Chapter 15
Colin
She was late. Three minutes late, to be exact – maybe on purpose, except hopefully she didn’t know how fidgety I was. I did not have the nerves for a technical descent right now, not when my brain was exploding with possibilities, all of them involving her eyes on me.
I almost wished I’d never found out what it felt like to kiss her. She’d just wanted to call me on my crap and, in response, I’d mauled her in the bathroom. One of these days I’d learn, but I suspected it wouldn’t be today.
While I didn’t want her to feel like she was under pressure, I was under pressure.
If she really was content to never ride a bike again…
It felt too much like leaving me behind.
She kept insisting she’d quit. While I understood why she’d retired from pro, I didn’t like how she threw that word around.
I’d got so used to her in those flowery dresses, I wasn’t sure what to expect this morning.
Instead of the men’s team kit, splashed with sponsor logos – which, to be honest, probably would have fitted her fine – I’d ordered her a jersey and bib shorts from a women’s brand and got one of the swannies to collect it in town yesterday.
I knew her shoe size from several years ago when I’d swapped out her branded slides for velvet granny slippers while she was in the swimming pool.
But I wanted to see her in the stuff I’d picked out, feeling like fucking Prince Charming sending a ball gown to Cinderella.
I fiddled with her bike while I was waiting – one of the spares in Nellie’s frame size.
The crank shafts were probably too long, but I wouldn’t be timing her and hopefully she’d be comfortable.
The door of the hotel opened with a creak and I snapped my gaze up from where I was crouched by the rear wheel, a smile and a smart comment on my lips. But the smile died abruptly when I saw who was coming.
Getting slowly to my feet, I waited for him to say something first.
‘It’s rest day, Colin,’ he said instead of a greeting.
‘I’m aware of that, Dad.’
‘Goin’ out hard today will only set you back tomorrow.’
‘Also aware of that.’
He paused, studying me with a pained expression. ‘I know who you’re waiting for and I’m not sure this is a good idea.’
If he knew what ‘this’ was, then it was more than I did. ‘She’s doing her job. She’s supposed to get footage of me.’
‘But what are you doing?’
I glanced up at the sky, annoyed that Dad was always so closely on my arse that he could cut through the crap like this. ‘Recovery ride. Making sure my muscles don’t stiffen up.’
It was true. Even during the hell of the Tour, we couldn’t afford to stay entirely off the bike on rest days – not that there were many rest days during the Tour.
‘You don’t need company for that and she’s got plenty of action shots from the training rides over the past week. You should be focusing on your performance.’
Did he think there was anything else in my life? ‘Are you worried we’re sneaking off to fuck on a picnic blanket?’ I used the word to get a rise out of him and it worked.
He turned on me, his jaw clenched and his throat working. ‘You always think your mum understands you better than I do, but I know what you’re doing.’ He was going to some effort to keep his voice gentle, but I felt his frustration anyway.
‘Enlighten me.’
‘You’re trying to deal with the pressure. Last year, you could still joke your way through the Tour, knowing it was your first and no one expected much, but this year is different. You’re trying to reduce everyone’s expectations of you.’
‘Even the psychologist didn’t come up with that shit, Dad. Leesa has nothing to do with my performance.’
‘At the very least, she’s a distraction. At worst… you’re breaking professional boundaries with someone who’s not from the team. To be honest, I don’t want to know which it is.’
I gritted my teeth so I didn’t let out any of the words that were brewing in me. ‘She’s an old friend, not a distraction and certainly not anything else.’ Lucky I’d always been a good liar.
‘Friend,’ Dad snorted, making heat prickle up my neck. ‘You always had—’
‘You have nothing to worry about.’ I cut him off. Steam would start coming out of my ears soon and he’d be able to see how much his words were winding me up instead of achieving the opposite. ‘None of this is news, Dad. But I will say that Mum’s pep talks are less cringe.’
‘What does your mother have to do with this?’
‘I still talk to her every week, even if you don’t.’ Hinting at their separation was sure to shut him up.
