Page 75 of The Groupie

Zak

Flying to Italy was the easy part of pulling this off. Calling Coach to tell them I had emergency personal business to take care of, implying I was going home, proved hard on my conscience because he trusted me and he let me go so easily. A part of me wishes I’d told him the truth, but he would never have agreed to it and my contract hasn’t been finalized yet.

I checked.

Calling mom and dad was easier because I told them the truth, but harder to convince them to cover for me with coach. Dad got it, but mom was reluctant. In the end she said she would do whatever I asked, but her last words stayed with me the whole flight here and echo in my head now as I walk through the airport hearing the voices in Italian bouncing around me.

Mom said, “You know Coach and the Brawlers management are eventually going to find out the truth. And then what will you have to say?”

I make my way to the SIXT rental car kiosk to pick up the Range Rover sport Sheila arranged for me, a equipped with navigation. She helped me out a lot. I gave her my credit card and she took care of the travel, car, hotel and the tickets to the Olympic resort at Cortina d'Ampezzo and women’s snowboarding events. I didn’t ask how much it cost. I only know she was relieved that I didn’t care. I promised to buy her something nice and glancing around the airport as I wait for my rental paperwork and keys, I note there are some nice shops. I’ll pick her up something on my way home.

A rush of adrenaline bubbles in my gut. There’s a lot I need to get through before I go home.

Once in the car, I set the navigation to Cortina d’Ampezzo and Valtellina, the mountain center where the snowboarding events will be held. I’m hoping I’ll see her at her event, but those are the two places to look. The snowboarders are being housed in Flame, a small town outside of the village of Cortina, but I doubt I’ll have access there. I’m told it’s a one-hundred-forty-eight km drive from the airport. I’m cutting it close, but I make it there in under two hours.

When I get into the village, I find a place to park and stay and take a bus to the mountain where the women’s halfpipe qualifying round starts in an hour. I know Rylee will be there and it’s my best chance to find her and talk.

My biggest trepidation is trying to communicate, but the bus driver speaks English and so do most of the workers at the Olympics who all wear badges. Still, alone and with a lot of unknowns surrounding me, I fight like hell not to feel like a kid lost in a crowded mall.

The bus driver tells me which direction the women’s halfpipe event is being held and I slip him a twenty-dollar bill.

“Sorry I didn’t convert my money.”

He laughs. “No worries, signore. This is good. Good luck with finding your signora.” I almost stop to ask how he knows I’m looking for a signora, but he tips his hat and smiles and the crowd moves me along.

The snow-covered landscape makes me feel at home and festive atmosphere buoys my spirits as I trek to find the slope where the U.S. women snowboarders should be. In the distance I see the halfpipe and a lift with a line of boarders. There’s a line of netting around them and stands off to the sides where most of the crowd is heading.

When I spot the official U.S. Olympics gear on a few of the women, my heart picks up its pace and I jog over. Everyone’s competing in the qualifying round today, so there are dozens of women on the other side of the fencing, some of them with their faces obscured by goggles, but I move as close as I can and study every one of them as they wait for the official start of the event.

An announcement is made in Italian and then in English that the event officially beginning. The lift jerks into motion and boarders begin loading equipment. My heart beats faster, fighting away the doubt and defeat that seeps in at the edges.

That’s when I see her. Her goggles are up and she’s staring at the halfpipe as if she’s studying it, standing still and beautiful as a statue. He push the rope to the side at the edge of the fencing to catch her before she takes the lift up to the top of the halfpipe run.

Standing on the edge of a group of media types, I call out. “Rylee.”

She turns. When her eyes meet mine, she’s stunned. But so am I because the sight of her always stuns me, in truth. She hurries over to me.

“What the hell, Zak?” She’s breathless and she’s not smiling, but she’s not frowning either.

“I had to talk to you. It’s important.”

“You couldn’t call?”

“No.” I pull her aside, a few steps away from the curious glances from some of the media.

“Seriously, what are you doing here? Is something wrong?”

“No. Everything’s right. We’re right, you and I.”

Now she frowns.

“Before you give me your nothing is permanent speech, let me have my say, okay?” She nods. I lower my voice and step closer. “I’m falling for you, Rylee. Madly, head-over-heels, crazy in love.” I hold her arm and lean close. It takes every ounce of my willpower not to pull her into my arms and kiss her until she begs me for more.

Her face opens up, the silent shock showing in her brilliant blue eyes and I don’t blink. I stare back, stalwart and unshaken, because I know what she’s thinking. She thinks I’m full of crap and I’ll disappear, that I’m not dependable, that no one is dependable, that nothing is forever.

“I believe you are crazy.”

I smile. “Is that all? Do I get some creds for flying to Italy in the middle of hockey season to tell you how I feel, to put every ounce of my soul out there, to bare myself naked and vulnerable to you?”