A Sprint To His Heart (22 page)

“We better get going,” he said, crumpling his napkin and tossing it on the table, “or we’ll miss the start. Thanks so much for the pizza, Mr. and Mrs. Meyers.”

“Call us Todd and Gayle,” my mother gushed.

The muscles in my face tightened. Did she think I could just forget Piran? Did she think jumping into another relationship would mend my broken heart?

In silence, I walked with Nick to his car.

“Bails?”

I glanced over at him.

Jiggling his keys as he walked around to the passenger side, he then slipped an arm around me and rubbed my back. “Kelsi told me about your boyfriend’s engagement.”

Nick’s attempted kiss brushed against my cheek. He stepped back.

“Are you going to tell me I told you so?” I asked.

With a deep exhale, he opened the car door for me. “No. I can tell you’ve beaten yourself up enough about this. Look, I’m here for you if you need a friend. Want me to kick his Fae ass the next time he’s around? I’m your guy. But I’m not gonna force myself on you and I’m not gonna keep chasing you.”

I didn’t say anything.

Nick walked around the car to the driver’s side. For a long moment, we both just stood there, then he got in and I followed suit. He gripped the steering wheel and revved the engine.

“I’m sorry,” I said softly as he pulled into traffic. “I mean, I just don’t know what to say. I’m so confused.” I dragged a hand through my hair, hating the emptiness in my heart. Hating that I still loved Piran and couldn’t let him go.

“How about tonight we simply watch a movie,” Nick replied, downshifting around a corner. “No pressure. Just two friends hanging out.”

Grateful, I nodded, but that nagging voice popped back into my head. Was I a complete fool, throwing away an opportunity with Nick on the off-chance Piran would return for me?

The next morning, I received a text from Shannon. “Want to watch a dark Fae race in Chicago today?”

“Sure,” I texted back. Not my first choice of fun in the sun, but at least I’d get a chance to ask about what was going on with her and Jose.

After breakfast with Kelsi, I took the train downtown.

I met Shannon by the concession stand on State Street. She paid for a lemonade, took a sip, and made a face. “Could really use a shot of vodka in this.”

“Shannon, what’s going on?”

She huffed, blowing a strand of hair out of her face. “Jose is what’s going on. I’m so mad at him, I could just…” She clenched her drink so hard the lid popped off and lemonade sloshed over her hand. “Christ,” she growled, wiping her wet hand on her shorts.

“What did he do now? I asked, handing her a napkin. “Wait, don’t tell me. Are you two back together and he’s already cheating on you?”

“Back together?” she repeated, rolling her eyes. “The shithead wishes.” She stepped off the curb onto the street. “Come on, the race has started and I want to show you something.”

I followed her to the road barricades sectioning off a side street, and we slipped behind them to watch the race. “What did you want to show me?”

She pointed to the dark Fae riders rocketing around the corner.

“Um, I’m not following . . .” Then I saw Jose in the field of riders, and my jaw dropped. “What the hell is Jose doing out there? He’s human. He can’t ride in a dark Fae race!”

No wonder the guy looked like road kill.

Jose pulled into the lead, his cycling skills giving him an edge over the trolls and goblins. But a cyclops swung out a long leg, obviously trying to kick Jose’s back wheel. Narrowly escaping the attack, Jose then stiff-armed a grabby boggart, his bike swerving dangerously.

I gasped. “Why is he doing this? Is he insane?”

“I asked him the same question.” Shannon downed the rest of her lemonade and tossed her cup in the garbage. “For the money, since he can’t ride in sanctioned races anymore.”

“No amount of money is worth the risk.” I turned to face her. “Right?”

The worried look in her eyes revealed the depth of her feelings for her former boyfriend.

“We’ll walk against the race,” I said, taking her by the elbow. “That way, we’ll be able to spot him sooner with each lap.”

She nodded, walking beside me toward the race start. When we turned the corner on the tight criterium course, the riders once again burst into view.

“Where is he?” Shannon asked in a panicked voice, scanning the field.

I pointed. “There! About a third of the way back, surrounded by those scaly red things.”

She clasped a hand over her mouth. “Demon-goblins? Oh shit, he’s race bait!”

“Hold on,” I said, studying the riders nearest Jose. “I think they’re
protecting
him.”

The riders passed without incidence, so we continued following the course. Halfway around the next lap, cheers and catcalls erupted on the other side of the block.

Shannon grabbed my arm, her eyes widening, and we took off running.

A huge crowd of spectators blocked the sidewalk, spilling into the street. Shannon veered into a small coffee shop, and I stumbled after her.

