Chapter 5

Justin's POV

Normally, I really don't have an issue with being alone, in fact, I usually treasure the moments of solitude, it's a time to just contemplate everything in my life and appreciate the blessings.  I guess that's where the time in Breckenridge fit in; it is a time to just get away, to lose myself in a place where I can blend into the background.  I am just another regular boarder amongst the masses, no one special, and no one worth screaming at or hounding for the latest scandal.  It's my place of peace in a sea of unknown. 

That was all up until Taylor Jordan literally skied into my life.  She's a breath of fresh air in the cloudy haze of fame-hungry, attention seekers that normally wiggle their way into my life.  I am so used to being manipulated, used for my name, my fame...only to get thrown under the bus the second another opportunity presents itself.  Even though I haven't known Taylor for very long...there's just something uniquely different about her.  She doesn't expect anything from me and I don't have to give anything in return.  There's no expectation or underlying motive for her words or actions.  She's happy to just be a friend and get one in return.

Therefore when I see the camera crews roll into town, setting up camp in the parking lot of my ski hill, I realize just how easily my little bubble could burst around me.  After listening to Taylor's advice, I have stayed inside for almost the entire time while the hill, the press, the sponsors, and the racers get ready for the prelims.  Prelims are set to start in exactly one hour, and after sending Taylor a good luck text a little bit ago, I am surprised to receive a response.

Thanks for the well wishes.  Wish you could be here.

That simple text has me re-thinking my plans to stay holed up in my house, just waiting in purgatory for the press to leave.  I don't know why I'm even thinking about risking this all...but there's a part of me that wants to be there, to watch her in her element.  I have never been to a competition of that magnitude before, despite numerous attempts to somehow fit it in, I haven't been able to.  Yet, the need to somehow offer my support to a friend...in what could quite possibly set her up and give her the confidence for a great showing in the Olympics...it seems so trivial and selfish on my part to stay hidden away in my cabin.  The press has literally made me a prisoner in my own cabin. 

But I know what I am risking by going to the hill...I am threatening to expose myself and my hideaway, something that I have worked hard to ensure remains private.  However, Taylor's quickly becoming important to me and I feel like I should be there, at the very least to cheer her on.  I laugh at this need to support her in her endeavors; after all I am sure the hill will be loaded with her friends and family, not to mention her fans.  I can't imagine that it will be of importance if I am there or not. 

As I continue to battle the need for self-preservation and supporting a friend, I look out through the windows at the ski hill just up the other side of the mountain.  Contemplating my abilities to be stealth enough to avoid the paparazzi, I realize I've done it before but never to this extreme.  I am literally opening myself up to the excessive amount of publicity that will surely be on hand for a world wide competition.  Sighing, I feel like there's only one thing that I can do and I head back into my bedroom. 

Throwing on a pair of black shells, a sweatshirt, and a jacket, I reach for a beanie and a pair of sunglasses; the least I can do is try my hardest to remain inconspicuous.  After taking a quick glance at myself in the mirror, I realize that it's quite difficult to pick me out in a sea of other boarders.  Saying a little prayer for good luck, I grab my keys and head out to my car to make the short trek to the mountain.

Thrumming my fingers against the wheel, the sun is shining brightly, trying to fuse what little bit of warmth it can into the chilly, windy air that swirls around the mountain.  As I pull into a spot, away from the main gate, I take a deep breath.

God, I hope I know what I am doing.

Stepping outside the confines and safety of my car, I shut the door and head into the chalet from a back entry way.  Without arousing too much attention to my entrance, I make my way up to a window away from the main desk. 

"Good afternoon, sir," the desk worker says.

"Hi, I'm hoping you can help me out..." I answer quietly, almost timidly.  "I'm wondering what needs to be done to gain access to the preliminary races for the women's alpine skiing event."

She looks at me skeptically, running her eyes over my attire and judging why I would be questioning something that should be common knowledge to the locals.  "The race starts in twenty minutes..."

