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Seb

Today the women would conquer one of the most iconic climbs of the Tour de France, the Alpe d’Huez, and I would be there to see her do it – holding a #FolkyDunes sign and my heart in my hand.

I’d been an idiot for long enough. The instant she’d said her feelings were real, I should have told her I wanted to be together.

It couldn’t be too late, not when the image of her wearing a stage winner’s medal, holding a bouquet in one hand and a floppy cardboard sign in the other, was seared onto my memory.

Posting our story in the subreddit with my silly Leia-Han Solo meme and a plea for help had worked even more swiftly and effectively than I’d hoped.

One of the happiest moments of my life and I hadn’t even been there.

As I rolled over, a stab of pain cracked through my vertebrae. My hand shook as I reached for my phone on the bedside table. The veins in my arms stood out and I hated to think of the state of my legs.

Damn, I should have told her what she meant to me before I died.

Hauling myself up, even the heels of my hands hurt and, when I threw off the sheet, the sight of my legs made me flinch.

I had a tan line as defined as the North Korean border, a spider-web of thick veins, as well as bruises and scrapes in angry purple and red.

My head pounded after the champagne last night.

I hadn’t hit the celebrating hard after I’d caught sight of that photo of Lori on the podium and decided I had to live today.

But three glasses had been enough to throw me to the deck.

‘Stop shouting,’ Colin snapped from the other bed.

I thought he was dreaming until I realised I’d been groaning and gasping with every movement. ‘Sorry,’ I said, my voice gravelly.

One of his eyes opened a slit. ‘Why are you even awake?’

Leaning forward, I used gravity to help get me up, leaning on the bedside table so I didn’t overbalance. I felt 64 instead of 34 and if I hadn’t developed the wild conviction that gorgeous, 26-year-old Lori might actually want me, I would never have moved.

‘Going to Huez,’ I mumbled, moaning as I leaned down to fetch a shirt out of my suitcase.

Colin’s other eye cracked open. ‘You still messing with my sister?’

‘No,’ I contradicted him immediately. ‘Look, I know she probably deserves better than a retiring domestique, but…’

‘She knows what she wants, Frankie,’ Colin rasped. ‘And I’m pretty sure it’s you. Took you long enough to see it.’

‘Hope so,’ I said, studying him. Colin was young and he dealt with the pressure he was under in some stupid ways, but he was more perceptive than I’d given him credit for – and protective of Lori in a way I had to admire.

‘Fuck, you’ve got to get out of here before this FolkyDunes shit makes me sick.’

In the breakfast room, hastily inhaling a few croissants and hopefully enough coffee to get me to Grenoble, I called the one person who could enable my mad dash to get the girl.

‘What’s—? Do you know what time it is, Frankie?’

‘Already late. You know we have to get to Huez, right? How quickly can you get a car?’

‘I’m joining the women’s Tour tomorrow,’ he insisted.

Time for the big guns. ‘You’re going to miss three race days? When she’s in yellow?’

‘All right, all right. Give me twenty minutes,’ he grumbled.

When he arrived in the breakfast room, rumpled and sallow, he eyed me warily. ‘I thought it was all over between you two. I thought there was never anything between you to begin with! She’s ambitious – and young.’

‘I know,’ I agreed solemnly. ‘And I’m retiring.’ Taking a deep breath, I looked Tony in the eye. ‘But she’s important to me. I need her to see that.’

The sprinkle of emotional blackmail sank in nicely and, five minutes later, we were careening through Paris in a team car, sloshing coffee and risking our lives – or at least a traffic fine.

‘I like you, you know, son,’ Tony said stiltedly.

‘Thank you,’ I answered with a huff of a laugh.

‘You’re much better than the last guy.’

‘I’m… glad you think so.’ I might not have agreed to the extra season she’d wanted me to fight, but I’d found some self-respect.

I was retiring to make us happy and it was the best decision of my life – if I could get her to understand.

‘Thanks for making this season the best of my career – you and Lori and Colin.’

He smacked me over the shoulder, sending more muscle pain shuddering through me.

‘I could almost say “welcome to the family”, mate. If you’re crazy enough to join us.’

