Page 9 of Mountain Trial

Luc was once again glad he’d made the decision to come to Chamonix. He could operate on his own―he didn’t need a panel of judges to tell him whether he’d nailed a jump, but it was rare that he had a chance to ski with other adaptive freeriders.

“You have a place to stay already?” Luc asked. “The apartment next to mine seems to be empty.”

Scott shook his head, putting on his gloves. “I just arrived last night, I’m at a hotel for now. I’ll check it out, though. So, how’s the snow?”

“Pretty amazing, actually. I can see why they chose this place for the Victory Games.”

He went quiet for a moment as he thought back to his encounter at Pylones the previous day. He wondered if he’d see Kat again up on the slopes. Maybe she’d give him the chance to ask her out for that cup of coffee he’d so stupidly refused yesterday.

The bus stopped in front of them. Luc felt a spark of jealousy as two non-disabled athletes jumped in with their snowboards, but swallowed the uncharitable thought before it could take seed. It took him and Scott longer to get on, but eventually the bus made it to the slopes.

Scott whistled. “Wow, this place is fucking amazing.”

Luc looked around for Kat, disappointed when he didn’t see her.

What, you thought she was going to hang out here all morning, see if you showed up?

Coach Legrand, the man in charge of Paralympic athletes for the event, walked up to them. He was a large bear of a man, strong enough to lift most athletes, if necessary―not something Luc wanted to think about, but being in a wheelchair meant he had to think about this kind of thing.

“Good morning, Coach,” Luc said.

“Fournier, you’re late. You decided to sleep in today?” Noticing Scott for the first time, Coach approached them, taking off his heavy ski gloves and offering Scott his hand. “Reynolds. Not sure if you remember me, we met―”

“In Val Gardena, yes, I remember. You were coaching a group of French athletes then.”

“How did I do?” Coach asked. He seemed genuinely curious.

Scott smiled. “Fine. More to the point, if you can coach this guy, you can do anything, Coach,” he said, pointing at Luc.

Legrand laughed loudly.

“Okay, let’s get going. Everybody else is already out there. We’re going to train on the airbag today.”

Scott whistled. “They’re not skimping on anything, huh?”

The airbag was a giant inflatable air cushion designed for practicing new tricks. Luc smiled, waiting to hear Scott’s opinion when he saw the airbag in question. The sports company had dyed the entire thing bright orange and purple, to match their colors.

However garish, Luc was glad for the airbag as soon as they started training. His neck was stiff from yesterday’s fall, and he didn’t want to risk hurting himself. He and Luc tightened the straps of their sit skis while they waited in line, looking at the other athletes. Some were on sit skis, like them, other were non-disabled skiers and snowboarders.

Luc saw the man who’d approached Kat on the slopes the day before. He wasn’t as young as he’d originally assumed. He was tall and thin, and wore his dark hair long and unkempt―everything about him screamed carefree snowboarder, except for the fact that he seemed to be aggressively arguing with his coach over something. A moment later, the reason became clear―the idiot didn’t want to put on a helmet.

Luc sighed. The man was surrounded by Paralympic athletes―what kind of idiot was he, to think the helmet was optional?

You were wearing a helmet when you got hurt.

Luc ignored the little voice inside him and tightened the chin strap of his own helmet. Last thing he wanted to do was hurt himself further.

He watched the end of the disagreement with interest. The coach must have won, as the snowboarder put on his helmet, though he left the chin strap dangling loose.

Moron. That’ll come right off if he falls.

A second snowboarder came up behind Helmet, cutting to the front of the line as if there weren’t five people queuing already. As he stopped, he sprayed the athlete behind him with snow. When the man stuttered a complaint, Sprayer turned to Helmet and laughed loudly.

“Qu’est-ce qu’il dit? Je ne comprends rien,” he complained cockily.

What is he saying? I can’t understand anything.

Luc’s blood boiled. Cutting in front of the line was a dick move. Mocking the athlete he’d just cut in front of, was way worse. Luc didn’t know the athlete, beyond the fact that he was Korean, that he had cerebral palsy, and that he was one of the best Paralympic skiers in the world. But to mock someone in French, when they clearly didn’t understand the language, was repulsive.