His Last Race Read online

  The elevator door closes and I’m immediately backed into the corner. Remi plasters small kisses up and down my neck taking time to lick the edge of my ear and tug on the earlobe with his teeth. From the side of my eye the number four is lit up on the elevator control panel, so we don’t have far to travel, but being this close to a competition always puts Remi in a horny mood. It’s the adrenaline mixed with nerves and a healthy competitive attitude, like he has to prove to all his friends we’re definitely having more sex than them. I’m okay with it. A little randiness in your man, when he can’t keep his hands off you and keeps telling you how beautiful you are…that kind of thing does the body good.

  Thank God I’m not dating one of those athletes who has to abstain from sex before an important event.

  “I missed you so much.” He whispers the words in my ear even though we’re the only two in the elevator. When the ding sounds our arrival to the floor, he sighs and his body deflates.

  I pat him on the shoulder and take the lead off the elevator. “It’s only been a couple weeks.” The words are true, but my conviction behind them is not. I’ve always worked very hard not to let him know how much his absence at times makes me sad. I try to be the strong one when he needs me, but sleeping in our big king-size bed alone is not my favorite thing.

  The competitors always arrive to the area where large events are held weeks before everyone else. They use the time to practice on the mountain, test the snow, learn the weather, and figure out a bunch of other conditions Remi mentions, but I’m not quite sure they aren’t made up. Or at least severely inflated. Like beard resistance.

  He slides the small credit card looking room key in the top of the door, and when the green light flashes, he pushes into the room. “I know, but it always feels longer. I do better when you’re here.”

  I stop at the entryway to the room and for a moment let my strong confident girlfriend façade fall away. I stand on my tiptoes and stretch — the only way I can start a kiss between us. The door closes, a loud click signaling it’s shut, before I catch Remi off guard and push him up against the wall. Hey, a girl can be horny too.

  He tries to step back but is caught by the wall, causing him to chuckle around my lips. “Hmmm,” he moans. “I like it when you get randy for Remi.”

  I groan, but not in the good way and take a step back. “Seriously?” I ask shaking my head and walking farther into the room. “You have to stop using randy for Remi.”

  “Babe, that’s my best pickup line.”

  “Remington, you’ve already picked me up.” My steps still at the entrance to the room. It’s decorated tastefully, with a carpet and white wallpapered walls, a large window, the curtains pulled back to expose the view overlooking the mountain. But none of that is what has my attention.

  Remi steps closer and stops beside me. “But the pickup lines are how I keep you around.”

  “Shhhhh.” I shush him with my hand as well. “Did you do all this?”

  A standard size king bed takes up most of the room, normal white hotel sheets pulled taut against it, but what’s on top draws my eyes. Laid out on the bedspread — like we decided to take a picnic in Central Park — is a wide array of different sized plates with mismatched food on them.

  “Of course I did,” he says walking to the dresser where a flat screen TV and two different ice buckets hold not champagne, but two jugs of different juices. He pops each. “You’re always so jetlagged after a long flight. I thought we’d stay in tonight and let you recoup.”

  “Really?” I ask even though I know he wouldn’t say something unless he really meant it.

  Most nights around a major event the players get together and party, minus the alcohol, drugs, and loud music. They also normally end around eight so everyone can go back to their rooms and get a good night of rest. Athletes are competitive and most won’t have a drink until their meets finish.

  There are only so many top players in snowboarding. Over time when you start to see them in every event, they become like your own little family. If you’re not careful it’s easy to start living and breathing nothing but snowboarding. Thank goodness I have the kindergarteners to keep me in check when I need it. There’s nothing like a five-year-old telling you your eyes look puffy or your hair is messed up to know you were up too late discussing the ramifications of slope height or new snow fall in Maine.

  “Absolutely and I didn’t know what mood you’d be in, so I ordered a little bit of everything off the room service menu.” He removes silver covers from a few of the warm dishes, tossing them on the little push cart in the corner. “Take your pick.”

