by Donya Lynne
Finding Lacey Moon
Published by Phoenix Press
Copyright 2014 by Donya Lynne
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This book is a work of fiction. References to historical events, real people, or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or persons or locales, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Licensed material is being used for illustrative purposes only and any person depicted in the licensed material is a model.
Cover Art: Mae I Design - www.maeidesign.com
Contents
Acknowledgements
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
About the Author
Books By Donya Lynne
Connect With Donya Lynne
Acknowledgements
First, thank you to my fabulous, talented beta readers. Adriana, Alana, Dawn, Leann, Martha, Sandy, Tami, Toni, and Kathy: Your feedback helped make this book better than I could make it by myself. An extra special thank you to Liz for giving the manuscript a final read after I rewrote half the book, because you know how I love to rewrite my books. Ha!
To my readers, I couldn’t do this “writing thing” I love so much if not for your enthusiasm and dedication to the worlds I create. I hope I can continue creating many more worlds for you for years to come.
To my husband. You pick up so many pieces for me so that I can focus my creative spirit on making my stories “just right.” I love you. Thank you for supporting my dream.
“No one gets up or down life’s mountains unscathed.” -Anne Lamott
Chapter 1
It’s okay to fall. Falling down teaches us how to get back up.
Lacey stood at the mouth of the halfpipe, recalling the words her coach had said to her the first time she took a hard spill during a training run. That had been thirteen years ago. Why was she thinking about that now, when she was eyeing the icy tube and preparing to make her run for gold?
Shoving her coach’s words aside, she bobbed her head to the up-tempo music pumping through her earbuds. Music usually calmed her before a competition, but not this time. And not just because this was the Olympics. Something within her competitive spirit had shut off in the last twelve months.
She used to be a fearless, gushing spigot, ready to tackle any run down the pipe, no matter the situation. Now, she was a closed, dry well, completely tapped out. There was no fire in her belly. No hunger. Instead of the rush she used to feel as she stared down the pipe, she felt…
Nothing.
Nada.
Zilch.
Well, and dread. She definitely felt dread. But there wasn’t a glimmer of the old Lacey anywhere in sight.
Okay, so maybe that was why her coach’s words were echoing inside her thoughts.
I’m in trouble.
Five years ago, Lacey Moon would have stood atop this hill with ice in her veins. Hell, even a year ago, when snowboarding had still held a snowflake’s worth of fun, she would have ruled this bitch. She was a two-time Olympic gold medalist for God’s sake. She’d won the X Games three times. She’d medaled every year since she started competing. She was practically the Shaun White of women’s superpipe and slopestyle. Nowhere near as high profile as the Flying Tomato, but still, she was no chump.
But sometime in the last year, things had changed, and now she wanted to be anywhere but here. Anywhere but facing the tube of ice carved out of the snowy mountainside.
Except the official had just given her the sign to get ready. With time ticking down before her run, she peered at her coach, who made a fist and nodded once. His mouth formed the words “Crush it, Lacey,” but she didn’t hear him over Ed Sheeran commanding her through her earbuds to “Sing.”
Swallowing, she faced the pipe, adjusted her goggles, and smacked her leather-gloved hands together as she did before every trip down the pipe. But this run was anything but routine. It was for the gold. All the marbles.
The truth was, she hardly cared.
I’m in serious trouble.
At her third Olympic games, with the pressure on, when she should be flying on adrenaline and gold medal pandemonium, snowboarding had lost its luster. She put on her happy face for the media, said all the right things in interviews, and even mustered the illusion that she was hungry for her third gold, but snowboarding was no longer fun. Now it was more like work. A business. A machine that churned her in its cogs and spit her in ten different directions.
She dreaded training, dreaded the constant swarm of media outside her hotel at every competition. Fans heckled her as much as cheered her, eager to see her fall off her perch.
Then there were the sponsors and endorsements. It seemed that every week she was tugged to consider a contract for one product or another. Energy drinks, sportswear, even a makeup line. A goddamn makeup line! When had she turned into a model instead of an athlete? When had this transformation taken place? When had she lost control of herself so drastically that she had become a glamour puss instead of a kick-ass snowboarder with a thirst to win?
Her heart hammered against her ribcage as she stared down the pipe like it was her enemy and no longer the best friend she’d had since she was eight years old. She needed to get her head in the game…needed to do what her coach said and crush it…needed to focus on her tricks, flips, and speed. If she didn’t, she could get hurt. She could fall. The halfpipe was brutal on those whose heads weren’t locked in.
It’s okay to fall. Falling down teaches us how to get back up.
Of all days, this wasn’t the day she needed to remind herself how to get back up after a fall. Falling wasn’t an option in the Olympics.
But she couldn’t shake the boiling sense of panic, which hovered just under her skin at the top of her spine.