“Excuse me,” she said to the clerk. “Is there a back entrance, like into an alleyway?” Shannon gestured to the street. “We’re trying to get past that crowd.”

The clerk nodded. “These races really bring in the customers, but the crowds are crazy.” She led us to a back door. “Have a great day.”

“You too,” Shannon replied, already skipping down the stairs.

We sprinted down the alley, around a building, and back to the street.

“Oh my God,” Shannon whispered, and I peered over her shoulder.

Bikes lay everywhere. Dark Fae riders were jumping on each other, fists flying. A troll grabbed a gargoyle in a headlock, then another troll punched the gargoyle in the face. A bloody fang landed on the ground in front of us. The guy next to me whooped and cheered.

Ugh.

The race organizers yelled at the spectators to clear the course as the remaining riders raced into view.

“Look!” I shouted. Jose was in the lead.

Shannon jumped up and down, screaming his name. He glanced over and blew her a kiss. Cute, in a yucky sort of way.

A goblin nudged Jose’s back wheel. I held my breath, counting the seconds as Jose fought to keep his bike under control. Finally, he skidded to the roadside and into the clear.

Until a troll rammed into him. Jose tumbled over his handlebars and came down hard on his side. I cringed. Shannon screamed.

She barely waited for the rest of the field to clear before she darted into the street.

“Jose! Damn you!” She dropped to her knees beside him and glanced around. “Where are the race EMTs?”

Lying flat, his thigh bleeding and racing shorts torn at the hip, Jose tried to sit up, but fell back with a moan and placed his hands over his face.

“Don’t try to move,” Shannon said to him in a soothing voice.

A troll lumbered over, fist raised.

“No,” Shannon shrieked, thrusting out her hand to hold the troll at bay. “He’s human!”

The troll leaned over and sniffed, then narrowed his bulbous eyes.

Oh crappity crap crap.

Careful not to make any sudden moves, I slowly knelt by Shannon. The dark Fae riders weren’t supposed to touch humans, but I had the feeling the big guy hovering over us didn’t grasp much more than the concepts of
ride
and
fight
.

“Is Jose still doping with dark Fae blood?” I asked Shannon in a low voice.

She nodded. “He said it was the only way for him to enter dark Fae races unnoticed.”

Another troll circled us, and I wiped my clammy palms on my shorts, my heart thumping against my ribs. Right now, a cop with a Faezer would be far more welcome than the EMTs.

One of the trolls kicked Jose’s bleeding leg, and Jose howled in pain. “You ugly fucker,” he yelled, grasping his knee. “Get the hell away from me!”

A demon-goblin sidled up to us, his fiery eyes rolling in their sockets. The eyes finally settled their gaze on Jose, and the goblin licked his lips with a long, forked tongue.

Shannon shielded Jose with her own body. “Back off! He’s human, not Fae.”

The goblin didn’t seem any more convinced than the trolls were.

I frantically searched the crowd for anyone who might be able to help us, and a Guardian Fae woman bounded through the spectators, held up a hand, and the trolls immediately cowered. The demon-goblin fell to his knees, hissing. Head hung low, he reached out a bony hand and lightly stroked Jose’s arm, as if petting him.

“What the hell?” Jose demanded, yanking his hand away from the goblin’s forked tongue dipping between his fingers.

The Guardian Fae moved aside as the EMTs arrived. The paramedics lifted Jose onto a gurney and raised it to transport him into an ambulance. The Guardian’s pale hair glinted in the sun as she leaned over Jose. “You nearly became her love mate.”

“Her?” he choked out, staring at the huge, red-horned goblin.

Shannon laughed. “Serves you right.”

Jose groaned. “No more doping with demon-goblin blood, that’s for sure.”

Shannon unclipped his helmet and brushed the damp hair from his face. “How about no more doping at all?”

He sighed. “You don’t understand. I need the money. Mama has lupus and can’t work. And her monthly medications cost a fortune. I’m all she has, Shannon. She needs me.” He reached out and gripped Shannon’s hand in his. “But I need
you
, babe.”

“I don’t know, Jose.” A deep crease formed between her eyebrows. “The doping makes you act crazy.”

The EMTs slid the gurney into the ambulance.

“Please give me another chance,” Jose said to Shannon. “I’ll stop doping. I promise.”

She looked at me, and I shrugged. Who was I to give out boyfriend advice? At least I now understood Jose’s inner motivation. He was willing to do anything to support and take care of his mom? Damn straight, even if his methods weren’t the smartest.