  Have I mentioned how wonderful my boyfriend is? He’s a focused guy, which sometimes means all his attention is on snowboarding, but when he spears me with his laser-like devotion, it’s the most wonderful thing in the world.

  Remi sits in the open space at the head of the bed stretching his legs out over the side. I grab a small plate of assorted melons and sit beside him. He’s right. Not only am I a little jetlagged, but my tummy is still wobbly. So it’s best I start light and work my way up to what I’m sure is a bacon cheeseburger near his left knee.

  “Well update me on all the happenings while I eat.”

  He takes the plate of melons from me patting the pillow behind my back. “Lay back, relax, and I’ll feed you while you listen to the stories of my people.”

  As I’m smiling up, lost in those wonderful blue eyes, Remi pulls the fork from somewhere — I don’t want to know — and stabs the first piece of melon. “Who’s been the asshole this time? Our team or someone else’s?” I ask taking the first bite and chewing while I wait.

  Hey, I said they were like a family. I didn’t say it was a happy family. We all have to deal with the hassle from time to time, it’s only a matter of whose turn it is at this competition.

  CHAPTER THREE

  I lean against a huge, dark-stained support beam so thick it’s probably the whole tree in the middle of the lodge and take in the scene outside the large glass window in front of me. Last night when I allowed Remi to whisk me away to my private picnic, the kind that ended with a special dessert, I missed out on how spectacular the resort is.

  The entire building is constructed with towering pieces of lumber, all stained a deep rich red color. From my vantage point in the main lounge, there’s a view down the practice mountain that is divine. I don’t even remember driving up the hill on our way here last night, but in the middle of the window you can see straight down the snow-covered mountain. The flurries picked up after I fell asleep and coated the entire landscape with a fresh covering of bright white snow.

  Remi and two other snowboarders from the American team set out early this morning to be the first on the hill, but with every fresh snow they must wait until all the safety checks have been completed. No one ever wants to risk an avalanche, but it’s also never truer than right before your city hosts the winter games. You can never be too careful in your safety regimen while dealing with Mother Nature. As the saying goes, she can be a real bitch.

  To the right of the large picture window, a fireplace built from large rounded smooth stones stretches to the ceiling before it’s lost within the second floor of the resort. Big rich leather chairs and a couch create a semi-circle with a fireplace as the focal point. Four logs brace against each other and fill the hearth, but as of yet no fire rages to heat the space.

  If this were a less important event or a trip for fun — although I normally make Remi take vacations to warm places — I would be out treading across the snow with him. But at times like these I leave my skis at home.

  A tall dude covered head to toe in black — black snow pants, black jacket, black hat, and black goggles walks in front of the picture window. I reach a hand out his way when I spot his signature neon blue stripe of fabric sewn into the hem of his pants. Remi stops and even though I can’t see his face with the gear he takes the gloved hand to his lips and blows me a kiss. I reach out all dramatically an
d catch it, pulling into my heart with an exaggerated swoon.

  “You two are disgusting.”

  The voice comes from behind me, but I don’t need to turn around to recognize the speaker. Reagan, my hopeful one-day sister-in-law steps up to the window beside me. Ridiculously tall like her brother, she has the same light blonde hair and blue eyes that has been passed to every member of the Jonsson family.

  “Hey, when did you get in?” I ask ignoring her comment about her brother and me.

  “Late last night. Remi sent the driver to pick me up.”

  Reagan, five years younger than her brother, just completed her MBA at Colorado State University. She then promptly moved halfway across the country, getting a job in Texas — okay so it only feels like having her halfway across the country, but I got used to having a close friend like her nearby. Normally I’d have her to keep me company on long flights, but it didn’t match up this time with her in a different state.

  “Did Remi pick you up from the airport?”

  I lose sight of the man out the window. “No, I took a cab.”

  Reagan makes this horrible tsking sound like she does every time she doesn’t approve of something Remi has done. “Marley…”

  Her words trail off, but we both know what she’s going to say. Another speech about how I have to make him prioritize me. “Don’t start, Reagan. It’s the Golds.”