Her life had become a business, not an adventure…pulled in too many directions, especially now. And everywhere she turned, the knives drove into her back. Her own teammates had been making cracks about her for days. Some even whispered under their breath that they didn’t care who medaled as long as she wasn’t anywhere near the podium.
What had happened to team spirit and supporting one another? Years ago, these same competitors had cheered for her. They had been like family. Now they were estranged.
At twenty-five, Lacey was flirting with old age in the snowboarding universe. Younger competitors not yet tainted by the machine came in hungrier, saucier, throwing more tricks. And their nubile bodies weren’t as beat up as hers. They didn’t have to worry about the bum knee or the numerous ankle sprains, wh
ich had plagued Lacey throughout her long yet decorated career. Sure, older competitors could still throw down the smack and medal, but they had to work a lot harder for it and suffer through more pains than a younger one did.
And while many boarders still rejoiced for each other in the spirit of the games and friendship, despite national affiliation, Lacey increasingly found herself on the outside looking in. The outcast. The one everyone else wanted to knock off the top of the heap.
That’s what happens when you’re on top, though, and Lacey had been on top for almost ten years. She was the one everyone was gunning for, aiming their vitriol at, wishing failure upon…wanting to divest of her title. They wanted what she had. They wanted the media, the sponsors, the fame. And honestly, right now she wanted them to have it. She didn’t want the attention anymore. She wanted to fade away, disappear, crawl inside a cave and stay there for about five years.
When was the last time she had been able to do anything without having at least six other people around? She couldn’t even go shopping without a legion of paparazzi tagging along. And don’t even get her started on stalkers. She’d had her share of those. She’d even had to hire a team of bodyguards a few years back. Bodyguards, for Christ’s sake! How had a girl from her humble background grown into a woman who needed goddamn bodyguards? Lacey wanted to go someplace where no one knew who she was. Someplace where she could simply…breathe.
But first, she had to complete her run. She was the last one to take the pipe. All her competitors had finished their final runs, and currently no boarder from the United States sat on the podium. She was the only one who could land a medal for the States. And not just any medal. Gold. Everyone expected her to win gold. Anything less would be a failure and plummet her toward obscurity.
Obscurity. That sounds good.
With the weight of an entire country on her shoulders, she tried to shove panic aside for the next sixty seconds. That was all that stood in her way. One short minute and a world of panic that threatened to consume her.
She received the signal to go.
She blinked, and the white landscape briefly faded out and back in.
Deep breath. Just breathe, Lacey. It’ll be over soon, and then you can rest.
She pushed off, approached the left wall, flew down into the pipe and up the ramp on the other side, grabbing big air.
The cheering crowd sounded far away as she kissed the landing and glided back across to the other side of the pipe to fly above the heads of the press lining the deck. Cameras clicked by the dozens as she grabbed the back of her board and straightened her back leg.
Landing, she pushed through the bottom of the pipe to gain speed. On the way up the opposite wall, her heart began to race. She couldn’t breathe. Her biggest trick was coming, and she suddenly couldn’t see through the spots clouding her vision.
She felt her board leave the surface, felt herself twist and flip in the open air, sought the surface of the pipe by rote, but the world was a blur of dots and blotches. Panic clawed her and refused to let go.
Gravity buddied up to panic and formed a terrible duo, pulling her down hard and fast. A sinking feeling clutched her gut, the collective breath of the crowd held, and then…
CRASH!
Lacey slammed into the flat of the halfpipe. The edge of her board caught and threw her forward, and she tumbled like a slingshot ragdoll over the hard, icy surface, bashing her head against the ground. A crack rang out from her helmet as it whacked the ice.
The crowd gasped. Several people screamed. Lacey heard one stifled squeal of joy, and right before she passed out, she thought, Be careful what you wish for, because you just might get it.
Chapter 2
Seven months later…
Lacey crawled out of bed and dragged herself downstairs to the kitchen. A note from her mom sat on the counter.
Lacey,
Trent called to check on you. He heard about Doug. Wants to make sure you’re okay. I ran to the store. Be back around lunchtime.
Love,
Mom
She tossed the note in the trash and turned for the fridge. How pathetic was it that she was living at home again?
After breaking her leg and dislocating her shoulder during her unofficial farewell to snowboarding at the Olympics, she’d been forced to move back home, where her mom, dad, and Tory, her younger brother, could help her get around and keep an eye on her. She’d spent the better part of the first four months in a splint, cast, or boot, and the better part of the last three months rehabbing her leg.
At least her helmet had saved her head in the fall. Things could have been a lot worse.
Still, that was little consolation. The mental shitstorm she’d experienced during those final seconds before her fall had yet to let up. If anything, the claustrophobic, assiduous panic had worsened through the media swarm after the Olympics. It had continued to decline during her recovery, through the endless hours lying in bed staring out the window through her tears, finally cresting during her breakup with her longtime boyfriend, Doug, two days ago.
