Page 95 of Head Over Wheels

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LoonieDunes: Do you want to race or just ride?

Folklore99: Just a training ride.

LoonieDunes: Gotcha. Categorised climbs?

Folklore99: Of course. I’m still getting back to fitness so probably just twos today.

LoonieDunes: ‘Just’ twos??

Folklore99: I thought this was the ‘A’ pace group.

LoonieDunes: No, I mean yes, it is. Twos are good.

Folklore99: But I want to keep the ride private. No points or leaderboard.

LoonieDunes: That’s fine by me.

Folklore99: And I don’t want to talk much.

LoonieDunes: Okay. I’ll manage that.

Chapter 37

Lori

My stomach was hollow with nerves and my bed was strewn with strands of hair I’d tugged out over the last unbearable hour.

A solo breakaway? He was an idiot. He was an idiot who’d cost me a year of my life that afternoon – a big-hearted idiot who made me want to yell and cry and jump in a car and drive straight to Tours.

Seb and Gaetano looked well matched in the final sprint, even though poor Seb had been solo for over an hour and Gaetano safe in the peloton. He was up out of the saddle now, duelling my ex with every muscle in his body – and he had some rather lovely ones.

Looking at the two of them, despite the fact that I was supposed to be still hurt and angry, I realised Seb meant so much more to me than Gaetano ever had. I’d been my best self with him. He’d made it all right to be me –me, and not just a star cyclist.

I wished, hoped that he’d been his best self too – and not only on the road.

They fought so hard; the bikes see-sawed and Seb’s expression contorted, his teeth clenched. As the finish loomed, his hoarse shout of effort came through on the video. Throwing his bike forward as Gaetano did the same, his wheel crossed the line—

Half a metre behind Gaetano’s.

After a heroic effort in a solo breakaway, during his last Tour de France, he’d come second. He wouldn’t even stand on the podium, since only the winner got to do that for the individual stages. Taking up the mantle of responsibility for the team, pushing himself out of his comfort zone – he hadn’t quite won.

And while I inwardly screamed in aggravation, I was far more frustrated that half of France currently separated us and I couldn’t grab him and kiss him and tell him he was a fighter and a keeper and he had to believe that now.

I held my breath, glued to the post-race coverage for his reaction with as much tension as I’d felt in the final kilometre.

Unclipping his foot, he staggered and fought to stay upright, then his bike clattered to the ground and he went down with it. My heart seemed to stop. The coverage moved on to show Gaetano with his smug grin, hands up high as he sailed past the spectators, since Seb had fought too hard to allow him to raise his hands at the finish line.

When the video switched back to Seb, I hopped up on my knees, squinting close to the screen of my laptop as thoughthat would help me gauge his condition. Two of the swannies had reached him, tugging him to a sitting position and helping him to drink. Then Dad appeared, slipping an arm around him to haul him off the road.

I needed him to be okay – not only physically, but to realise the enormity of what he’d achieved. It was suddenly clear to me that we’d both been right and we’d both been so wrong, those times when we’d argued about his retirement, about giving our all for a win.

My expectations had been close to impossible, especially the expectations of my healing body. I’d set myself up for failure instead of redefining success. Seb had never believed in success, so he was never disappointed, but then he’d rarely reached his potential – except today.

I was right to want him to fight and he was right, I was worth more than my palmarès. But maybe if he believed in me and I believed in him, there would be a way forward there somewhere. I didn’t want to change anything about him any more, I just wanted him to get up, to smile – preferably at me, one day soon.

Damn it, if the last text I ever wrote him was, ‘Live long and may the force be with you,’ I’d kick myself into the next lifetime.

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