I let out a breath and nod my head in understanding.  "I am aware of that..."

She shakes her head skeptically before resigning to give me the information I set out for.  "There are shuttles that are running from here to the other side of the mountain.  It drops you off at the finish line, but that's about as far as the general public is allowed.  The area surrounding the skiers is fenced off, reserved only for press, family, and those that have purchased a ticket."

My eyes light up a little at that information.  "Where can I buy a ticket?"

Her eyes narrow a little, the suspicion rising.  Slowly, her arms have come to rest rigidly in front of her body and her eyes continue their perusal of me, trying to determine whether I pose some kind of threat. 

Suddenly, she spins around away from me, and returns a minute later with one of the managers of the hill.  I immediately recognize him from my time out here, from arranging my cabin stay to the passes for the hill; he knows why I'm here and understands my need for privacy.    

"Angela here tells me you're inquiring about the women's alpine skiing prelims?" he asks with a standoff tone to his voice.

Knowing that I need to identify myself, I lift my sunglasses and turn my body away from the other passersby in hopes to remain inconspicuous.  "Hi, Josh," I greet, a small smile plastered on my face.

"Justin, I'm sorry, I didn't even recognize you," he says quickly, a hint of embarrassment on his face.

"That's kind of the deal..."

Lightly, he lets out a laugh and immediately I relax.  "So, you want to watch the prelims?"

"Yeah, I haven't ever gotten the chance to catch a race of this magnitude."  It's not totally a lie, just a bit of a half-truth.

"No problem, man.  I'll take you up there.  I have to head up there myself."

I nod my head in agreement, breathing a sigh of relief.  At least I can get into the event without walking through the masses, and hopefully, I can find a spot off to the side to wait for Taylor's run.  Maybe the idea of coming to watch won't be a total bust after all...

"Ready?" Josh asks, holding up a set of keys and I nod my head in agreement.  As the two of us walk back through the main chalet, I drop my sunglasses, tugging my hat a little lower and ducking my head into my chest.

We walk a little further behind one of the main buildings and hop into a two-seater that looks completely decked out for the snow.  Settling into the giant contraption, Josh flicks it to life and the two of us zoom away from the crowds at the main chalet and up towards the race. 

It's almost instant that I am able to recognize when we get close, the people start to thicken out, all just waiting patiently for a glimpse of the racers.  The press has been summoned in the masses, all hungrily eyeing the scenery for the money shot.  Whether that will be a racer talking quietly with friends and family, or hoping to get the shot of a crash.

I shake my head; the media is the media...no matter where you go. 

Josh maneuvers the two-seater away from the general public, but still around at the finish line. Securing the vehicle off to the side, he hands me a staff pass that I eagerly put around my neck. 

"Thanks, man," I tell him, offering him my hand as I remove my glove.

He accepts it in a firm shake and gives me a smile.  "It's the least we can do.  We're just glad that you've chosen our resort for your vacation." 

I nod my head at his words but he quickly continues, "You're free to watch the race from wherever, Justin.  Although, I recommend for your safety, you might want to stay tucked in around here.  You're out of the eyesight of the media and away from the fans to really gather any unwanted attention.  Plus, the racers will all ski through that gate there, circling to the bottom to await their official time.  Once placement is made, they will walk through this area here back towards their teams."

"Thanks for the advice."

"You're welcome, Justin.  Listen, I have to check with the official time keepers and get this show on the road.  The main board is right up there," he says, motioning behind us.  "That lists the order the skiers are set to come down the hill and then their rankings.  If you need anything, just let me know..."

"Sounds good, Josh.  I really appreciate you doing all of this.  I know I didn't give you any warning about wanting to catch the race."

He waves off my words with his hand.  "It's no trouble at all.  Have a good time."  With those final words, he disappears around a corner and into one of the many shelters housing the judges and television crews. 

