was anything but ready.
“Breathe. Just finish—try to keep your speed in check. This is totally doable for you.”
I nod.
“Do not try to break that girl’s time,” he warns, as if he can read my mind.
“I’m not going to,” I protest, even though I was sort of thinking about what it would be like to go that fast.
We watch Lottie fly. She looks tiny when she crouches at the starting line. She’s crazy fast on her turns and she approaches the finish line, her time approaching Penelope’s quickly. But, she crosses just before Penelope did with a time of 1:43.98.
Mike whoops. “Attagirl, Lott!” he calls from on top of the mountain, clapping his hands.
I close my eyes, place my hands on my hips, and wait. I turn my gaze to the sky. The clouds blur before my eyes and the time to prepare dissolves before me, into nothing, until it’s time to go.
“Alright, you’re up,” Mike reminds me softly.
I head over to the tent and tighten my boots, feeling suddenly crunched for time. I stretch my legs out again. I line my skis up on the starting line and I stare down the steep slope, all the way down to the finish line.
My first race back. Make it good.
The chime sounds, I push off, and the earth rushes me, fast, fast, fast. I bend and turn at each gate, dropping my shoulder,
“You will eventually. Don’t stress,” I promised him.
But, he didn’t win any races at Snowbird two years ago. He finished second in three and crashed out the fourth race he entered.
Ryan won every title.
And Danny had pretended to be happy for him, while he was quietly devastated.
I remember him standing in the room with a cell phone cradled to his ear and talking softly to his demanding father. I remember the exhaustion in his voice when he tried to explain. The way his shoulders shuddered silently when the phone call ended.
I remember the hurt look he wore on his face when it was over. How he held his arms around his ribs, like he was protecting them, and tried not to cry. I remember all the things I would have done to take that all away. I remember wishing I could bear the pain for him.
Chapter Nine
The nerves catch me a few minutes before the race begins. On top of the mountain, shivering in a thin racing suit and a coat that’s not doing its job.
There are 100 elite American skiers here, jockeying for a position on one of the US Ski Teams. Only half will qualify for the final. Only three will receive medals.
I take a breath and close my eyes. It’s a long course, but not a particularly challenging one. The question will be whether you can keep your feet. The answer will require patience and control.
The first competitors all clock in around 1:47 and 1:48. I had done a 1:46.4 in practice. If I did that here, it wouldn’t just good enough to qualify for the final, but it might even put me in top ten.
I swallow thickly. I also had done a lot of crashing in practice. And nobody else seems to be having that problem.
I see the dark-haired young skier from Vermont that Lottie had told me about. Penelope Graham—seventeen years old—a real force to be reckoned with.
She starts like a rocket out of a cannon and then carves down the mountain at a breakneck pace. She’s smooth. Like a lean ship born to careen down a mountain, it doesn’t look as hard for her as it does for the other girls.
She immediately jumps to the top of the leader board. 1:44.55. Jesus Christ, that’s fast.
A full second is an eternity in downhill skiing. And Penelope leads by two whole seconds.
I watch her take off her helmet and shake out her hair and grinning up at her time illuminated on the leader board. She looks so much younger than me.
I see Laurel fold her arms and swear.
Yeah. Join the club, Laurel. Shit.
I close my eyes. I wish I hadn’t been slated to start so late.
Mike ambles over calmly: “Ready?”
I nod. He smiles sympathetically, seeing it all across my face that I was anything but ready.
“Breathe. Just finish—try to keep your speed in check. This is totally doable for you.”
I nod.
“Do not try to break that girl’s time,” he warns, as if he can read my mind.
“I’m not going to,” I protest, even though I was sort of thinking about what it would be like to go that fast.
We watch Lottie fly. She looks tiny when she crouches at the starting line. She’s crazy fast on her turns and she approaches the finish line, her time approaching Penelope’s quickly. But, she crosses just before Penelope did with a time of 1:43.98.
Mike whoops. “Attagirl, Lott!” he calls from on top of the mountain, clapping his hands.
I close my eyes, place my hands on my hips, and wait. I turn my gaze to the sky. The clouds blur before my eyes and the time to prepare dissolves before me, into nothing, until it’s time to go.
“Alright, you’re up,” Mike reminds me softly.
I head over to the tent and tighten my boots, feeling suddenly crunched for time. I stretch my legs out again. I line my skis up on the starting line and I stare down the steep slope, all the way down to the finish line.
My first race back. Make it good.
The chime sounds, I push off, and the earth rushes me, fast, fast, fast. I bend and turn at each gate, dropping my shoulder,
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