Page 26 of Fanboy in the Falls (Devon Falls #3)

No risk, no loss. —Colin Templegate

“Hey, loser.”

The sound of Claire’s cheerful voice over the phone brings an immediate smile to my face, the way it always does.

Even when she’s calling me names. We were bitter rivals on the track, but we were good at leaving the rivalry there.

We could go from worst enemies to best friends with the lift of a checkered flag, and I’ve always appreciated that about my relationships with Claire. The consistency. The certainty.

“Hey yourself,” I tell her gruffly as I make my way down to one of the Adirondack chairs I put by the lake when I first started work on the farmhouse.

I figured that everyone else in Vermont had an Adirondack chair, so why shouldn’t I?

Turns out the fuckers are pretty comfortable.

I like that they sort of force you to lie down halfway whenever you sit in one of them.

“What’s up? Didn’t you just call me? I haven’t heard from you this often in months. ”

“Well, some of us are not retired,” she reminds me.

I expect the words to sting just that little tiny bit, the same sting that usually runs through me when someone reminds me I’m not a race car driver anymore, but today I find that they…

don’t. Instead, they just sit there in my ears as truth.

Christian died, and I left the sport that had once been my entire life. Claire didn’t. That’s what happened.

Huh. Not sure I’ve ever had that exact thought without getting so antsy I had to fix a broken carburetor or run a few miles. I’m going to have to think about this later.

“So,” I say. “Why the hell are you calling me twice on one of your rare weekends off?” She’s in Brazil next weekend. I still pay enough attention to racing to know that.

Claire sighs. “I just felt like I sort of dropped a weight on you yesterday. I didn’t want to leave things like that.

And listen, Colin, if you don’t want to come back to the racing world, I get that.

Okay? I wanted to make sure you know that.

I’m not trying to force your hand just because I miss the hell out of you. You know?”

I smile as I drop farther down into the chair, letting it take my weight just a few inches from the ground.

The lake’s soft and glistening today, and I can hear the distant chatter and laughter of Tom, Gabe, and Lou.

They’re back in the kitchen, making pancakes.

I told them I’d take this phone call outside when I saw it was Claire, but I’ll admit, it was hard to leave the tranquility of that kitchen on this perfect Sunday morning.

Especially after what happened last night.

Not that I’m sure exactly what the hell did happen last night.

Well, theoretically I know. I had the hardest orgasm I’ve ever had in my life—who knew that scale could keep tipping up— while I watched my best friend finger the guy I’m dating.

And then, at the very end of it all, just as I was coming my fucking skull out and pulling my lips apart from Gabe’s, I had the weirdest urge: to lean over and kiss Tom too.

Like: what the fuck. I’ve had plenty of feelings for Tom in my life, but they’ve never stretched anywhere near wanting to kiss him.

“You know how I never dated a lot when I was driving?” I blurt out.

Because what the hell. I can’t exactly talk to Gabe or Tom about this problem.

Telling Sam is out of bounds right now, because no one knows that Tom or I are dating Gabe.

But Claire’s at her house in London, probably, thousands of miles away.

Who better to ask for advice, I figure. She knows me about as well as anyone else.

Claire fakes a gasp. “You mean we didn’t get married after that last race when we hugged on the podium?”

I snort. “Fucking funny.”

“Yes, Colin. I know you were the monk of the paddock back in the day. Does that have something to do with you deciding whether or not you want to come back to the racing world?”

I pull at a patch of clover just under the front right leg of the chair.

Then I smile as I think about the four-leaf clover hunting Tom and I used to do.

“Not exactly. But sort of. Here’s the thing.

I always figured I was straight, right? And just not into relationships the way other people are.

Now I’m wondering if maybe I’m actually demisexual or something, but I’m definitely not straight.

Because… I kind of caught feelings for this guy who works at the winery I own part of. And we’re dating now.”

Claire lets out a noise between a choke and a snort. “Really? You’re dating someone?”