I take another step forward, leaning up against one of the guard rails and take a deep breath.  Eyeing the board behind me, I see that Taylor isn't set to race until the very bottom group.  Obviously, her previous success allows her to wait until other racers have set the precedent. 

Immediately, my attention is drawn up the hill as the announcer gets over the loud speaker, signaling that race is ready to start.  The masses of people surge forward, pushing on the gates to get a little closer.  There are hand made signs from the hundreds of on-lookers, a few even have Taylor's name sprawled in big, bold letters.  I smile to myself, recalling the events that led up to me standing at the finish line for her race.  To think that a friendship can be born on a chairlift makes me laugh, but that's exactly what has happened.  She's become one of my friends, someone that I enjoy spending time with because she allows me to just be me...

Suddenly, my phone vibrates in my pocket and I reach to grab it, opening it up.  Noticing a new text message, I click the button and read the message from Trace.

What's up, man?  Enjoying the cold?

Laughing to no one in particular, I quickly type a response before jamming it back into my pocket as I spot the first racer make the turn onto the downward half of the course.  The scraping of skis against ice ricochets in the near quietness of the crowd, and I cringe, just thinking about the possibility of disaster if that skier looses balance. 

With an insane amount of speed, the racer gets closer to the crowd and all of a sudden cow-bells and cheering takes over, the flickering of cameras go off around me in pops as she skis successfully through the finish line.  Her time flies up on the board along with a one in her ranking.  Obviously she has set the precedent for the rest of the racers and I settle in to bide my time, waiting for Taylor's turn on the hill. 

It's been nearly an hour of watching the racers come down the hill, all making it to the bottom completely unscathed.  I take a huge sigh of relief, realizing that if there hasn't been a crash yet, Taylor should make it through this without a problem.  After all, she's the number one ranked, woman's alpine skier. 

The temperatures have started to drop as the sun makes its descent into the horizon, and I can feel the chill from the cold air settle in around me.  Thankfully, the wind has been relatively calm, keeping the hill in almost perfect racing condition, and I breathe a little easier at that thought. 

After all, Taylor is set to go next. 

The times have continued to get faster, ticking away by minutes and now seconds as each racer completes the course.  However, this last group has been the fastest yet, in fact, a couple have failed to knock the leader off the top, leaving me slightly worried for Taylor.  Even though she has informed me over and over again that the prelims aren't as important as the World Cup, I know that it's still imperative to her to finish strong.  It's the same for me as having a good performance, a good race for her gives her the confidence she needs going into the Olympics.  But there's so much more riding on it for her, she has her sponsors as well to live up to...her fans...her family...her own expectations.  The pressure that she puts on herself is astronomical and as the announcer says, "Jordan is now on the course" my eyes immediately flicker to the big screen that broadcasts the top half of the course.

Her body gracefully tucks itself into a crouch, her arms tightening in close to her side as she swings through the first couple of gates.  Her normal attire for the hill has been shed, clad in only a white and black race suite along with a helmet; she easily picks up the much needed speed to overtake the leader.  The split time at the half-way mark has Taylor nearly a second and half ahead of the leader, and I can feel my nerves for her taking over.  I just want her to win...

Suddenly, Taylor catches air over the hill and she quickly drops her legs back to the ground, connecting harshly on the ice.  I can hear the grinding of her skis as she tries to catch an edge and make the turn.  My stomach is literally in my throat as I realize how fast she's going.  She's coming down that hill at speeds I wouldn't even dream of attempting, and she's doing it with only a helmet to protect herself. 

All of a sudden, her skis dig in, allowing her the traction she needs to shift her weight and she clips another gate with her pole as she comes through the bottom half of the course.  Her body easily glides through the remaining gates and she juts her poles out, stopping the clock as she skids to halt at the bottom, spraying snow in her wake.  Her chest is heaving with exertion while the crowd goes nuts over her run.  Watching from a distant, I can see the bright smile that is taking over her face and her arms are thrown up in victory as her official time appears on the board.  She's in first.

