A Sprint To His Heart (13 page)

“I’d assumed the gift was from Piran.” I settled my elbows on the table and sunk my cheeks into my hands. “I assumed wrong.”

“No wonder he’s pissy. So, any other ideas? Your parents?”

I shook my head. My parents were clueless about bike stuff.

“The guy from the bike shop?” Shannon suggested. “Ni-ick.” She said his name in a singsong voice, waggling her eyebrows.

“You’re as bad as Piran. No, not Nick. We’re just friends.”

“Uh-huh. The guy follows you everywhere.”

“No,” I insisted. “Nick goes to bike races because he’s a fan of cycling. Has been since he started working at Harbor Bike and Ski, before he ever met me.”

Shannon shrugged. Then her light brown eyes opened wide, and she dropped back into her seat. “I betcha they’re from Mia or Jose.”

“Mia or Jose?” I snorted. “Yeah, right. Since when would either of those two—”

“A bribe. You’ll probably get called to testify against them. Coach says the United States Anti-Doping Agency wants to push for an international ban, prevent either of them from racing not just in U.S. races, but in non-sanctioned races in Europe as well.”

“Whoa.” Her suggestion made my stomach roil. Were my dream shoes simply a bribe? No way did I want to get drawn into Jose and Mia’s doping scandal.

Damn it. I needed to find out where those shoes came from.

Chapter 13

The following morning, I came downstairs and found a note from Mom on the kitchen counter.
Have to run several errands. Be back after lunch
.

Outside, the wind whipped the trees against an evil gray sky and rain poured down in rumbling sheets. I plopped down on the couch in front of the television and surfed the channels. Nothing on but stupid talk shows and lame sitcoms only my parents would like.

For the umpteenth time, I checked my phone. No missed calls. No texts. The crummy weather matched my crummy mood.

My Guardian boyfriend—who’d concealed his origins yet wanted me to see him for who he was inside—wasn’t speaking to me, my beautiful new cycling shoes were tainted with controversy, and Mom and Dad had been stomping around like T-rex’s with back rashes because of Dad’s job situation. Plus, I still had to wait a week before I could race.

And the basement was probably flooding.

Grrrrr.

The house phone rang, and I tossed aside the television remote. Reluctantly, I heaved my butt off the comfort of the couch and padded into the kitchen to get a glass of juice, intending to let the call go to voice mail until the caller identification caught my eye.

I picked up the phone. “Hey, Coach.”

“Bailey,” he said. “Have a moment?”

“Ah, sure.” His curt tone gave me pause. “What’s up?”

He cleared his throat, and I had a sinking feeling this wasn’t going to be good.

“A development team in Colorado, the Lady Spinners, is looking for up-and-coming amateur riders. I recommended you.”

“Oh?” I tugged on my lower lip. “I’ve never heard of them. A development team?”

“Yes. You can ride for them while you continue your training.”

“My training . . .” The walls around me seemed to close in, and I couldn’t keep the tremble out of my voice. “But I’d hoped to join the national team or a pro team this summer.”

“Bailey, you simply don’t have the wins for that. This was your first serious season, and I think you’ve made some improvement, but the bottom line is you haven’t placed in enough races. You’ve been distracted. And with the concussion knocking you out of the Grand Tour…”

His words dissolved into random sounds as the muscles in my hand cramped. I stared at the phone trapped in my death-grip, but couldn’t relax my fingers.

One pro-cycling dream
crushed
.

“Bailey?” Coach barked from the phone receiver.

I returned the phone to my ear. “Yeah, Coach. Sorry. What about the Indiana Cycling Classic? If I place well in that series, I’d still have a chance for a team director to notice me.”

“Haven’t you been listening to me?

“Um . . . do you want an honest answer?”

Stone-cold silence. Oops.

“Look,” he said finally. “Go ahead and race the Indiana series. The experience is invaluable. But the time has passed to be noticed by a team director. The Lady Spinners is a great development team for amateur riders looking to turn pro. They have the support you need and great directors and trainers. I’m told they even help recruits find roommates and jobs.”

I took a deep breath. “Okay, Coach. I’ll think about it.”

“Don’t take too long,” he warned. “You’re not the only prospect they’re interested in and they only have two spots open. They need an answer ASAP.”

“How soon do I have to decide?”

“By Friday.”

I winced. Only two days. “And if I say yes, when would I need to fly out there?”

“End of August. But sooner would be better.”