Ha! Boyfriend. Doug was a downhill skier from Colorado with an ego the size of Mt. Olympus. They’d been an on-again, off-again item for three years, but Lacey had finally had enough. Enough of his philandering. Enough broken promises. Enough horseshit.
He thought their breakup was because she’d found out about the Russian figure skater he’d hooked up with during the Olympics. Lacey hadn’t even known about that. She’d ended the relationship because she didn’t see a future with him. For her, cutting him from her life was akin to putting out the trash. Sort of like cleaning out her closet and tossing everything that no longer fit.
Of course, after hearing about Irena or Ivanka or whatever her name was, Lacey wasn’t sorry about kicking him to the curb. The Russian was just the last in what Lacey was sure was a long list of infidelities. Longer than she previously thought, anyway. She knew he’d messed around, but if he could hide figure skating’s silver medalist from her for seven months, what other women didn’t Lacey know about?
Ignoring the platter of cold pancakes in the fridge, Lacey grabbed the milk and poured a bowl of Trix, sticking her tongue out at the rabbit on the box.
“Silly rabbit, Trix are not just for kids.” She defiantly shoveled a spoonful into her mouth, turned her back on the box as she exited the kitchen, and made her way back upstairs.
At least she could walk on her own again. No more crutches. No more walker. No more cane. But the doctors wanted her to take it easy for a few more months and continue doing her physical therapy exercises.
No problem there. She had no plans of going anywhere near a halfpipe, a snowy slope, or even her snowboards, for that matter. They still sat in the back of her blue Ford Escape, untouched from when she returned home in February.
She yawned then ate another spoonful of cereal as she pulled a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt from her closet then flipped on the shower in her bathroom. She packed the last few bites of cereal into her mouth as the water heated up then climbed in and leaned forward against her outstretched arms under the falling water. With her head bowed, her long red and brown hair hung almost to her knees. She hadn’t cut or colored her hair since June. It was now September. Her blond roots were way past showing, but she didn’t care.
In fact, she didn’t care about anything. She hadn’t for months. It was as if she were still stuck in that tragic moment. The one that had hit her mind right before she hit the ice. The one that filled her with desperation. The one she couldn’t figure out how to get rid of. What was wrong with her? Why did she feel so lost, so stagnated, so…hopeless? She felt like she didn’t know herself anymore.
Was she suffering from depression, or was she simply burned out? Did burnout normally last upwards of a year? She couldn’t shake the absent feeling that she was wasting into oblivion like a block of ice that melts in spring, evaporating into nothing, as if it were never there at all.
The only thing worse than b
eing overwhelmed by the media was falling into complete obscurity and being labeled a has-been. She could hear it now. “Remember Lacey Moon? One-time champion. She’d been a contender once, but where is she now? What has she done lately? Looks like another of the older generation has fallen to make room for the new.”
Lacey didn’t want to go out that way. The last thing people would remember about her was that she fell during the most important run of her life, ending the quest for a three-peat. It was hard enough to win two Olympic Golds. To win three was a history-making statement. It said, “I’m for real, y’all! Catch this!”
Climbing out of the shower, she gave her hair a cursory rub with the towel, got dressed, then put in her new contacts. They were brown. She didn’t know why she chose to get colored contacts. It had been a whimsical, spur-of-the-moment decision, but one she’d been driven to make.
She lifted her gaze to the mirror and froze. The eyes staring back at her weren’t the light blue she’d come to know as hers. They were someone else’s. She’d only wanted a change when she ordered the brown contacts, not a total transformation. But just changing her eye color gave her face an entirely new dimension.
Feeling almost playful for the first time in months, she pulled her hair back, and, for a moment, she imagined she was someone else. Not the icon. Not the former queen of the superpipe. The brown-eyed stranger staring back at her led a simpler life. She had bigger dreams, because she hadn’t been tainted the way Lacey had. She could go to the mall and not be recognized by a single person. She could eat at Appleby’s and not be hassled for an autograph. She could go to the beach and disappear in the sea of exposed flesh just like everybody else. She could trust that when a man showed interest, it was because he really wanted to get to know her, not that she was a celebrity he could use to give him his fifteen minutes of fame.
This brown-eyed woman staring back at her was a nobody. A regular person.
And Lacey envied her.
Within seconds, her playfulness vaporized, and she began to cry. Then sobbed. Then bawled uncontrollably as rivers of tears flooded her cheeks and dripped off her chin. She wanted to be that woman in the mirror. She wanted to be her so damn badly! Unencumbered by the shackles of her public persona. She wanted to be anyone but herself even though she didn’t have a clue who she really was. Lacey Moon had been a champion snowboarder. That was what defined her and made her notable. Other than that, who was she? If she never snowboarded again, what would she do?