But he came back with a jab I hadn’t expected. ‘You don’t talk to her about Lees—?’
‘Hi! Sorry I’m late!’
I looked over at her before I’d thought through the wisdom of that action and the punch to my gut was enough to make me wonder if I’d ever breathe again.
She was here for me, wearing the clothes I’d picked out for her – and looking beautiful enough to tear my heart out of my ribcage while she did so.
She’d tucked her hair through the space at the back of her helmet and bound it into a fat, messy plait.
As I watched, she slipped the sports sunglasses upside down into the grooves with a practised move.
I needed her to see what I saw in this moment: a talented former pro; a smart, strong – spirited – woman.
She paused on the terrace when she caught sight of Dad, before pasting a smile onto her face. ‘Morning, Tony.’
‘Good morning, Leesa. What a sight, seeing you back in cycling kit, although it doesn’t quite look right without our team colours.’
She smoothed a hand along her waist and my eyes followed the movement helplessly. Did she like the colours I’d chosen?
‘It is strange without logos splashed across my boobs,’ she said and I stifled a snort.
‘I understand you’re accompanying Colin on a recovery ride.’
The way her gaze flickered to me suggested she’d picked up on the residual antagonism simmering between Dad and me.
‘Leesa hasn’t—’
‘Yes!’ She cut me off before I could explain, which was interesting. ‘I can’t come to the Alps and not get on a bike.’
Dad grinned at her. ‘Right you are! Just make sure he takes it easy. No showing off in front of the lady.’
Her smile in response was amused. ‘Don’t worry. I’ll bring him back safe.’
Leesa
I couldn’t help feeling guilty as Tony went back inside, leaving us alone. Apparently, I was a co-conspirator, now.
‘Hey,’ was all he said in greeting. It was still enough to make me tongue-tied. ‘Thanks for taking the pressure off with Dad.’
I gave an inarticulate shrug. ‘It’s not like I’m helping you sneak out.’ Although it kind of felt that way. His eyes on me, hot and glowing, weren’t helping the wild mixture of emotions in my stomach.
He propped his hands on his hips. ‘How’re you feelin’?’
He knew what a can of worms that question was, the bastard, and my nerves were volatile enough to answer with shocking honesty. ‘Beautiful,’ I said with a huff.
The kit he’d bought me was worth half a month’s intern salary.
It was sleek and stylish, ochre-pink with geometric swirls up the side and over one sleeve.
The fabric was smooth and light without being slippery.
I wasn’t a pro any more, as the saggy bits on the back of my thighs proved, but I couldn’t deny the way my heart had leaped when I’d seen this jersey – and pounded when I’d pulled it on this morning.
‘Good.’
I hadn’t noticed him come closer and, now that he was in my space, it was too late to pretend I didn’t like him there. For a strung-out second, I thought he was about to plant a kiss right on my lips, but it landed on my cheek instead, feather-light.
My throat was thick. That was two cheek-kisses in two days. What did it mean that we were cheek-kissing these days? Just that he’d lived in southern Europe too long? In Poland, he’d press one to each cheek and an extra for good measure.
‘Your dad didn’t look too happy,’ I said carefully. ‘Are you sure this is a good idea?’
‘You’re not getting out of it.’
‘That’s not why I asked,’ I snapped, taking a deep breath. ‘I don’t want to be a distraction. You don’t have to come with me.’ Now that I was all dressed up, getting on that bike – and whatever happened next – was inevitable.
I could see he’d guessed I’d overheard more of his conversation with Tony than had been apparent.
His chin came up. ‘Leesa, I can’t do this without a distraction.
The Tour, this sponsor shit – I need to breathe sometimes and despite what you and Dad seem to think, I’m a fucking adult who knows what he needs. ’
I blinked at him, seeing those cracks again – rebellion. But it didn’t seem to make him weak – the opposite. Maybe Colin was finding his strength. Perhaps this was the narrative, except that I was here too. I didn’t belong in the picture.
