CHAPTER 6
Isaac
Vince might be annoyed, but Isaac hadn’t been attracted to someone like this in ages.
Maybe ever. Anna had asked smart questions at the track and seemed to be observant and a quick study in the box.
She was becoming a racing fan in front of his eyes.
Warmth filled him. Maybe his love of racing could be something else he could share with a partner.
He’d always emulated Vince in keeping racing and dating separate.
Perhaps that wasn’t necessary. Maybe he needed something different than his brother.
Isaac sat with Anna and Catarina for dinner and when they returned to their rooms, he joined Vince for a movie.
They’d watched thousands of movies like this together over the years.
It had become something they could do in their downtime on the road when their energy was spent.
It took little thought and was comfortable.
This particular action movie didn’t hold his interest, though Vince seemed engrossed.
Should Isaac bring up the topic of Anna?
His brother hadn’t said anything about her since the day they’d met, but that didn’t mean anything.
They were guys. In the end, Isaac said nothing and watched the explosions and action sequences on the screen.
If Vince had seen them holding hands, he would have already asked what was going on if he cared.
Knowing Vince, he might wait until they were home, or for Isaac to talk to him about Anna on his own.
Isaac suppressed a sigh, turning it into a yawn.
Eventually, he’d have to talk to his brother.
The next day’s practice sessions were similar, and Isaac squeaked into Q2 for the first time in a long time for a dry race. Qualifying had never been his strong suit, but this bike was faster and smoother than anything else he’d ever ridden. He loved how it held speed on corner entry.
Anna helped for all four practices and was much more than just a decorative umbrella girl—more like a general assistant.
She helped engineers, mechanics, and Angel as well, making her an extra set of hands, indispensable in a dozen small ways.
It was hard to believe she’d never done anything like this before.
She always seemed to be in the right place to help, even with the media events and crowds.
Isaac’s heart skipped a beat when she came out Sunday evening before the races, wearing a modified team T-shirt with the sleeves removed, a navy-blue skirt that fell to her knees, and white knee-high socks.
Instead of stilettos, she wore black loafers.
The look suited her. Catarina had outdone herself.
They’d assigned Anna to hold the Row 3 sign for both the Moto3 and Moto2 races and his eyes tracked her movements until it was time to focus.
Anna was clearly taking her job seriously and didn’t speak to him on the grid, holding his umbrella steady and providing shade. Not that he needed it for a night race, but he didn’t complain. Even in racing mode, it was pleasant to have her nearby.
Minutes counted down before the race, and Isaac went into his pre-race routine, inserting his earphones to listen to music and block everything else out.
His world shrank as he visualized the track, the twists and turns.
With two minutes left, he switched to earplugs and tugged on his helmet for the sighting lap.
Returning to the grid, he maintained focus, waiting for the warm-up lap.
By the time everyone cleared the grid, his focus had narrowed to getting a fast start.
He sat in ninth position after qualifying; at the bottom of the third row.
Both guys ahead on his side of the track were fast starters.
He planned to follow them up the outside as they shot toward the front.
Making gains on the first lap and getting away from the grid without a crash would be the real trick, as everyone aimed for the same stretches of free tarmac.
With his eyes riveted on the starting lights, the world moved inward again, and his heart rate skyrocketed. Blood pounded in his ears and sweat dripped down his face inside the helmet. But that was inconsequential. There were only the lights, the track, and his bike.
When the red lights disappeared, his bike shot forward as he stuck to the plan, following Spencer on his Yamaha and Vince’s Honda up the far right, going around several riders with more sluggish starts—those who hadn’t timed the start to perfection.
He slotted himself into fifth by the first corner, getting away with the lead pack.
It was one of those rare days when Isaac became one with his machine, an extension of the bike.
Adrenaline pumped through him as he fought for position, to keep what he’d earned.
He traded places twice with a Ducati, keeping in front by the smallest of margins, but eventually pulling away through a tight twisting section.
The buzz of another bike followed, hot on his rear wheel as they flew down the home stretch.
An automatic part of his race, a quick check of his pit board, which flashed at the edge of his vision. Xavi was the rider on his tail.
The laps flashed by and they stretched the field, leaving the main pack behind though the leaders had cleared off in front, running a pace too fast to follow.
Though places to overtake remained rare on this track, and Xavi couldn’t show him a wheel, the race results remained uncertain.
Isaac couldn’t afford to deviate from the main racing line where the track became dirty, slippery.
The fiery Spaniard must be waiting for Isaac to make a mistake.
Isaac gritted his teeth and stuck to the racing line, keeping his race mistake-free.
All of a sudden, ahead of him, Spencer tucked the front of his bike, and slid off the track in a spray of sparks headed for the gravel trap.
Isaac avoided the resulting dust cloud and continued, hoping Spencer wasn’t injured, though he didn’t watch to find out.
He’d be the next on the ground if his concentration lapsed.
Only three riders remained in front of him, Luka, Fabiano Perotti—one of the factory Ducati riders, and Vince.
Right at the edge of the track, Isaac’s pit board read P4, L2.
Xavi 0.4. Fourth position, lap 22 of 24—two laps to go.
He must have put a bike length between himself and Xavi if the other bike was almost half a second behind.
He braced himself. Xavi would have another go before the finish line.
Isaac needed to be ready to defend his position with two laps remaining.
The top three were too far to catch, but fourth was a fantastic result if he could keep it.
Vince and Luka were so far gone he couldn’t see them except in the distance on the home straight as he flew past the teams and the packed grandstands.
The teammates wore the same colors and were indistinguishable at this distance.
He couldn’t tell who was ahead, but he hoped it was Vince.
Refocusing, he leaned in perfect synchronicity with his bike as they went into turn one for the last lap.
When Isaac crossed the finish line, he couldn’t believe it. He glanced up at the screen to be sure. Vince had won, but Isaac had placed fourth. He pumped his fist skyward. That would show the doubters.
He waved to the boisterous crowd, his heart slowing as he did a cool-down lap, waving to the Vasquez fan club grandstands, then headed for pit lane.
He received an electronic message from the officials on his dash, ‘Top Independent. Go to parc ferme.’ Fourth.
His best race result in three years. Pulling up in parc ferme, where the victors were parked, he threw himself off his bike and hugged his brother.
“Great race.” With pride oozing through his pores, Isaac squeezed.
Vince pounded Isaac’s back as he said, “Great job yourself, little brother. Nice to have you here with me. Dad would have been so proud.”
It was true. There hadn’t been many post-race celebrations of this kind, with them both in the winner’s area.
They posed for photos, first with Luka and Fabiano, then just the brothers.
When Vince released him, Isaac turned to Angel, standing by the fence.
The older man grabbed him by the back of the neck and tugged him closer.
“Terrific race, Isaac. Fantastic focus.” He released Isaac but leaned in to speak in his ear. “I brought your good luck charm down here to celebrate.” The older man nudged Anna toward the barrier of parc ferme.
Her eyes glowed and her grin stretched across her entire face.
His heart filled that someone could be this happy for him.
He wanted to kiss her, though he didn’t want to scare her with his enthusiasm, nor did he want their first kiss to be so public.
Instead, he vaulted the flimsy barrier and caught her up in a hug.
For an instant, he was worried he’d overstepped her boundaries as her body stiffened in his arms.
Then, she threw her arms around his neck, “You were fantastic. Congratulations. That was the most fun I’ve ever had.”
He lifted her from her feet and spun her around in a circle, giving her a squeeze before putting her down. He wrested his gaze from her full lips. Not yet. Instead, he said, “Let’s go cheer for Vince at the podium.”