Page 53 of No Fall Zone

“You ought to get him into a pool. I have a feeling our guy here is going to take after his grandpas and become a diver,” Dad says, pinching one of Marshall’s cheeks.

The eighteen-year-old from Sweden finishes her run, putting up a respectable 91.50 points on the board, and I join the crowd in a respectful round of applause.

“Do you miss it?” Mom asks, and I shake my head. I knew pretty soon after Milan four years ago that I was ready to retire. Most pro-snowboardersdon’t compete after the age of twenty-five, and I had plenty of success to be proud of. I was ready to focus on the next phase of my life—teaching beginner snowboarder lessons back home in Colorado and being the perfect house spouse to my badass wife.

A year after our Vegas disaster, Mabel and I renewed our vows at the base of Blue Mountain, the place where we took our first steps towards our careers together when we were just kids and where we built a lifetime of memories before we knew we had another lifetime ahead of us. We both changed our last names, officially making Quinn-Finch the second generation of an American sports legacy.

Mabel was one hundred percent on board with my retirement, as long as I didn’t expect her to give up competing just yet. Which, of course, I would never ask her to do. The only thing that turns me on more than Mabel being mean to me is Mabel getting a new gold medal placed around her neck.

The little white stick that informed us of Marshall’s impending arrival back in late fall of 2028 was a bit of a wrench in the plans, but under the supervision of her doctor’s (and a lot of sleepless nights for me), she was able to keep training through her thirtieth week and was back on the mountain six weeks after Marshall was born. At twenty-nine years old, Mabel is the oldest snowboarder in this year’sWinter Games, and is the favorite to win all three of her competitions for a second year in a row.

Did I mention I married a real-life superhero?

“Ryder, come with me,” a voice calls out just as the announcers are calling Mabel up for her run. I turn to see Trina giving me her best “don’t fuck with me” look.

“Trina,” I whine, even as I stand to meet her. “I’m gonna miss Mabel’s first run.”

“No you’re not, you doofus. You’re coming down to the end with me. She’s going to want to see you two standing there, waiting for her.”

And so from our spot at the end of the run, along with the press and Mabel’s teammates, Marshall and I watch as Mabel executes another flawless halfpipe run. I can’t help the tears that spring in my eyes when she hits her second double cork 1260, finishing out the run and finally breaking the record height I set four years ago in Milan. And I definitely can’t help the way I sob like a baby when she cuts across the finish line and scrambles out of her straps when she spots Marshall and I waiting for her.

“Baby, holy shit! Did you see that? I think I caught a lot of height!” Mabel squeals, wrapping her arms around my neck and kissing Marshall’s cheeks as she hugs us tight.

“You totally did, Marshmallow. Look at the screen, you beat me by .2 whole meters!”

“Hell yeah I did. Suck on that, Rye Bread!”

The judges tally their scores and it’s no surprise when 100.00 flashes next to Mabel Quinn-Finch on the screen. With one run, my wife has secured her second consecutive perfect score and second consecutive gold medal in the women’s halfpipe competition.

And a few days later at home in Colorado, I add another photo to the collection in my office. Sandwiched between our second wedding photo and a shot of Mabel and I wearing our medals in Milan, I hang the photo of Mabel on the podium in France, a single tear on her face, a gold medal around her neck and our son in her arms.

“Looks good there, baby. You sure you don’t want to come out of retirement for one more Winter Games? 2034 is right around the corner, and they say thirty-five is the new twenty.”

Mabel wraps her arms around my waist from behind, nuzzling against my back as she teases me. I turn so we’re face to face, then tilt her chin up with my thumb and my forefinger.

“No way, baby girl. I’ve got everything I need right here.”

The End