CHAPTER 14 #3
He fist-pumped the sky, jubilation roaring through him.
His gaze flipped to the scoreboard. Isaac Vasquez, MotoGP race winner.
He’d done it. Tears trickled down his cheeks, soaking into the lining of his helmet.
He’d actually won. It didn’t seem real yet.
After almost ten years at the top level, he’d given up on seeing this day arrive.
One thing marred the exhilarating moment.
Why had the race been called? It hadn’t been the weather.
Somebody must have crashed. His blood chilled.
For the race to have been stopped, it must be serious.
That’s when the realization hit like a hammer blow.
Vince’s name wasn’t on the official scoreboard.
Coming to a complete stop, Isaac vaulted off his bike, ripped off his helmet, and ran toward one of the TV screens where everyone had been staring.
He skidded to a stop as the broadcast replayed the accident.
Behind him, five riders had been vying for position, and they all wanted the podium—Luka, Vince, Fabiano, Yoshi, and Spencer. From the drone camera angle, even in real-time instead of slow motion, the accident seemed inevitable.
Spencer had fallen behind and become desperate not to be left by the others.
He’d tried to pass from too far back with a dangerous move and clipped Yoshi’s wheel.
They both went down. Yoshi landed on his back and his bike bounced across the track, pieces raining down.
The bike catapulted into a Honda rider on the track around the corner in the next section, knocking the rider over.
The second Honda rider had ridden into the gravel trying to avoid pieces of the accident but continued, as had Fabiano.
There was no sound on the screen. Isaac had trouble breathing.
Had the flying motorcycle smashed into Vince?
Isaac needed to see the incident again to be certain.
Willing the outcome to be different. He watched while it replayed from several angles and sank to his knees, his helmet forgotten.
Vince had been the rider taken out by the careening motorcycle.
The replay continued, and Isaac struggled to comprehend.
Vince lying motionless, surrounded by marshals who’d placed the medic sign, signaling they needed trackside medical.
This was the nightmare they all avoided thinking could be reality.
Motorcycle racing was a dangerous sport. People died.
No matter how many times they showed the replay, in the end, Vince remained motionless.
The wail of an ambulance got Isaac to his feet, struggling to see the ground through his blurred vision.
When he looked up, he didn’t recognize the sobbing person on the massive screen.
Then he realized it was him. He was the man sobbing.
What had happened to Vince? Was he dead?
Paralyzing fear shot through Isaac as his blood turned to ice.
Over the years, he’d seen half a dozen riders die, even lost a friend in Barcelona in 2016.
But he’d always thought Vince was invincible.
It was several minutes before Isaac pulled himself together.
The ambulance had already left the stadium, and the cameraman had moved on while the network showed a subdued celebration in parc ferme as Luka and Fabiano arrived.
No smiles and jubilation today. Isaac couldn’t look at the screen anymore.
His legs shaking, he returned to his bike, which was no longer running.
Without a starter, he had to abandon it.
He pounded the bike’s tank in frustration and headed to the nearby paved path that ringed the far outside of the track, behind the safety fence.
He looked down the length of the fence. Where were the marshals?
This was going to take too long. Not knowing his brother’s condition was choking him.
He hadn’t gone far when a marshal rode up behind him. “Want a ride back?”
Isaac nodded and, without a word, hopped onto the small bike behind the orange-clad race volunteer. Dread settled in his chest. What would he find when he returned to pit lane?
His heart clenched as Angel and Anna met him wearing serious expressions. Tears streaked her face. It must be serious.
“Vince?” Isaac hopped off the bike, patting the marshal’s back in thanks. Isaac stared at Anna and Angel, waiting for their words as he held his breath, bracing himself for the worst. Please, let Vince be alive.
“Alive, but unconscious,” said Angel, holding up his hands as though to prevent Isaac from chasing down the road after the ambulance.
“Is it critical?” Isaac clutched Anna’s icy hand in his, needing her support. Vince was alive. He needed to get to the hospital. Isaac would rather do that than conduct post-race interviews or sign autographs. He needed to be there for his brother.
“I don’t know if I can talk to the media.
” His throat ached with worry. A camera crew had already trained their lens on their conversation.
Vultures. He kept his back turned and his voice low.
“Any news from the med center?” His voice shook, and Anna squeezed his hand again.
He’d forgotten that he was holding hers.
His knuckles were white, so he forced himself to relax his grip.
“They skipped the med center and took him directly into the city to the hospital. The track medic said, at the very least, he has a concussion,” said Angel.
“His vitals are stable. Don’t worry, your brother is a warrior.
” He gripped Isaac’s shoulder, hard enough to almost hurt.
“I’ve arranged a quick podium and a ride for you two to the hospital. ”
Isaac shook his head, preparing to refuse, but the look in Angel’s eyes told him it was pointless to argue.
The older man continued. “Your contract says you have to do the interview, but everyone will understand if you keep it short. No autographs.”
Isaac took a deep breath. He could keep it together that long. “Thank you. Let’s get this over with.”
Podium. He’d forgotten that he’d won the race. Without Vince there to celebrate, this victory was hollow. Isaac tuned out the swarming cameras and the crowd of reporters as they made their way into parc ferme. He would focus on these essential pieces of his job, then go to the hospital.
Isaac didn’t remember the words he spoke to the media.
It was a blur from the time he answered their questions to the moment he stood on atop the podium accepting the first-place trophy.
He raised the trophy over his head. Removing his winner’s cap for the Spanish national anthem, he stood at attention—separate from Luka and Fabiano.
Afterward, the two of them sprayed each other with champagne while he half-heartedly shook his bottle and took a single sip.
He tried, but he wasn’t in a celebratory mood. Everyone must understand.
Soon he could leave the podium, and Angel escorted Anna and Isaac to a waiting car that drove them to the hospital.
For all their hurry as they rushed inside the well-lit ER that smelled of disinfectant, there was no new information.
Vince’s head injury was serious, but he was stable.
The doctors wouldn’t know more until he woke up—which could be minutes, or it could be days.
The three of them sat in a row. Waiting. While noises in the busy ER continued around them. Hours passed without news. Anna fetched water and sandwiches nobody wanted to eat, and they settled in for a long night.
At midnight, Angel left, saying, “Text me if you hear anything. No matter the time.”
Isaac nodded and sent another message to his mom, telling her to sleep if she could and that he’d update her in the morning or as soon as he heard anything. He willed his brother to hang in there. He needed Vince to be okay.