Chapter 9
Colin
Leesa had her work cut out for her, presenting me as a champion.
Between Dad’s backfiring pep talks over breakfast and the way my brain seemed to fix on capturing the exact blue of her eyes so I’d never forget it, I had restless energy to burn.
I never knew if I was going to get away with just teasing her or whether that would be the time I’d crumble and kiss her.
It was a knife’s edge, but kind of a fun one.
My act of desperation in September, in a panic that she’d leave without… perceiving me or some shit had backfired spectacularly and she’d told me clearly enough she wasn’t interested. But suddenly, she was looking at me and I didn’t know what she saw.
If Dad knew how much energy I was expending thinking about her, he’d probably hit me over the head – although he wasn’t actually violent. He was just a hardarse who knew more about my lactate threshold than my personality.
I was surprised it had taken Mum this long to leave him.
She’d sent me photos of her new apartment in Docklands and I was happy for her.
Dad had mentioned so little it was conceivable she hadn’t told him, although I doubted it.
He probably just didn’t care, when the Tour was so close, and he’d hate that I did.
The Tour was everything for Dad. Maybe if I hadn’t followed in his footsteps and taken up road cycling pro, I might never have seen him.
Sometimes it didn’t feel fair that both Lori and I ended up chasing his dream, especially when Mum understood there was more to life than the yearly jaunt around France – and more to me than a set of hamstrings and quadriceps.
Resting, calm and chill, all that Zen shit wasn’t going to work for me when the Tour was a little over three weeks away.
I knew the pressure was bad because I was thinking of heading into Brixen to the tattoo place – and wondering if Leesa would come with me.
Matching ink. A little ‘mine and yours’ to commemorate the last time she screwed with my head.
Maybe I could get a skull and crossbones to remember her by. I’d been such an idiot in September – and in every conversation with her since. A skull and crossbones would probably be a good symbol for her to remember me by as well.
It was Tuesday of the second week of camp and we were out on the road in the valley. I came alive on the twists and turns, the asphalt opening out under me and the gradients no match for my current fitness. I could look off into the distance and imagine never stopping.
Sometimes that thought started to consume me.
‘You ever going to take a turn at the front, Derro? Scared your moustache will blow off?’ Thank fuck for the guys on the team.
‘If you need a break, old man, just say so,’ Derek called back and I was almost proud of him for the shit-talking.
Leesa was in the team car today, pointing that phone at me whenever they drew alongside.
The phone was starting to annoy me, but not in the way I’d thought it would.
It was more intrusive than usual, this sponsor arrangement, but I’d been somewhat prepared for my life to be splashed all over the internet.
No, I was miffed that I couldn’t tell what she was thinking as she recorded me.
Sometimes I imagined she was enjoying herself after all, which puffed up my chest so much it probably affected respiration. But I was haunted by memories of her face as she explained how the assignment had triggered all of her complex feelings about the sport – I triggered her. I hated it.
I had to get her back on the bike. No matter what shit went down in the pro peloton, cycling was a grassroots sport and without that, everything was pointless. Even though she’d retired from the elite, she could ride.
It upset me that she’d sold her bikes. I would have bought one, if I’d known.
We pulled off the road for a drinks break in a high meadow, beneath a row of jagged mountain teeth.
Leesa climbed out of the car and stretched and my mind was full of her again in a second – wants and needs.
She popped my cork just by… being. All the weird shit deep inside me bubbled to the surface and I couldn’t keep anything in.
I collapsed against the car next to her, peering at her phone as I guzzled my water. The high-altitude sunshine was skinning me alive today and my body was slippery with sweat.
‘You know a way to get even better footage?’ I asked.
She glanced up at me and that’s all it took to make me smile: the little dent in her chin. ‘How?’
‘A GoPro,’ I said with a provoking lift of my brows, ‘on your own bike.’
She chuckled, even though I hadn’t been joking. ‘I’m not going to ride with you guys.’
‘You said you weren’t scared to get back on a bike.’
‘There’s a big difference between “getting back on a bike” and a training ride for the Tour de France. I said don’t push me.’
‘And I found it incredibly sexy when you said it.’
She eyed me doubtfully and crossed her arms, which only drew my gaze to her outfit. She must have had a whole suitcase of these dresses in different colours and patterns – all designed to pull my eyes to the little details of her body that sucked me in.
