Page 71 of The Groupie

I run after him going on instinct, without thought, my flight or fight instincts telling me to do both as I run. Until I run into a group of photographers outside the main lodge. Literally. The world slows down as I hear a scream and shouts and I see Zak a few yards ahead of me.

I stop and turn, and slip on the snow and can’t stop the momentum, my heart drumming as I fall on the pavement near the step where my ankle catches, and I can’t hide the flash of pain.

Zak gets to me first as the photographers flash their cameras, and I wonder how the universe managed to concoct the worst possible storm of nightmares to test me at my most vulnerable moment.

“Back away. Give her space,” Zak says and bends over me, blocking most of the cameras. But he can’t stop their questions, and I hear them shout at me as if I’m deaf.

“You’re Rylee Flynn. What would an injury do to your status on the Olympic team?”

“Why were you running in slippery conditions?”

“Are you hurt?” I look up at the last question shouted in a familiar voice. It’s Chuck.

Zak helps me to my feet, holding an arm around me to take my weight. He asks under his breath, “How’s the ankle?” I shake my head and turn to the lodge.

Zak addresses the small crowd. “She’s fine. We’re going inside. Everything is cool.”

“Who are you?”

He doesn’t bother to answer them, but someone in the crowd of sports reporters says, “That’s Zak Tomas, a hockey player for the Brawlers. What are you doing here, Zak? You going to play for the Olympic team, or are you just visiting?” There are snickers in the crowd, but Zak ignores everyone as he helps me up the stairs to the door.

Before we go inside, Chuck comes after us.

“I didn’t finish our discussion about your team status, Rylee.” His voice is loud, and he’s red-faced and angry, none of this a good sign.

“Back off, Chuck.” Zak throws him a menacing stare.

Chuck takes a step back with his hands up and smiles, but it’s an ugly smile. “Fine. Have it your way.” He looks at me with an intense regretful look, then turns to the dwindling crowd of photographers and reporters as they’re dispersing.

“Before you go,” he says, projecting like he’s holding a megaphone. Most of the people stop and turn back to listen to him and he comes down the steps until he’s standing in the middle of the group. No doubt they know exactly who he is—coach of the U.S. women’s snowboarding team.

“This is as good a time as any to let you know that Rylee Flynn, member of the women’s snowboarding team, has an ankle injury and may be put on the IR list pending an exam. She may not make the trip to Italy for the Olympics in two weeks. As of now, her status is day-to-day.”

He turns back to me and storms up the steps, sweeping me from Zak’s arms.

“We have official Olympic business to take care of.” He gives Zak a murderous look and takes me away. I watch like this is a movie because I detached from the moment, from the here and now of my life, the minute he said I might be put on injured reserve. Numbness doesn’t cover my current state. My mind flashes back to the car crash where I blocked everything out for weeks, for too long.

I glance at Zak, and his face is grim and confused.

“Rylee, what are you doing?”

What am I doing? I tug my arm from Chuck’s grip yet again. Zak’s question wakes me from my zombie state, or maybe it was shock, the kind that blocks pain like it did after the crash. I know this because the pain comes rushing in now, flooding me and killing me and making me stand up, infusing me with life and the will to do what I need to do.

“I’m going to compete in the Olympics, Zak. Nothing is going to stop me from doing that. Not Chuck, not the doctors, and…not you.”

I walk away through the crowd of reporters and photographers who took notice of the scene Chuck created and who shout questions at me that I ignore because they’re mostly about Zak. I turn around to look back once. Chuck is following me.

And Zak is standing there, with people surrounding him taking photos, shooting questions at him as he watches me leave, and it’s the most heartbroken face I’ve ever seen.

The pain that rips through me now makes the pain in my ankle feel like the kiss of a snowflake on my cheek.

It melts away like a dream, like it was never there. Like whatever wisp of childish fantasy I thought Zak might be. Here one day, gone the next. It’s best to stay in the moment.

I walk on my own and shiver, suddenly feeling the cold, until Chuck catches up to me and suggests we take the ATV that’s just pulled up beside us.

“No, I’m not riding with you. I’m fine. My ankle is fine, and I will compete in the Olympics, and you can’t stop me.”