  She’s been with her brother training for snowboarding longer than I have, but because she’s always around, it seems Reagan has forgotten how awesome being at an event this important is. It can be easy to do. Hell, yesterday I was fed up and tired of this, but here surrounded by the spirit of the games, it’s easy to remember what all the hard work and sacrifice is for.

  She shakes her head, not taking a seat in one of the big overstuffed leather chairs next to me. “You hungry? I haven’t had breakfast yet.”

  “Of course not. You know Remington had me up at five o’clock this morning with a power breakfast before six.”

  We both laugh because, like training for his snowboarding, Reagan dealt with her brother’s obsessive dietary needs. Four meals a day and nothing that doesn’t “power his house” while training or at an event. When he’s done competing for his own career, the man is going to make an absolutely terrifying coach to some young kid.

  “Well if you decide you want to sneak some real people food, I’ll be in the dining room.” She wanders off in the other direction, her long blonde ponytail swinging from side to side.

  I can’t lie, I debate her offer back and forth for the next five minutes while keeping an eye out the window. Remi doesn’t actually care what I eat, but I try to be good when he’s around. For solidarity and all that. Plus, I can’t hide it when I have a guilty conscience, so he would know if I woofed down twenty pieces of bacon over breakfast, even if I don’t see him until later today.

  “This seat taken, beautiful?” Snow pants crinkle together as the man doesn’t wait for an answer and takes a seat in the chair right next to mine. “Here again to watch Remi and make sure he doesn’t get too close to any fluffy bunnies.”

  I can honestly say of all the concerns having a pro athlete brings the table, I’ve never once had any doubts that Remi has cheated on me. But because it’s so prevalent it’s an easy dig to make for someone who doesn’t know our relationship.

  “No, you forgot I’m not dating you, Isaac.”

  “That’s right, baby, because if you were dating me, you wouldn’t be able to stand up today after the thorough welcome I’d have given you last night. Sad to see Remi isn’t up to the task.”

  I roll my eyes at Isaac, a skier here for the American team. He hasn’t quite figured out yet that he’s not competing against any of the snowboarders and they’re technically on the same team. It probably has something to do with the fact snowboarding is considered the popular sport right now, so they get a bigger budget than the skiers and more attention. Isaac loves attention, that’s for sure.

  “It doesn’t look like I’m standing. Maybe I had to sit down because I was so tired.” I draw out the so. I hate stooping to his level and playing the game, but he’s been a mega jackass since he joined the circuit almost five years ago.

  “Skiers are on the other side of the resort using the back side of the mountain,” he says standing rather than walking away and leaning over me. “If you want to know what a real man is like in bed, I’m in room 505.”

  “Yeah, back away from my future sister-in-law. We don’t want you to give her whatever STD you’re carrying this time,” Reagan says walking up behind Isaac, two white Styrofoam take-away containers propped in front of her.

  “Reagan…” Isaacs spins and levels her with his beady little eyes. “Still haven’t found a life? Don’t worry. One day you’ll meet a man and can stop riding your brother’s coattails.”

  Reagan gives him her most practiced death glare. The one she only uses on Remi when she thinks he’s being a full on asshole. “Don’t forget, Isaac, the sponsors pass out boxes of condoms every time. If you happen to get some drunk spectator in your bed,” her eyes fall to his groin, “wrap it up. No one wants gonorrhea.”

  Isaac turns his stare back to me, but I am not getting in the middle of these two. “When you decide to raise your standards and associate with a higher class of people, give me a call, Marley.”

  Reagan rolls her eyes so hard I hear it from where I sit on the couch. “Yeah, I don’t think that will be a problem.”

  Isaac and his crinkly snow pants leave the main area of the Lodge, but with Reagan’s back turned he stops at the main door and looks back, blowing me a kiss. My face scrunches up in disgust. That’s an odd move, even for Isaac.