Today’s number had little strings tying the sleeves up, which made me think about undoing them, tugging one shoulder down—
I took a deep breath. ‘You could hop up on Nellie’s bike right now and have that skirt blow up in your face.’
‘I think you must be confusing this one with my other exploding dress.’
Grinning at her, I slid along the car a little closer. ‘Which one is the exploding dress? The one with the floof things at the bottom or the one where you could undo the belt and the whole thing would fall off?’
I liked making her jaw hang open so far I could almost hear it creak. ‘Firstly, that dress has a button that keeps it closed,’ she began after recovering from her strangled cough.
‘Way to destroy a guy’s fantasy.’
She made that frustrated noise in the back of her throat that I had grown fond of, but ignored the comment. ‘And secondly, the one with the floof things – if I have interpreted your questionable description correctly – is a skirt, not a dress.’
‘There’s a difference?’
‘Of course there’s a difference! One can be worn by itself and the other needs a blouse for the top half.’
‘I think “needs” would be open to interpretation.’
She made the noise again. ‘Your imagination is a scary place.’
‘But you’re in it pretty often – usually in a nice dress that doesn’t explode. I like your dresses.’
‘I don’t think I have one in your size,’ she quipped.
When she matched my smile, I was a little worried my heart would explode. ‘You owe me a prank, Kubicka,’ I reminded her. ‘I’m waitin’.’
‘You can wait a little longer,’ she said, her nose in the air. I never wanted to see anything else in my life, with Leesa looking happy in front of me, the majestic Dolomites a dramatic background.
‘That’s enough for now, Colin! We’re not here for the charming company.’
She stiffened at Dad’s interruption and I swallowed the many unwise words bubbling up in my chest, instead giving her a lazy salute and heading back to where the others sat, legs sprawled, on a park bench.
‘I hope you got some good footage,’ I heard Dad say. ‘Lots of shots with the logo.’
I slowed my steps so I could hear her reply.
‘It’s not only about the logo. Maybe you’d have ten minutes for me at some stage so I can show you the approach we want to take?
I’ve spent quite a bit of time analysing successful content from previous Tours and it’s not going to look like advertising. I’ll be happy to take you through it.’
Damn, I liked her accent when she was being all articulate.
‘Sounds good. I remember the dance videos you used to do with Doortje and the girls. Looks like you might have found your feet even though you left us too soon.’
Even before I turned around to confirm, I knew Dad’s comments had hit a nerve again.
‘You were bloody difficult to replace, you know,’ Dad went on, oblivious to her pasted-on smile and fidgeting.
No, Leesa didn’t fidget, she just died inside.
‘It’s a… special team you’ve built,’ she managed.
Grabbing my phone from the holder on my bike, I opened up my DMs, hoping she still had the app installed. I knew she followed me – or she had done, when she’d still been on the team. I remembered the moment a few years ago when I’d received the notification that she’d followed me back.
Are you going to show ME the approach you want to take? Or am I just the muse?
When she frowned and fished in her pocket for her personal phone, I sighed with relief. She glanced warily at me as she read the message.
You’re the talent, not a muse. I’ll show you everything anyway.
‘Everything’ sounded pretty good, especially when she briefly met my gaze. I started typing a response, but she beat me to it.
I mean all the content and the strategy and everything. Don’t get any ideas.
Too late for that. Despite numerous sets of eyes on me – including my father’s – I chuckled at her message. I wanted to respond just to rile her up, to make her feel something, but I knew I was toeing her lines already. And bib shorts were definitely not sexting attire.
My biggest idea is seeing you enjoying yourself on a bike again.
You have strange fantasies.
I couldn’t quite stifle my smile as I responded: You don’t know the half of it.
I was about to clip my phone back into the holder, but Dad clapped his hands to get us moving and I snatched it up again, thumbing one last quick message.
I’m sorry about Dad bringing everything up again.
Her lips thinned, creating little dimples at the corners of her mouth and I shouldn’t have been staring at her, but I was. Such an expressive face.
She replied: Don’t be. I can’t get upset about every little mention of my career. Stay safe on the descent.
I caught her eye and exaggerated a ‘pfft’.