“I’ll let you know my decision by Friday,” I said, resisting his efforts to pressure me. “I want to run this past my parents.”

“Of course,” he replied, suddenly smooth. Invoking my parents seemed to rein in his push. “And tell your folks if they have any questions to give me a call.”

“Will do. Thanks for calling.”

Odd. Coach sounded almost nervous. Was he that intent on getting me out of his life?

I set the phone back on the base and flopped back onto the couch, only to stare mindlessly at the blank screen, one thought running over and over through my mind.

I wasn’t good enough
.

And there was only one way around that. Ride my goddamn bike.

With the storm finally calmed, I hustled down to the basement, lifted my bicycle off the trainer, and carried it upstairs to the garage. After suiting up, I slipped on my old cycling shoes and the new helmet I’d bought after the crash, filled a water bottle, and shoved my phone into the back pocket of my jersey. Then I wheeled my bike through the garage and out the side door.

Metal creaked and groaned above me, and a flood of cold rainwater suddenly dumped on my head. Damn it! Dad hadn’t fixed the broken gutter. Shivering, I wrung the water from my ponytail and shook off a couple of maple-tree helicopters, then plodded back into the garage to find a towel. I refused to accept this as a warning sign not to ride outside.

After drying my face and neck, I hopped on my bike. My jersey would dry in the sun—I glanced at the overcast sky—assuming the sun came out. Heading north to the lake bluffs, I stayed on the quiet roads, hoping to claim my space on the pavement against any cars.

Riding through the ritzy town of Abbortsford, where houses sold for more than the gross national product of many countries, I waved to the housewives putzing around their yards in clingy shirts solely designed to show off their boob jobs. They tried to scowl at me, and their pinched expressions made my day. They really should lay off the Botox.

I zipped around a corner and laid on the brakes as I approached two slow-moving mountain bikers. Grumbling, I swerved behind them to allow a car to pass and immediately recognized the gray Trek bike and shaggy brown hair at the base of a yellow helmet.

Laughing, I nudged Nick’s back tire. “Get moving, slowpoke!”

I pulled up alongside him, and he turned his head and grinned. “Aren’t you on bed rest or something?”

“Oh, please. I’m fine.” I waved hello to his friend, whose gaze traveled from me to my road bike. I recognized the mountain-biking-reigns-supreme look on his face. No, I had never jumped over dirt mounds or ridden through creeks. As a road racer, I avoided rocks, boulders, and tree roots—well, mostly—but I could fly down a paved hill at forty miles per hour.

“Aaron, this is Bailey. I told you about her.”

He dismissed me with a nod and upped his riding pace. Smug jerk.

Nick tipped his chin to me. “How’s the Fae guy?”

“Just princely.” I smiled.

“Hill coming up,” Aaron announced. His mouth twisted. “Think you can handle it?”

I rolled my eyes. Bring it on, douchebag.

We began the climb. Riding next to me, Nick began to huff and puff, while his friend cranked down on the pedals, his gaze darting to me every few seconds.

Did he seriously think I couldn’t keep up? After a few minutes, I decided I’d played around enough. “Sorry, Nick,” I said, shifting gears. “I’ll call you soon, okay?”

Nick nodded. He knew what was coming. I lifted off my saddle and opened a gap between us, quickly adding distance.

“What the hell?” I heard Aaron shout behind me.

I glanced over my shoulder and snorted in laughter seeing Nick’s friend struggle to catch me. Reaching the summit of the hill, I gave the boys a lazy wave before beginning my descent down the other side. I’d barely broken a sweat.

Two hours later, I headed for home. When I noticed Piran’s sports car pulling into my driveway, I couldn’t help a smile, my insides fluttering. The more I thought about it, the more I realized I didn’t
want
to be mad at Piran forever. He said he loved me for who I was. Why shouldn’t I accept him for who he was? Maybe, for once, I could be fearless
off
the racecourse.

Then the front door opened, and out stormed a very angry Mom.

Damn. Busted.

On the driveway, I slid off my bike, averting her glare.

“Bailey Ryanne Meyers, get in this house at once!” Mom turned on her heels and stomped back inside, letting the front door slam behind her.

Piran exited his car, mouth compressed. Great. Not him too. Just what I did
not
need right now—my boyfriend to go all Guardian on me.

Ignoring both of them, I unclipped my helmet and walked into the garage, my cleated cycling shoes clicking on the concrete floor.

Piran followed. I leaned my bike against the trashcans and turned to face him. “Don’t say it. I don’t want to hear it.”