It’s definitely not the gender of my partner that’s surprised her, but the fact that I’m dating at all.

This doesn’t shock me. I really was known as the monk of the paddock when I was at the height of my career.

My fellow drivers all assumed that I just wanted to keep my focus on racing, and I never bothered to correct them.

“Um, yeah,” I tell Claire. “Like I said, I’m still figuring it all out.

But I’m pretty into this guy. He’s sweet and smart and funny, and he’s helping out with raising his little brother, which is cute as hell for some reason.

And… yeah. I’m having a good time, I guess.

” I sigh. “Just not sure where it’s going. ”

“Okay. Well, cool.” I can almost hear Claire’s smile over the phone. “Listen, Colin. If that’s why you’re thinking of not coming back, I get that. Truly.”

If only it were that simple. I clear my throat. “Honestly, things are a little more complicated than that, actually. Because Tom’s dating him too.”

There’s a long pause, and I imagine Claire whisper-screaming into the air in her London loft. She’s got a flair for the dramatic, something the fans love about her. “Does that mean you’re dating Tom too?” she finally asks, her voice incredulous.

“Um, no.” Shit, how am I going to explain this all and still get back to the house in time for pancakes?

I may have bitten off more than I can chew, pun not intended.

But I can’t stop now, or Claire will be blowing up my phone all day.

“So, Tom’s dating him. And I’m dating him.

We’re sort of dating him… together. But we’re not together. If that makes sense.”

Another long pause. I’ve got no idea what Claire might be thinking right now. I wonder if she’s pacing around her island countertop, the way she always used to do when she was running racing simulations in her head.

“Okay,” Claire finally says. “Sorry, I just needed to wrap my brain around all of this for a minute. And now that I’m fully up to speed, I have to say: I think that arrangement makes a lot of sense.

I always worried about how the two of you were going to detach from each other’s hips when Tom finally found a serious relationship.

Solution found! No need to detach. I’m happy for you, mate. ”

I close my eyes and think about last night: about Gabe wrapped around my neck, about Tom, behind him.

He stared at me, right in the eyes, as he wrecked Gabe, and I felt myself leaning closer and closer toward him, drawn to him in a way I’ve never been before.

I mean, I’ve always been drawn to Tom’s presence. His passion. His energy.

But last night? That was different. I’ve never been drawn to Tom physically . I’ve never wanted to see what it would be like to press my lips against his, to kiss him soundly and softly.

Fuck. I barely wanted to kiss anyone at all until I met Gabe.

“So, see.” I clear my throat. “That’s sort of, um, what I need help with. Because I was kind of feeling the same way. Like maybe this was all working out, you know? But then last night, the three of us were all fooling around.”

“Hot,” Claire teases.

“You have no fucking idea, Claire. Anyway, it got pretty intense. And at one point, I wanted—fuck, Claire. For a minute there, I really wanted to kiss Tom. I’ve never felt like that before.”

“Oh, honey.” There’s the sound of a mug clinking against the counter.

She’s drinking tea, I’m sure, because Claire lives on that stuff.

I once saw her drink eight cups in one sitting.

She tried for years to get me into it, but I’ve never gotten the appeal of leaves in water. “I imagine that was confusing as hell.”

“It was something. That’s for sure.” At the time, I was so wrapped up in sensation, nothing more than a raw nerve ending, and I didn’t really have time to analyze it all.

I fell asleep fast. But when I woke up this morning and watched Tom walking around my bedroom, half-naked as he picked up clothing and talked about breakfast options, I knew.

I knew that moment last night was a hell of a lot more than just a moment .

“I don’t know what to do,” I tell Claire. “I mean, what we’re doing here with Gabe is all pretty new as it is. We haven’t even told anyone yet. I should keep this to myself, right? See if it goes away?”