I pushed Shannon into the ambulance. “Go. Go with him. But if he cheats on you again . . .” I pointed at him and made a slashing motion across my throat.

Jose grimaced, although I wasn’t sure if from my implied threat or the IV being poked into his arm. As a paramedic closed the ambulance doors, the crowd of spectators returned to the roadside. I shook my head. Shannon back together with Jose? Couldn’t believe it. But I still didn’t trust him. Would he really stop doping in order to stay with her?

Pressing my lips together, I shoved my hands in my pockets. Maybe I couldn’t be blamed for thinking guys always lied. Closing my eyes, I took a deep breath, reminding myself to just let it go. Let Piran go—once and for all.

I had a long flight ahead of me to Europe tomorrow, and hopefully, a new direction in my racing career.

Chapter 23

After a noisy nine-hour flight through the night, long layover, change of planes, and another flight, I finally arrived in the capital of Silesia nineteen hours later. So even though this was my first time in Europe, I thoroughly did not give a damn what the city even looked like. I just wanted uninterrupted sleep.

But first, I had to find my way out of the airport and to the shuttle bay. I reviewed the email of instructions I’d received from Daria, the Team Ibsy director, and one long shuttle ride later, I was unceremoniously dumped off at the hotel. Considering the driver barely came to a stop, I pretty much had to tuck and roll.

Clutching my suitcase, I checked in, paid extra for Internet access, and opened the door to my room on the third floor. A twin size bed? I sighed. As long as it didn’t have bed bugs. Crossing my fingers, I peeked inside the bathroom. Toilet and sink only. No shower. I rubbed the back of my sore neck, really wanting relief from a hot shower, but as grubby as I felt, I wanted a nap more than finding the communal showers. Afterward, I’d check in with Daria and find food.

I flopped down on the bed and slid my hands under the lone, hard pillow and tried unsuccessfully to fluff it up. Sheesh, this hotel sucked.

Two hours later, I dragged myself out of bed, washed my hands, and changed clothes. At the hotel’s front desk, I asked about messages, and the desk clerk handed me a note from Daria.

Meeting for dinner at five. Cafe across from the hotel. Don’t be late.

I checked the time and groaned. I’d be late.

When I entered the cafe, Daria pursed her lips, but waved me over.

Walking up to the table felt like high school all over again. The hard stares. The available space suddenly closing up.

Daria introduced the other riders. “Bluebell, Justine, Shanice, Jenna, and the team leader, Caroline. Ladies, this is Bailey Meyers. She’ll be racing with us at the Silesia Festival.”

“You have
got
to be kidding me.” Justine’s lip curled. “The Amazon is riding for us?”

Oh yeah. I remembered
her
from Indiana.

Caroline merely glanced at me and returned to eating. I grabbed an extra chair from another table and sat down next to her.

“So,” she said, twirling pasta on her fork. “You’re my new domestique?”

“Yup,” I replied, trying to stay as blasé as possible. I didn’t want her to think I gave a damn about the difference in our roles. During the race, she’d get to conserve energy while I’d work as her draft, clear paths, and chase down opponents. Whatever it took to help her win.

I had no qualms about protecting my team leader’s interests, but just as in the Colorado race, if Caroline didn’t have a prayer of winning, I wouldn’t hesitate to jump all over that finish line. Either way, I’d get noticed. Maybe even offered a permanent spot on the team.

Caroline forked another mouthful of pasta. “You’re a good rider,” she said after a moment. “Smart. Tough. I’m glad to have you backing me.”

A smile broke through my facade.

She turned toward me, one eyebrow arched. “Don’t get the wrong idea. Just because I acknowledge your cycling skills doesn’t make us friends.”

I swallowed my smile and nodded. Not friends. Got it.

“Team practice ride in an hour,” Daria announced, tossing her napkin on the table.

We returned to the hotel, and I changed into my Team Ibsy jersey—a slimming svelte black with a slash of electric blue across the front. Vibrant blue like Piran’s eyes. I swallowed hard, trying to ignore the ache in my gut. Would I ever see those beautiful eyes again?

I shook his memory from my mind, grabbed my team helmet, and headed out the door.

In the hotel parking lot, the team mechanic was handing out the team bikes. He waved me over. “You requested a size fifty-eight frame, right?”

Drooling over the sleek Cannondale EVO bike he handed me, I nodded. Carbon aerodynamic frame. Shimano drivetrain and wheels. Couldn’t believe I’d be racing on this baby.

“Up you go,” he said. “Let’s check the saddle height.” I mounted the bike, and he checked it over. “Looks good. Take it for a spin. Let me know how it feels.”