He cocked an eyebrow.

“But you’re gonna say it anyway, aren’t you?”

A small laugh softened his stern expression. “Yes.” He studied me for a moment. “Your mother said you are scheduled to see the doctor on Monday for another CT scan.”

“So?”

He made a small noise in his throat. “You are most stubborn, Bailey.”

“You say that like stubborn is a bad thing.”

His lips quirked. “The Fae have a saying. That which attracts also frustrates.”

“Uh-huh. I think you made that up.” I grabbed a towel and scrubbed at the dirt on my calves from riding through puddles. “So are you here to check up on me?” I glanced up at him. “Or for some other reason?”

“I came to ask your forgiveness.”

“About what?” I tossed the dirty towel onto a shelf, then removed my cycling shoes and peeled off my dirt-splattered socks.

“The gift you received. I was wrong to be angry.” He bowed his head. “And I was wrong to leave you at the ice cream store.”

I acknowledged his apology with a nod and leaned back to stretch my tight lower back. “Thanks. But can we talk about this later? I really need to shower.”

“Of course,” he replied. Except he tapped his lips with his fingers as if debating whether to say something else. Finally, he looked directly at me. “The cycling shoes were from my father.”

“What?” I stood upright. Daddy Fae was probably the last person on earth I’d expect to buy me a gift. “Why? Some sort of apology?”

Piran’s eyes darkened for a moment. “As with everything concerning my father, I do not know, although I have a theory.”

My bare feet had grown chilled from the concrete garage floor. I gestured with my hands, urging Piran to hurry up and divulge.

He straightened his shoulders. “I believe my father wants you to continue racing.”

“Seriously?” I drew back in mock horror. “He wants me to race?” I broke into a smile at Piran’s exasperated grunt and ran my hands through my hair, plucking out a twig. “Come on. Why’s this a problem?”

“The more committed you are to racing, the less available you are to me.”

“Ah, I see.” My lips twitched.

“And the less desirable I will find you.”

Now the chill inside me had nothing to do with the cold floor.

Piran drew me close and caressed my cheek. “Shows how little my father knows me.”

Buoyed by the warmth in his voice, I raised my chin to meet his gaze, and he kissed the tip of my nose.

“Please thank your father for the gift, but I don’t think I can keep the shoes.”

“No. Keep them. I insist.”

With a soft sigh, I nuzzled his neck. “Don’t be mad because I went out riding. This is who I am.”

“Yes, I know,” he said softly. “And worrying about you is who I am.”

I sucked in a sudden breath at the realization. Would this always place us at odds?

He stroked my hair. “Only if we let it.”

The door to the house opened, and I turned around. Mom stood with her hands on her hips, mouth pinched. She stared at us before aiming her laser focus at Piran. “Young man, I think you should go home.”

“Mom! We’re not in eighth grade. Anyway, you can’t talk like that to a prince.”

She turned pale as a ghost. Oh my God. Priceless. Piran cleared his throat, and I caught his irate expression. “I’m kidding, Mom. He’s a prince, but not like a
Prince
.” I gave him a stinging finger-flick on his arm, and he mouthed ‘ow’.

“He’s just Piran.” The corners of his mouth lifted, and I flicked him again. “But he drove all the way up here and you—”

“Fine, Bailey,” she said, holding up a hand, the color returning to her face. “Take a shower, then come downstairs.” She pointed at us both. “Living room only.”

I cringed. Could she be any more embarrassing? She arched a knowing eyebrow, and I rolled my eyes. Fine. A small price to pay for living rent-free.

Forty minutes later, while Piran and I sat on opposite ends of the couch, he peered over his shoulder. A sly smile crossed his face. “She’s gone.”

I grabbed the television remote and turned off National Geographic. “Thank God. I didn’t think she’d
ever
leave for work.”

Piran scooted across the vast space between us. He put his arm around me, and I melted into his kiss. Damn, I had missed this.

“Me too,” he murmured, his hand slipping around my back.

His lips caressed the side of my neck, and I tilted my head to give him greater access, my pulse thumping in my throat. I squeezed his thigh.

“Yes?” he asked, his voice ragged.

I didn’t have to answer.

We didn’t waste time running up to my bedroom, our clothes flying off the moment I closed the door. For a moment, I gazed at his unbelievable body in utter worship. Then I threw my arms around his neck and pressed my body against his. I kissed his neck. I kissed his marbled chest. I sank to my knees and kissed his taut abs all the way down his silken treasure trail.