I smile for her, for her accomplishment because I know these races are important to her.  I know what it feels like to set out on a goal and to finally accomplish it...it's an indescribable feeling.  Carefully, I watch as the media swarms around her as she approaches the gate.

Quickly, she unbuckles her bindings, flipping her skis up and allowing them to rest on her shoulder.  She removes her goggles and smiles brightly for the media.  Her name is being called out in rapid fire succession, everyone wanting to get some time with the Olympic hopeful.  As she is ushered into a holding area, just biding her time for the last two racers to come down, I watch from afar. 

She has this easy going personality with the press; she's neither rude nor off-putting to them.  She easily answers their questions, giving each interviewer her full attention.  I can't remember a time that I ever acted that way anymore.  Not to say that I am a total jackass to the press, but most of the time, they just don't know when to give me some time to myself.  I can't even fill my car up with gasoline without it making headlines in a magazine.  Maybe I would be a little more forgiving if I was given that time to just be a normal human being...

Despite Taylor's easy going attitude about being questioned, she quickly admonishes the interview when it's another person's turn on the hill.  Her respect for the sport, for her other racers is apparent in the way she deflects the attention away from her and onto the person currently skiing.

As the final two racers come down the hill, each skier clocked in a couple tenths of a second behind Taylor's time, securing her first place finish in the prelims.  The crowd erupts into loud cheers and boisterous yells of happiness at the results of the race.  I smile proudly...she was great today.

Turning to head out, away from the crowds and back to my sanctuary, I am immediately stopped dead in my tracks.

"Is that who I think it is?" she asks, her eyes rising in question.

"Depends on who you think it is..." I quip back coyly, a smile on my face.

"What the hell are you doing here?" she quickly fires back.  "Are you crazy?!"

I laugh at her reaction, definitely not what I was expecting.  "You know, I just risked a lot to come watch my friend win the prelims and now she is insulting me..."

She smiles at me before shifting her skis to her other shoulder.  "I'm not insulting...ok, yeah, maybe I am.  But, Ju-er," she suddenly cuts herself off from saying my name amongst the people surrounding us.  "I am thrilled that you're here...but seriously, you didn't have to risk your safety to watch the race."

I wave off her concern.  "As you can see, Ms. Jordan.  I am still in one-piece and I have been thankfully tucked into this corner, away from the blasting spotlights of the cameras."

She smiles broadly up at me.  "Have you been here the whole time?"

"Yep..." I respond coolly.  "You were great by the way..."

The blush that I have seen only a couple of other times prior, easily snakes its way into her cheeks, highlighting the wind burn that she is currently sporting as is.  "Did you see me almost lose it on the downturn?  My skis wouldn't catch the edge, I wasn't sure if I was going to make the gate."

"I wasn't worried..."

"Easy for you to say, you're not the one flying down the hill at more than fifty miles per hour."

"This is true, but I had faith."

"Whatever you say, Justin," she says, rolling her eyes.  "Listen, I have to go meet with Rob and the sponsors.  Even when the race is done, and the media has been put to rest, there's still something I have to take care of."

"I understand, no problem, Taylor."

Without hesitation, she pushes her skis into the crook of her left arm before reaching out with her right to wrap her arm around my waist, pulling me in for a hug.  "Thanks for coming."

Smoothly, I let my arm drift down her shoulder, wrapping around her waist and pulling her in tighter to me.  "Congratulations on your win..."

"Thanks," she answers excitedly before releasing her grip and pulling away.

I give her one last smile before walking back towards where the two-seater is parked, hoping I can catch a ride back with Josh. 

However, before I get too far out of range, I hear Taylor yell out to me, "J, do you want to do dinner again?"

Spinning around, I smile brightly, excited at the prospect to see her later tonight, when all of the dust settles.  "My house at eight, Taylor."  And with that, I finish walking away, a smile firmly planted on my lips.