Page 18 of Love Worth Gold

“Four, counting this one.”

“And you still hate the social parts?”

“I tolerate them. I actually enjoy them a little more once my race is over. Before the races, I find them a bit of a distraction.”

Isaline laughed, soft and genuine. “That is very honest and focused. I like that about you.”

Blaire didn’t know what to do with the compliment, so she deflected. “You seem quite comfortable.”

“It is my first time. I am trying to absorb it all.” Isaline paused, her voice dropping. “Also, I spent too many years watching from home. I am not wasting one second of this.”

The admission landed with more weight than the words themselves. Blaire recognized the shape of it—how close Isaline had come to never standing here at all.

“The injuries…,” Blaire said, not quite a question.

“Two Olympics I should have made. Two times my body decided no.” Isaline sipped her drink as her gaze looked off in the distance for a moment. “I thought maybe I was not meant to be here. That the universe was telling me to stop going after my dream.”

“But you didn’t.”

“No.” Isaline’s eyes refocused, sharp and clear. “I am too stubborn for the universe.”

Blaire smiled. “I’ve noticed.”

“And I couldn’t quite give up before I had the chance to race against the best for a gold,” Isaline added, her accent thickening around the word gold in a way that made it sound almost indecent.

“Then I guess I’m glad you didn’t quit,” Blaire said. “Chasing gold is more interesting with you in the field.”

A burst of laughter erupted from inside the lounge. Someone turned the music up. The bass pulsed faintly through the floor. Neither of them moved toward it.

“What about you?” Isaline asked. “This is your last one. That must feel…” She searched for the right English word. “Big.”

“If I’m honest, it does. I’ve tried to stay pretty even about it all, but it’s bigger than I imagined it would be.”

“Are you ready for it to be over?”

Blaire looked past Isaline toward the plaza below, where the Olympic rings glowed against the dark sky. The question sat heavier than it should have.

“I don’t know how to do this world without a pair of skis attached to my feet,” she said finally. The honesty surprised her.

Isaline tilted her head, waiting for more.

“I’ve been preparing for the end my whole career,” Blaire continued in a voice quiet enough that only Isaline could hear. “I’ve watched what happens when people hang on too long, and I don’t want that. I want to choose when I walk away.” She paused. “But choosing my end doesn’t make it easier.”

“You are afraid of what comes after?”

“I’m afraid of who I am without chasing a gold medal.”

The honest words hung between them, raw and unguarded. She didn’t open up to people like this—not to teammates, not to coaches, not to anyone.

Isaline’s expression softened. “I think you will be the same person. Just slower in the mornings.”

Blaire’s breath caught somewhere between a laugh and a groan. “That’s bold, considering you haven’t even seen the morning me,” Blaire said dryly. “Are you volunteering to monitor that?”

“Maybe.” Isaline’s gaze held steady. “Or maybe you have spent so long being excellent at one thing, you forgot you are allowed to be other things too.”

The statement settled in Blaire’s chest like a pebble dropped into still water. She wanted to argue, to deflect, to rebuild the wall Isaline kept slipping past without even trying.

Instead, she asked, “What about you? What happens if you medal? What’s next?”