Page 4 of Head Over Wheels

‘What? He’s a domestique, Lore. Dad brought him in at the last minute after his old team let him go. He’s never going to win anything. He’s in the team to bring me and Lars our water bottles.’ Unlike Colin and me. Gallaghers were here to win.

‘You have no idea how different that word sounds to a woman. You think being a support rider is somehow less masculine, whereas I think it sounds like the perfect man. You’ll learn one day.’ I patted him on the cheek.

‘Knock it off!’ Colin batted my hand away and gave me the same peeved look he’d been giving me since he was ten and I was twelve.

‘What’s his name, the new guy?’ I asked as casually as I could. ‘He only introduced Matilda,’ I added when Colin gave me a curious look.

‘Sébastien Franck,’ Colin said.

I’d heard the name, but he definitely wasn’t a lead rider.

Sébastien…

He couldn’t be LoonieDunes. I was imagining things. Besides, I was certain my Loonie was from Canada – except the argument for that felt weaker the more I thought about it. Maybe he just loved Bugs Bunny.

Colin turned me to face him. ‘But you’re not really interested in— Ah,’ he interrupted himself with a chuckle. ‘You’re screwing with me,’ he accused with a smile and I allowed him to think it. ‘Just… after Gaetano… no one on the team, hey?’

‘Don’t worry. I learned my lesson. There won’t beanyonethis year.’

Chapter 2

Lori

As I poured my coffee at breakfast the next morning, I couldn’t shake the feeling that everyone was watching me.Poor Lori, that must havehurt! Is she ever going to get back to her best? What about her nerves on descents? Surely, after a crash like that, you’ve gotta feel scared.

Pre-crash Lori would have eyeballed them right back and invited a fight, but I couldn’t quite find her yet. I would, at some point during training camp. I’d be back to my best –thebest – and my teammates would win with me.

But that morning, the lingering worry that they were right wouldn’t leave me alone, even though no one was actually looking at me.

I turned the filter in the coffee machine with a yank that was harder than necessary and pressed the button for the water to run through. I only managed a shit coffee: slightly overbrewed, crema wonky and disturbed, but that was me today.

Not sure where to sit, I dawdled serving my porridge and listened to my teammates laugh and chat as they caught up after the couple of months’ break. Bonnie snorted her coffee as Doortje related a story about the Dutch National Team post-Worlds party. Leesa had been gravel racing again back home in the US – in between study for her fancy degree.

When I glanced over my shoulder at them, they were all smiles and friendly squeezes with each other, happy to be back together again.

What amusing anecdotes did I have? That I’d babbled some nonsense about hot Olympic swimmers while the anaesthetic was kicking in during my second round of surgery? I imagined bringing my tray to their table and attempting a smile – which, in my current mood, would look like a creepy viral hoax – and killing all of the team spirit while they avoided the topic of my fitness.

The men’s team had similarly formed good-humoured groups at various tables – my Italian ex thankfully no longer among them. Although there were a few new faces, I knew most of the guys well after a few years of these training camps: Lars, the Swedish lead rider who was getting on a bit now; Nelson, a support rider who was getting married this year even though he was only my age; and Amir from Algeria, the only rider in the World Tour peloton with Arabic roots.

These guys would rally around Colin this year, now my brother was 23 and maturing – in the saddle. He wasnotmature in any other context and I doubted he ever would be.

Neither my brother nor my dad had appeared in the breakfast room yet, but I decided I could grab a table and wait for them to avoid vacant conversation and overthinking. Turning warily, I scanned the room for a free table – and discovered someonewasactually watching me.

Him.

I did not need that zing up my spine.

He seemed as surprised as I was when our gazes clashed, althoughhe’dstarted it. For a heartbeat too long, we just looked at each other across the tables. Ireallydidn’t need my lungs to seize up and the room to grow fuzzy in the background. He was far too cute, with that swirl of hair I could run my fingers through.

But it wasn’t only that. It was the way he gazed at me, his brow askew, as though he couldn’t quite believe he could see me, as though I were a ghost or… Taylor Swift or something. Or a puzzle. The thought didn’t help the fizz in my veins as the moment stretched much longer than I should have let it.

The doors slid open and Dad appeared – just in time to let me breathe again. Gritting my teeth, I swallowed the stupid tingles of attraction before Dad could notice anything. He’d hugged me while I cried the most pitiful tears over my useless boyfriend – as much as a gold medallist and national champion could be useless – last year and I didn’t want him thinking it could happen again.

Dad had thankfully never found out about LoonieDunes, although I’d had a few close calls with Mum. I hated to think of the lecture I’d receive about taking my training seriouslyif he’d worked out why I was online so much – and hopefully he wouldneverdiscover that I’d let that online friendship drift into murky personal territory. I didn’t want to admit that to myself.

That part of my life was over – my injury, the conversations with LoonieDunes. I would be ‘Top Gun’ again in no time and shake off this panicky version of myself, who got squishy over an online friend and projected the image of him onto the first new guy she met.

I’d hoped ruthlessly ghosting him would get rid of the weakness, but my brain was apparently more stubborn than that.

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