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Madison felt her shoulders slump in relief as she climbed into the tinted van. It was dark, quiet, and empty.
Another Olympics done and dusted. She and Zach had skated their hearts out, and now they finally got their roses. The press junket was over and the crowd had escorted them out. Madison had posed for countless photos, gave out her autographs to several fans, and offered her thoughts to several journalists. Her cheeks hurt from the smile she had to plaster on her face since noon. Her hand cramped.
She couldn't wait to return to her dorm and scrub her makeup off, take her hair out of its severe ponytail. The pajamas she'd left in her room this morning were calling to her. A hot shower sounded so good right now.
Madison climbed to the back row and leaned against the firm headrest. Her earbuds were already in and blasting her easy-listening playlist. She leaned her head against the cool glass.
The Olympics were what she had always strived for, sacrificed two decades of her life for. But she had other things to try. She wanted to start a family with Adrián, Scott had offered her a coaching position at the Ontario Branch of the IAM, and she had so many books to catch up on.
Madison loved Zach, she really did, but she knew he wanted to pursue other dreams too. And if she was being honest, they were almost to the threshold of "I've-had-too-much-of-you". She didn't want their friendship to sour.
Another figure slipped into the back seat next to her, blocking the dim overhead lights for a short second. The scent of ginger and tobacco tiptoed up her nose. She knew who it was without looking over. "You okay?" she asked, eyes still on the crowd milling around outside. She pulled an earbud out and handed it to the other woman.
Gabriella's smaller frame leaned into her side. "I think so. Let me get back to you," she mumbled into Madison's shoulder. Her small hand slipped into one of Madison's, warm and chapped. "And you?"
Madison turned her gaze to the inside of the van. "I'm okay. Just tired."
Gabriella hummed in agreement. "I could use a drink."
They both chuckled. From an outside ear, it sounded like the Frenchwoman was talking about alcohol. In reality, she spoke of hot chocolate. The proper, from-scratch kind, not the powdery instant shit. It was her ritual after a competition, born from the small, linoleum-covered kitchens tucked into corners of old rinks scattered around France. Sometimes, Madison joined her, but she recognized the sanctity of a solo wind-down ritual. Gabriella cherished her personal space and she would never impede on that.
"I know what you mean," she laughed. In Madison's case, she meant a healthy glass of red wine. She had a carton tucked away in her suitcase, reserved for nights like these. Hopefully no one was listening in to their conversation. They sounded like they had a drinking problem.
Gabriella's responding huff of amusement was overshadowed by the scuffle of other athletes climbing into the shuttle. As the engine puttered to life and the carriage vibrated against Madison's temple, she felt Gabriella melt into her side like a non-Newtonian fluid.
Somehow, Madison ended up back in her down in one piece. She had mumbled farewells to her colleagues, hopefully. With her mind on autopilot, she stripped out of her day clothes, to be pack into her first suitcase later. After a quick, hot shower, she changed into warm pajamas, scrubbed her face clean, and threw her hair into a loose braid.
Just as she was about to pop open her carton of wine, there was a knock at the door. The rhythm was unique—there was only one person who would knock like that. "Coming!" She couldn't pull the tab out of the Tetra Pak, but she would worry about that after she let Gabi in.
Gabriella stood at the door with a small saucepan in her hands. Her trusty backpack was slung over her bare right shoulder, which peeked out of a ratty, pink, off-the-shoulder sweater. This sweater was complimented by a pair of black-and-white check flannel pants—formerly Madison's before Gabriella claimed it as her own. Her wavy brown locks were shoved into a rough half-bun at the nape of her neck. Like Madison, her face was bare, exposing bags under her eyes and a light bruise on her jaw. "Took you long enough," she crooned as she floated to the stove.
From the backpack, Gabriella produced a carton of milk, fancy chocolate wrapped in foil, a bag of brown sugar, a glass bottle of vanilla extract, a different bottle of clear liquid, a bottle of cinnamon powder, and a carton of heavy cream. Madison was surprised all of these items fit in such a small bag. "Do you have any salt?"
"Uhhh… yeah." Madison pointed to a cabinet. She returned to wrestling with the damn pull tab. Her tired fingers couldn't get through the loop, much less pull it off. In a last-ditch effort, she pulled a knife out of the bamboo block—
"What are you doing?!" Gabriella's alarmed squawk stopped her.
Madi paused. She pointed to the infernal mouth of the carton. "Opening my wine?"
"Give that to me." Gabriella make a "gimme" gesture with both hands.
Madison tried to hand her the knife.
"No, silly, the wine. You can chop the chocolate." Gabriella pointed to the cutting board, where the now-naked chocolate sat. Seeing as a knife was already in her hand, Madison shrugged and did as she was told.
"Do you think this is your last Olympics?" Madison cut the chocolate into meltable squares. She knew Gabriella's creamy hot chocolate recipe like the back of her hand, and knew exactly how small to break the chunks.
"I think so." Gabriella set down a chilled glass of wine next to the stove for Madison. In her own hands, she cradled a mug of milk. "Guillaume and I have talked about going on break."
Madison nodded. The chocolate done, she set down the knife and picked up her wine. "I'm looking forward to retiring. It's been fun, but I'm ready to do something else now."
Companionable silence settled between them as Gabriella started making her hot chocolate. She heated the milk and cream, stirred in the chocolate and sugar, and squeezed a couple drops of the liquid from both bottles. The smell of mint and vanilla thickened the air. When the flame was off and Gabriella had her mug filled with the thick, sweet drink, they moved to the small couch in the common room.
"I'm just not sure I can make it to 2026," Gabriella said with much hesitation. "I can't see it happening."
Madison managed a weary smile. She tapped the rim of her glass to Gabriella's mug. "To retirement, my darling."
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