I was crazy – crazy about Lori. And I was looking forward to the future in a way I never had before, once I’d admitted everything I wanted and let her respond.

‘Eh, Tony? One more thing. I’m going to need a lot of cardboard.’

Lori

The crowds on the Alpe d’Huez were legendary and that day they were there for us – for the women’s peloton. Our prize money was a fraction of the men’s, but the racing was top class.

Doortje had fallen back earlier in the race after protecting me from the headwind, but Leesa stayed with me until she finally cracked before the final 20 km.

I’d give her a hardcore hug when we finished, even if she had a genius IQ and a whole stack of gilt-edged qualifications and was moving on at the end of the season.

Laura Colombini had tried to fight alongside us in the breakaway, but she eventually dropped back as well. I probably didn’t have quite enough gas to get me over the line in first place, but I might hang onto the yellow jersey.

I’d seen at least ten #FolkyDunes signs and tried to wave to each fan holding one.

After my staged kisses after his races – which had been excuses to do what I wanted anyway – it was the true story of us meeting online that had eventually taken off among the fans.

I’d found Seb’s post last night and had another Folklore bawlfest. He might have even convinced me to watch more Star Wars .

Damn, how many days did I have to hold out until I could go and get him?

I shook my thoughts back into the present, thankful the feared distraction had come at a moment that hadn’t required all of my concentration.

After the final switchback, the pace stepped up as we pushed for the finish in the little sporting town of Alpe d’Huez.

The cheering spectators, the helicopters overhead, were all a blur as I struggled to stay on the wheel of the last rider in the breakaway, but my time should be good enough to keep the yellow jersey at least one more day

The finish line loomed ahead and I sailed across, waving to the crowd and tugging at my jersey with pride.

Glancing forward, I caught sight of my dad, rushing up to enfold me in his arms, and then I wondered if today would be another of those blubbery days and whether my new nickname should be Lori ‘Waterworks’ Gallagher.

‘Did I do it? Can I keep the jersey tomorrow?’

‘You did, Moll – third place in style, and plenty left in ya, by the looks.’

I nodded, letting my bike clatter to the ground so I could squeeze him back. ‘I’m feeling good again, Dad. Everything’s going to be okay.’

Giving me a sharp pat, he said, ‘I know. I’m so proud of you – but not only for this bee-autiful colour on your jersey.’ His grin was giddy and I couldn’t help but return it.

‘What do you mean?’

‘You mother and I… maybe we didn’t give you the best foundations for some parts of life. But it’s a… joy seeing you work things out for yourself. You’re strong and sharp and insightful and…’ He dropped his voice. ‘I hope one day your brother grows into half the woman you are.’

I wrapped my arms around his neck for another hug. ‘Thanks, Dad. But I didn’t think you were coming until tomorrow? The call of the podium, huh?’

‘Ah,’ he said, throwing a glance over his shoulder. ‘It’s not that, sweetheart. Someone needed a lift and convinced me you’d be happy to see me, even though you’ve been keeping me at arm’s length these past few months – which is your right. I know it’s not always easy having your dad for a coach.’

‘Don’t worry, Dad. I’m not mad you’re here, but what are you talking about?’

At first I thought some zealous fan – or my idiot brother – had made a life-size cardboard cut-out of the figure I most wanted to see in the world and placed it with the support staff milling by the finish line to get a rise out of me.

But the cardboard cut-out was holding a sign and since cardboard people didn’t hold cardboard signs and he was the figure I most wanted to see, I was probably hallucinating.

The fact that the sign said, ‘I Did Something Bad (Taylor’s version),’ and then I had the song in my head, confirmed it.

Oh well, it was a lovely hallucination, even reminding me of the time I’d explained the whole saga about Taylor’s songs.

I stood there with an idiotic smile, enjoying the way his hair fell over his forehead in a wiry wave, the sharp jut of his jaw, his eyes that made me think of honey and waffles and everything warm and delicious.

The cardboard cut-out blinked.

My smile faded, watching as his hand came up, flipping the sign so it read, ‘Back to December’. I took a halting step in his direction, my heart fluttering as he changed the sign again, and I waited to see what song title would appear next.

