Chapter 40
Leesa
For all my attempts to visualise this moment over the years, it didn’t feel anything like what I’d expected when I let go of the handlebars and lifted both fists above my head in victory – my first World Tour victory. My only World Tour victory, most likely.
Shaking, every muscle and organ screaming and overworked, I doubled over, dropping sweat and tears – and my sunglasses – onto the ground as the oxygen returning to my brain finally cleared my vision and I came aware of the other riders crossing the line after me.
Someone barrelled into me, pulling me up by the shoulders and enfolding me in a hug.
It was Bonnie, my teammate, and the one who’d pulled hard to make this possible for me.
‘You little ripper! You did it!’
Life seemed to wind up at speed as I gripped her jersey and blubbered, snorting hot tears. Doortje piled on and soon I was surrounded by all the girls, the ones I would gladly share my prize money with, and all of these feelings.
Needing a moment, I stumbled to the other side of the bus, leaning against the garish orange paint job and dropping my head back, my helmet limp in my hand.
There was too much to process. I was the same person as the one who’d started the race, not really believing a win was possible, but putting myself through it anyway.
I wasn’t sure if that fact was disappointing.
I’d worked so hard only to find that one win wasn’t a miracle cure for my entire life.
It wasn’t much more than a moment, over in a blink of an eye.
With thoughts like this, I definitely didn’t have the mindset of a winner.
‘I think these are yours, Kubicka.’
Snapping my eyes open, I didn’t need the visual to confirm who stood in front of me.
The voice had been enough. Colin held out my sunglasses, his other hand stuffed in the pocket of his shorts.
He would race tomorrow. I wasn’t sure why he was here watching the women.
Maybe his dad forced him to, for the PR.
‘Thanks,’ I muttered, taking the glasses from him. He didn’t make any move to walk away, even when I glanced at him in confusion.
‘Can I get an autograph?’
Straightening, I eyed him. ‘You don’t even have anything for me to sign.’
Producing a permanent marker from his pocket, he spun it from hand to hand. ‘How about my butt?’
Throwing an arm into the air, I groaned. ‘Oh, grow up, Colin!’
As I stalked back to the others, I heard him say behind me, ‘Not my butt. My arm? Sign my arm. Or my shirt!’