He stalked to the other bike that was propped up against the railing in the car park, grabbing it by the stem and heading for the road, his shoes crunching on the gravel.
‘You want to let off steam with me? Is that what this is?’
The smile he shot me over his shoulder was a more familiar one, but with a reckless slant that was compelling. ‘I’d love to. You know I would. But that hasn’t worked out so far.’
My cheeks burned as I caught his meaning. ‘I meant the banter and the pranks.’
‘Sure you did, but that’s not what today is about.’ With a sigh, he turned back to face me. ‘You know there are other reasons to ride a bike than winning the Tour de France?’
‘Don’t let your dad hear you say that.’
He grinned, the first real, amused one I’d seen that day. ‘I’m the only one not allowed to have fun on a bike. But you.’ He tapped a finger on his chin. ‘You didn’t quit fun, did you? You look so hot up in the saddle. I’d hate to think that a stupid mistake of mine meant you never did it again.’
My mouth dropped open. His words weren’t exactly complimentary, especially delivered with that twinkle in his eye, but he’d spoken them slowly, dripping with meaning in his deep voice and my lungs wouldn’t work properly. He bit his lip and dipped his gaze.
‘I knew that colour would look amazing on you.’
The heat on my chest suggested my skin was turning a similar colour. I didn’t know what was going on here, felt more than a little out of control, but it was an unfortunate fact that Colin Gallagher was irresistible – with or without a moustache – when he smiled like that.
While I was thus distracted, he waved a little square GoPro in front of my face before attaching it to the holder on my helmet. ‘Because you don’t have enough footage of my butt.’ He fitted a similar camera onto his own helmet. ‘Grab the bike, Kubicka,’ he said softly. ‘Let’s go have some fun.’
With some trepidation, I retrieved the smaller bike from the railing, my hands falling to the saddle and the stem automatically.
It was a beautiful piece of equipment, made of lightweight carbon fibre, designed to allow the air to stroke lovingly over the curves.
Although this one had electronic shifters, the basic physics of the device was the same as for any child’s bicycle, any commuter’s city bike – or a pastel-coloured Dutch Tweewieler with a basket of flowers on the front: the force from my legs amplified and converted into motion in a hyper-efficient exchange.
It was also beautiful.
‘Are you worried about your broken arm?’
I shook my head. It was mostly true. It wasn’t the first time I’d broken a bone, although every other time I’d climbed right back on a bike before I could overthink my recovery.
‘Then what are you afraid of?’
‘I’m not afraid!’
He paused, the tip of his tongue moving inside his cheek in thought. ‘Are you lying to me or to yourself?’
‘You,’ I blurted out without thinking. I was well aware of my own fear. I’d given up my place in the team – in the sport – and I didn’t want to regret that decision. I’d trained obsessively for ten years of my life and ended up with nothing.
I didn’t belong anywhere near an elite rider preparing for the race of his life. Tony had been right about that. I should have tried harder to get him to stay away.
‘Okay,’ Colin said unexpectedly gently. ‘What are you going to do about it? Talk to me?’
With a vehement shake of my head, I gave the bike a push, ignoring the shock of memory from the clack of the wheel hub. Arriving at the road, I stared grimly ahead as I grasped the handlebars, sparks of adrenaline firing in flashback.
I should be moving forward into my new life and not back, and yet…
Whether to shut Colin up or for another reason I didn’t want to admit yet, I had to do this.
I swung my leg over the saddle, one foot extending onto my toes as I clicked the cleat on my other shoe into the pedal with muscle memory that was stronger than my muscles themselves.
Colin drew up next to me and mirrored my pose, peering at me curiously. ‘You okay?’
I shook my head, but stared resolutely ahead.
‘Lees,’ he said, his voice dropping low, ‘you don’t have to—’
‘You forced my hand, Gallagher. You can’t let me off now.’
His hand landed on my back, a reassuring touch that only reminding me of Doortje’s friendly slaps, touchy-feely team time among the girls.
‘All right,’ he muttered. ‘Let’s go.’