“Hmmm.” Claire lets out a soft sigh, and I imagine her dropping into her favorite white recliner. That thing is so fucking impractical, but she loves it. “You could do that. Or you could tell them both. Put it all out there and see what happens.”

I draw in a breath so fast I almost choke on it. “Yeah, right,” I finally say.

“I had a feeling you’d have that reaction. So let’s get into it. Why does telling Tom feel like such a wild idea to you?”

My pancakes are definitely going to get cold soon, but this is why I told Claire, isn’t it? I knew she’d make me talk through things. I knew she wouldn’t let me off the hook. “Okay.” I study a duck making its way across the calm water. “I never really told you exactly why I left racing, right?”

“No. Not exactly. We knew it had to do with Christian, of course.” And she’s nudged me for more information, but she’s never pushed me too hard. Because Claire is good people like that.

I sigh. “Christian’s death just made me reevaluate some things. It was like I suddenly realized that I had no idea what I even cared about besides winning. I was never like you, Claire. I never loved being behind that wheel or the feel of the engine underneath me. I just loved…”

“Winning,” Claire says simply. “And to be fair, you were very good at it.”

I bark out a laugh. “Yeah. But when Christian passed, I realized winning isn’t what I wanted to live for anymore. And ever since then, I feel like I’ve been trying to figure out what I do want to live for. You know?”

Claire swallows. “I do,” she says softly.

And I think she means it. There are whole parts of herself she keeps locked away from the world.

The girlfriend she had in her early twenties who only a select few people know about.

The man she met at a Barcelona race and once thought she might marry.

The house she owns in the lake district in England that she hides out in once a year, going out in disguise at times so no one can ever find her there.

“The thing is,” I tell Claire, “I’ve never been sure of much in my life except racing.

Tom is one of the few parts of my world I’ve always been sure about.

If I take that risk with him, and it doesn’t work out.

” I swallow hard. “If he disappears on me, then I’m not sure I ever will figure it out.

What all this is really supposed to be about. ”

“Oh, Colin.” Claire sighs. “I get that. I do.”

We’re both quiet for a long moment. The duck peeps his head out of his breast, looks around, and then takes a dive underwater before Claire speaks again.

“Colin, do you remember the Montreal race from the year before you retired?”

I run back through years of mental tapes of races until I find the one I’m looking for.

I won, I remember. Claire took second. I overtook her in the Driver’s Championship that weekend; she came back with a vengeance the next weekend in Italy and knocked me back into second again.

That was a hell of a competition year for us. “I do.”

“Third to last lap, right? I was in front. You had newer tires, so we both knew if you managed to get around me you had the race. But it was raining that day. Every pass was dangerous as hell, and both of us almost went into the wall like a hundred times.”

“Sure did,” I say. I remember how driving into a wall at absurdly high speeds barely registered as a concern for me, then. At least compared to concerns over winning.

“And then, on that turn with the sharp corner, you took an inside line no one would ever imagine taking. You came on my right and pulled off a pass so impossible and dangerous that sports networks played it on repeat for days afterward. I was so pissed.”

I laugh. “You made me pay when you took first the next week.”

“Well, I couldn’t let you have all the fun. My point is that after the race, I asked you where you got the balls to make a move like that. You know what you told me?”

I do. I said the phrase that was Christian’s favorite, the one he liked to throw out just before he did something like jump off a cliff or throw a hundred dollar bill down on a fifteen on a Blackjack table. “No risk, no reward,” I say softly.

“We both know better than most what the cost of high risks can be. But just remember: you knew what you were doing when you made that pass, Colin. You’d calculated the risks. You’d done the math. You made that turn with no fear. And you made the right choice.”

When we hang up the phone a few minutes later, I’m still running the replay of that corner in my mind. I made that decision in a split second, I’m sure I did. It’s hard to even remember a time when I was that sure of myself. That self-confident.

Because the flipside of the no risk, no reward statement? That’s the phrase I’ve lived by since I got the call about Christian.

No risk, no loss.