Page 24

Seb

‘ She’s slipped! Is it a loose stone? No, she’s dropped her chain.

’ My heart in my throat, I watched her leap off the bike, leaning over the frame to grab the slipped chain.

‘ That’s poor timing, but we’ve seen it again and again on these surfaces.

Gallagher isn’t even today’s first victim of the cobbles . ’

It was helicopter footage now, hovering over her as she wrestled with the pedals but, because she was capable and hot and utterly amazing, she got the chain back on in a few seconds.

Just as the peloton swooped past, she threw her leg over the saddle and set off again, Doortje hanging back to help her get up to speed.

Watching her standing on the pedals, my eyes wandering the lines and curves of her body and remembering her skin under my fingertips, my mouth, I had to have a firm word with myself to settle down, especially given that Colin was in the room.

‘Come on, Lore,’ I couldn’t help muttering. I needed her to put me out of my misery. It was so much worse than racing myself, which made me uneasy.

She and Doortje weaved their way painstakingly through the pack while I tugged at my hair. The breakaway had lost time against the peloton. She could still do it. She was wearing my necklace; she had to succeed.

Colin was mercifully silent. But when the commentator grew animated again, we both shot off the beds to peer more closely at the screen.

‘ There’s a ruckus in the peloton! Someone’s gone down – more than one.

They don’t call the Paris-Roubaix the Hell of the North for nothing.

The peloton has ground to a halt, but Laura Colombini has escaped – there she goes.

Given Gallagher’s luck this season, I’m expecting— Yep, there she is, off to the side. What is—? ’

‘Fuck!’ Colin bit out.

If she’d moved off the road, that wasn’t good. It might mean medical intervention. I couldn’t breathe. What if her back injury caused more problems? I saw flashes of her skin behind my eyes again, but in a different context: the puckered slash of scars on her arm and her back.

The camera zoomed in on her as the nearest team support car pulled up and one of the assistants jumped out. The next minute, I had to flinch and cover my eyes as she yanked her arm at a strange angle.

‘ Dislocated shoulder ,’ the commentator confirmed – unnecessarily for me. ‘ If she can get it popped back in, she might still finish, but I think this is the end of Gallagher’s chances of winning this one. Bitterly disappointing .’

‘You can look now. She got it back in,’ Colin said flatly.

‘Putain de merde,’ I cursed under my breath, watching her climb back on and start pedalling. I’d had my share of dislocated shoulders – enough to know it hurt like hell. To finish another five sections of cobbles with her hip scraped and her shoulder throbbing, she’d have to be superhuman.

Colin’s phone vibrated and he glanced at the message. ‘The DS is telling her to DNF.’

I nodded, awash with relief, even as I knew she’d hate to abandon the race. On the screen, she rolled to a stop, her head hanging. Then, because Lori never did anything by halves, she ripped her earpiece out and flung the cable to the side of the road with an angry flourish.

Covered head to toe in mud, she let her bike clatter to the ground, giving it a swift kick, and then another when that obviously wasn’t enough. When an assistant went to her, she shoved him away before grabbing her shoulder with a howl of pain.

‘Ah, fuck, it’s popped out again,’ Colin said grimly.

Pressing the balls of my hands into my forehead, I wanted to get on my bike and race to Roubaix right then. She turned to me when she lost and that didn’t feel like such a bad thing if she’d let me wrap my arms around her as she yelled and cried and let it all out.

I glanced at my phone, wondering if she’d believe me if I told her I was so impressed with her fight today and that meant I was allowed to text her.

‘Dad’s not going to be happy,’ Colin mumbled and I turned, realising only then that I was leaning over the laptop, propping myself up on my knees. ‘She’s supposed to race the Amstel Gold in a week.’

‘She can’t stop a peloton crash.’

‘No, but she’s stubborn – and got stuck in her own head. She lashes out when she’s down. She’ll regret it tomorrow.’

That sounded familiar.

‘She’s a wounded bear,’ Colin continued, eyeballing me. ‘You might have seen the wounded bit, but don’t forget about the bear.’

I stepped back from the laptop with a slow sigh.

The camera had moved away from Lori anyway.

I’d known I was an idiot for making so much of my interactions with her, but those few hours in Siena, watching her come back to life, and every message she’d sent since then, even though I’d been disciplined and hadn’t replied – mostly – had made me forget I was an obstacle in the way of her goals.

My phone remained untouched on the bedside table for the rest of the evening.

I left it in the room when we went down to our dinner of – you guessed it – rice.