  “That man is a complete fucking moron,” Reagan says as she sits on the couch beside me.

  “Eh…” I shrug. “He’s just bent out of shape because he’s not a snowboarder.”

  “Well it’s a stupid ass reason to be a jerk.”

  “That’s Isaac for you. He’s always thought he is the best at everything and should be recognized as such.”

  Guys like Isaac don’t bother me. Reagan and Remi were homeschooled later in life so Remi could practice on his snowboarding more. The rest of us who went to public school have been dealing with jerks like Isaac our entire lives.

  “In better news, I picked you up a side of bacon.” Reagan hands me one of her white Styrofoam packages and I eagerly open it to see six crispy, shining pieces of greasy bacon.

  “You’re the best.”

  “I know. Just don’t tell Remi.” She’s aware of her brother’s weird eating habits as well. “Remember all these moments of greatness when it comes time to pick your favorite sister-in-law.”

  She means my only sister-in-law. “Reagan…” I let the sentence trail off. She knows exactly what I’m going to say. If anyone wants Remi to get married more than I do, it’s Reagan. And as we’ve both gotten older, she hasn’t stopped herself from making those feelings known to Remi. It’s one of the reasons I try so very hard not to push it.

  **

  It’s time to hide the evidence. “Do you want me to throw away your trash for you?” I ask Reagan, picking up my two boxes of take-away food.

  “Sure, but I’m gonna need to get more pop soon.”

  “Only if you can finish it before Remi is done.”

  She waves away my concern as I stop to pick up the three containers from her. “Yes, Mother, I know the rules.”

  After we finished breakfast I went back for an extra side of bacon to tide us over until lunch. Breakfast buffets are the shit. The two of us picked at the crispy pieces throughout the morning. When lunch time rolled around, we decided to be healthy and eat salads, but the amount of ranch dressing we stacked on top of our lettuce made each of our lunches cost over seven dollars. Or whatever it is in American, I’ll never figure out the exchange rates until I get home and read my credit card bills. Plus, it really shouldn’t be legal to charge for dressing on a salad anyway.
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br />   As I walk to the trashcan back in the dining room, I pass by another section of the large window, an area that has a better view of the actual practice lanes, but no good seating. The once fresh and crisp snow is now trodden down with boot prints and snowboard tracks.

  While today has been quiet, the activities will only pick up from here. Tonight we have dinner plans with Reagan and a few other snowboarders, but then tomorrow Remi’s parents fly in. There’s the opening ceremony, and Remi’s competition. His event is first for snowboarding. It makes it extra exciting and nerve-racking. His event will be over quickly and we can spend the next two weeks cheering on his other snowboarding teammates, but on the other hand he’ll be one of the first to board on the Olympic hills.

  His training time will also decrease each day as we get closer to his event. The last thing you want is to have an injury or strain a muscle right before your event by pushing yourself too hard.

  All the athletes know this, but for some reason when their nerves increase, they all think the best thing to do is hop on a snowboard. You really can’t blame them. They’ve been using their sport as a relaxation method for years and then right before the biggest event of their lives, you tell them they can’t use it. It often — as in every time — leads to a bunch of frustrated and on-edge athletes.

  Not always a good combination when testosterone is already high.

  A flash of black running up the hill from the ski lifts catches my attention and I stop walking. Soon another person follows, and then a third, and then a fourth, and then a fifth. A bright blue section of his black snow pants draws my interest and holds it as I watch Remi in the middle of the pack. The door to the Lodge flies open and the stream of guys pound their feet on the floor as they march single file into the open space.

  Remi makes it past the circle of guys, standing amongst themselves talking loudly to each other or yelling into their cell phones. It looks like a bunch of bookies who learned their favorite player broke a leg. I search for Remi, his blond hair standing out against his brown-haired counter parts and multi-colored hats. When I find him, his arms are flailing through the air and he and Cyrus, another American snowboarder, talk wildly back and forth.