I could have guessed it: ‘We Were Happy’. I didn’t notice my feet moving, but he was getting closer, close enough that I could see the lingering sunburn on his cheeks, the dimple moving as he managed half a smile.

He flipped over two in quick succession: ‘The Way I Loved You’ and then ‘The Very First Night’.

My vision blurred as I tasted tears, the rhythm of my heart stuttering and accelerating.

‘The Lucky One’. ‘I Can See You’.

My chest was heaving and I quickened my steps as he flipped over another one: ‘This Is Me Trying’, and then ‘How You Get the Girl’.

I couldn’t take it any more. I rushed at him, podium protocol be damned.

Flinging my arms around his neck as the cardboard signs fluttered to the ground, I searched for his mouth and found it, sobbing into the kiss that I’d spent weeks wanting.

Fumbling for his cheeks, I opened my mouth and ravished him, screw the censors, and his fingers curled into my back, sliding over my jersey.

Bringing his hands up, he slid off my sunglasses and unclipped the helmet I’d forgotten I was still wearing and held my face up, brushing his thumbs over my cheeks and studying me with all the heat and intensity I could take.

‘I love you, Lori. I’ve loved you for a long time.

’ His lips thinned to a tense line as he stared at me with all the pain and loss I’d felt myself over the past two weeks.

‘I’m sorry it took me a while to trust in it – to be brave like you.

You know I’d race until I was eighty if it was the only way to be with you.

But I think this will be better. I’m retiring – to be on your team – always. ’

I was melting on the spot – at least that’s what it felt like, with tears burning down my cheeks and my nose running. ‘What about your bad luck rubbing off on me?’ I prompted with a poke.

His gaze dropped to where the medallions on my necklace were peeking out of my jersey and then back up to my eyes. He looked a little wobbly too, so I grabbed fistfuls of his T-shirt to hold him steady.

‘Good luck and bad, we’ll deal with it together.

’ He brushed a hand along my neck, tracing Leesa’s chain and dancing his fingertips along my skin, as though he needed to reassure himself that I was real.

‘I have two more signs,’ he continued and bent down to retrieve them, clearing his throat as he shuffled to find the ones he wanted.

Next came, ‘You Are in Love’, along with a flash of his eyebrows. Crossing my arms, I gave a thoughtful tilt of my head. The last sign said, ‘You Belong with Me’, and then he glanced at me, his gaze provoking.

‘I’m sorry I tried to end things. Us together…

is everything. I’ve always pushed people away, terrified of the end, but you sneaked through online because I could tell myself you didn’t really exist. I started falling in love with you the first time you laughed on the voice channel.

You turned out to be even more amazing in real life and I’m still terrified, but I can’t run away any more.

I’m already so in love with you I don’t know what I’m doing.

‘I want to keep making you happy. I want to watch you and support you – since I won’t have my own race schedule. And when you go and I can’t follow, you can come back to me and I’ll be there.’

‘“Something Human” to come home to?’

‘I thought you didn’t like Muse.’

‘The things we do for love,’ I murmured, pressing another soft kiss to his mouth. ‘But you obviously needed Taylor in your life.’

‘I need you in my life. I want you in my life. And if that comes with Taylor – and competitiveness and losing socks and banter and amazing sex – then… you know I can do that.’ His hands snaked around my waist and dragged me to him. ‘Are we good? Are we… back? FolkyDunes?’

‘I never let you go. I fell in love with you when you told Colin that Ken means to fuck in French.’

He choked on a laugh.

‘Or maybe when I saw how considerate you were to Matilda. You’re good for me, Seb, which is lucky, because I love you so much.’

A cheer rose in the crowd and we both froze, finally taking note of the camera trained on us, capturing every word. My forehead fell to his chest.

‘Oops.’

His hand slid to the back of my neck as he pressed a kiss to my forehead. ‘Don’t worry. You’re wearing the yellow jersey. They have to treat you with respect.’

I lifted my head, smiling at him through tears. ‘I see you noticed my outfit.’

He grinned, leaning close to whisper in my ear. ‘You look hot in yellow.’

Yes, my luck had turned that day in the hills of Girona when I’d met him in person for the first time – the luckiest moment of my life.