Tony Gallagher arrived halfway through the meal, looking windswept and haggard.

He exchanged a few words with Colin, but quickly disappeared again.

I wondered whether Lori was relieved her dad had left Roubaix, could barely stand the curiosity about her mental state.

I jogged up the stairs to our room after dinner, Colin dragging his feet behind me.

But when I looked at my phone, the only message I had was from my mum, confirming she and Mamie would make the two-hour drive to Roubaix to watch me finish at the velodrome, since there were no signs of labour among the pregnant goats.

Imagining them clapping enthusiastically regardless of what position I rolled in made my chest uncoil a little – a very little. I managed to settle myself down with a hot shower, until Colin banged on the door with an impatient demand that I let him have his turn.

Lying in bed staring at the wall and listening to him tunelessly hum in the bathroom, the awkwardness of the situation struck me again.

I was lying there ruminating obsessively about my roommate’s sister, but kind of enjoying it because if I couldn’t be in the same room as her, I might as well be hanging out with her sibling.

I remembered her calling him a bit of a dick and she was right, but the bond between them was obvious and I suspected Colin would turn into a defender of her interests if necessary – when he grew up a bit.

He came out of the shower and threw himself onto his bed, his arm flung over his eyes.

‘Stop thinking and go to sleep,’ he muttered. ‘I’ve seen enough of your arse to last a lifetime.’

I tucked my arse under the blankets, annoyed to acknowledge the wisdom of one so young. ‘You’ll only see it from a distance tomorrow,’ I quipped.

To my surprise, he erupted into laughter, his chest jerking with it. ‘Good. And I’m betting you’ll be in a hurry to get to Roubaix.’ He met my gaze from under his elbow.

Turning off the light, I tried to settle, but my legs were restless. Just as my roommate’s breathing was beginning to even out, my phone buzzed, lighting up the room.

Jerking upright and snatching the device, I already knew from the twist in my chest who the message was from.

I heard the plan for tomorrow. Don’t screw up.

My thumb hovered over the keypad, but my mind blanked in the onslaught of the thousands of things I wanted to say to her. You were beautiful today; I hated to see you hurt; I wish I could make it all better. I went with something that felt safe.

How bad is the pain?

Her response was predictable: The only thing you’re allowed to type is ‘congratulations on winning’.

I saw she was typing again and held my breath. But what she wrote made me exhale on a cough.

I’m on painkillers and one side-effect seems to be to make me horny – and overshare.

Turning away so Colin didn’t see the grin I couldn’t stifle, I replied: How am I supposed to not respond to that?

Wow, I wished I could see her – tuck her into bed and stroke her hair until she fell asleep. Yeah, those were some sad fantasies when she’d just admitted to being horny and I knew how amazing she tasted.

She kept typing and I bit my lip, waiting to see what she’d say.

You know what? If you win tomorrow, I’m going to kiss you.

My hair stood on end and my throat wouldn’t clear, no matter how many times I spluttered.

She wasn’t serious – or if she was, then she surely realised she wouldn’t need to make good on her promise – or threat or whatever.

She couldn’t know how much I’d thought about her mouth since Siena – since training camp in December.

Shit, now I was never going to get any sleep. Another message lit up my phone screen.

Do you think I’m not serious?

I sent back a zipped-lip emoji, my heart looping somewhere up near my ears.

You’d better win, Seb. I’m really fucking horny.

My tongue felt like the Goodyear Blimp inside my mouth. She wasn’t typing and my mind got a bit feverish under the pressure to reply.

Congratulations on winning – as many kisses as you want .

That was more than your word allowance.

I groaned – thankfully under my breath – hoping Colin was very asleep. But her next message caught me in the ribs.

I think you can win, Seb. If I can’t, then you do it.

She had me – mind, body. I wanted to get to Roubaix tomorrow and I wanted to do it faster than anyone else. With a gulp, I typed a message, letting my fingers loose on the keypad because I wasn’t allowed to send it. My thumb hovered, but I wouldn’t do it.

If it wasn’t luck, then it was psychology. She made me want to win, but I made her think of her own weakness. I was reminded of what Colin had said about Maggioli. There was no way I’d hurt her or take advantage of her when she was down. I had to keep my stupid infatuation to myself.

‘Are you texting my sister?’ came Colin’s gravelly, disapproving voice.

Quickly shutting down the phone, I set it back on the bedside table and took a deep breath. ‘She’s just messing with me,’ I insisted.