Page 19 of Powder
“I did not!” Mom shot back, laughter bubbling under her words. “You hog the bed like a bear!”
They were so loved up it was ridiculous, laughing over each other before both yelled at once, “Good luck for today, Tian!”
“Bye!” Dad added, and I could picture him ambling away to stare out at the view — always liked his alone time, which left Mom and me.
Her voice became hushed, worried. “I saw that tumble on social media—are you okay?”
“I’m fine, Mom,” I said with a laugh. “Nothing to worry about.”
The truth was the fall had spooked me more than I wanted to admit. Still, I wasn’t about to let them hear the crack in my certainty. Not when they were this excited for me and when I needed every bit of confidence I could find.
By the time my sponsor stuff was done, and I was ready for my first run, the crowd was buzzing, snow guns blasting fine mist into the crisp air, coaches pacing like caged animals. My board was waxed, my body strung tight with nerves and anticipation. One more run, one more medal, and I’d be boarding a plane to Italy with Team USA.
For me and the other US riders, this wasn’t just about chasing FIS points and World Cup medals—it was about the added pressure of US team selection hanging over every run. International rivals like Silvan Roth from Switzerland or the Japanese prodigies viewed Mammoth as just another stop on the World Cup circuit, another chance to climb the standings. For us, a missed podium could mean missing the Olympic team altogether. That tension made every final electric. I only needed to get silver to clinch an Olympic berth.
Only.
Famous last words.
Silvan caught me at the top of the run, grinning like the cocky bastard he was. “Hope you’re ready to eat Swiss snow, Tian,” he teased, bumping his fist against mine.
“Yeah, yeah. Don’t get too comfortable up there,” I shot back, trying to sound casual even though my stomach was a knot of nerves.
Then Abel was in my ear, gripping my shoulders, voice low but sharp. “Keep it level, Tian. Nothing so fancy you crash out. You’ve got this if you stay clean. Focus.” He gave me a little shake, eyes burning into mine. “One last solid run and you’re in.”
Then it was my time. The world narrowed to the ramp, the wind, and the thud of my heartbeat. My runs were a blur of muscle and instinct, each landing punching through my legs, each cheer rolling over me like surf. When the points were tallied, Silvan edged me out for first, but my name was right under his.
Silver.
Abel grabbed me hard, nearly shaking me off my feet, his grin wild. “Yes!”
I was going to Italy.
I’m going to have a reason to see Jack.
That night, my parents insisted on taking me out to celebrate, and somehow we ended up at a long table in the hotel restaurant with Silvan and another man who wandered over to say hello. Mom, of course, encouraged them to sit with us. Silvan clapped me on the shoulder, then gestured proudly. “This is Lukas Vogel, my partner.”
“Lovely to meet you,” Mom said brightly. “How did you two meet?”
Lukas smiled, a little shy. “I’m a dentist back in Zurich. We met through friends, and, well… we never really stopped talking after that first dinner.”
I sat there thinking, How do they make that work? He was traveling the circuit all winter, and Lukas anchored in Switzerland with a job that didn’t exactly scream flexibility. Yet seeing them together—Silvan’s hand finding Lukas’s under the table, Lukas leaning in close to laugh at some story Dad told—they made it seem effortless. My parents were charmed, conversation flowed, and before long, everyone was trading stories and laughing.
Eventually, Mom and Dad excused themselves, hugging me before leaving for their room. Lukas rose as well, brushing a kiss over Silvan’s lips. “I’ll be up in ten,” Silvan murmured back, his smile soft. When Lukas had gone, Silvan turned to me.
“You seem quiet tonight, my friend. What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” Jealousy over Silvan and Lukas? Loneliness when I’d realized what it was like to be with someone?
“Bull crap,” Silvan snorted. “You just clinched your Olympic spot. We get to do this all again in Italy, and you can’t crack a smile.”
“Nothing’s wrong,” I repeated, forcing a smile. “Just… thinking about…”
“About how a devastatingly handsome Swiss man stole your gold?”
“Asshole,” I snarked, and then sat back in my chair. “Your Lukas is a nice guy.”
“My lover is everything,” Silvan admitted and leaned on his elbows. “And I love him more than what we do.”