I clipped my helmet straps under my chin and tugged on my riding gloves. After pedaling down a side street and back, I tested the bike’s handling and brakes. Crisp, tight, and responsive. Confident, I grinned, a rush of adrenaline giving me the giggles.

The following morning I’d be riding my first pro race!

Not sure what kept me awake more through the night—my nerves, the hard bed, or the people in the next room partying. But finally, I fell asleep. And when my alarm went off, I jumped out of bed, more wired than I’d ever been before.

I met up with the team for a quick breakfast at the cafe, then returned to the hotel and changed into my racing clothes. Brushing my wavy hair into a low ponytail, I stared at my reflection in the chipped bathroom mirror and visualized myself charging down the racecourse, flying past the finish line with my arms thrust in the air in victory.
The crowd goes wild!

My phone chimed with a reminder, and I grabbed my team bag to join Team Ibsy in the hotel parking lot. Not a lot of chatter as we piled into Daria’s car and headed to the racecourse.

When we arrived, the team van pulled off to the roadside to unload our bikes and gear. The van would remain near the start of the race, ready to provide support, extra water bottles, wheels if we had a flat tire, med kits, even encouragement.

In the parking lot, Daria gestured for us to huddle around her. “Ladies, this is an important race for us. A good showing here means we have a chance to race in the Tour of Qatar. Every one of you has a job to do, and I expect nothing less than one hundred percent. Understand?”

She cocked her head, tapped her earpiece, then returned her attention to us. “I’m told the King and Queen of Silesia will be at the Festival to watch the races, so be sure to bow your heads during the Silesia national anthem.”

The King and Queen of Silesia? As in Princess Chanel’s parents?

Oh yippy.

Hopefully, the princess would be too busy getting sloshed to attend the festival. Seeing her would only remind me of Piran’s bogus betrothal and how much I missed him.

“Okay, everybody,” Daria said, clapping her hands. “Let’s do this!”

Rolling my neck, I blew out a deep breath. Show time. We mounted our bikes and rode single-file to the race start.

The enormity of the crowds caught me off guard. I’d never ridden a race where spectators on the road could simply reach out and touch me. Trying not to hyperventilate, I pressed my elbows close to my side and concentrated on following the wheel in front of me.

Clustered at the start line, we dismounted and waited for the race organizer. After a moment, music began to play over the loudspeakers. The crowd grew quiet, and I bowed my head. When the anthem ended, the crowd erupted in cheers. I clapped politely, but when the cheering grew more wild, I craned my neck and looked around.

Climbing the stairs to the podium, King and Queen of Silesia waved to the crowd. Behind them, Piran’s parents came into view, and my jaw dropped. What the hell? Why would the King and Queen of Sava be at the Silesia Festival?

Then Piran and Princess Chanel strode up the stairs, arm in arm, and I suddenly couldn’t breathe. My blood turned to ice.
No, no, no.

Chanel took a seat on the podium and jiggled her stiletto-heeled foot, surveying the crowd below with a look of distinct boredom before she pulled out a cell phone.

Piran’s mother stared hard at her son’s chosen bride.

Yeah, maybe the insolent princess wasn’t the best choice?

I tore my gaze away. No reason to torture myself. With shaking hands, I gripped the handlebars of my bike and burrowed into the cramped mass of riders, attempting to blend in. Just another pro rider in a sea of multi-colored helmets, jerseys, and bikes.

I would not let Piran see me.

The starter announced for the riders to take their places, and I stared at the road beneath my feet. Would he be able to read me from this distance? Oh God. Stop thinking about him!

The starting gun fired, and we slowly rolled out. At the last moment, I glanced over at the podium. Gray eyes met mine and flared iridescent blue.

My shoulders curled forward. I wanted to fall apart, drop my bike, and run to him. Cry. Scream. Beat my fists against his chest. But instead, I hammered down hard on my pedals. I had a job to do—get to the front of the field of riders and block.

My first pro race was definitely not the time to lose focus.

During the first lap of the five-kilometer course, I worked my way through the riders to the front line. Caroline waved me over to join her and Justine. The other three Team Ibsy riders stayed mid-field, ready to move into position when necessary.

I vowed not to give into morbid curiosity and look at the podium again. Piran had a duty to his Fae kingdom. He had a life without me. No sense in beating myself up about it.

I’d simply ignore him and his bottle-dyed princess.

Famous last words.

I looked.

He stood alone on the roadside. In that brief moment as I rode past, his eyes blazed deep gold, and his lips crooked into that sexy smile of his.

Damn you, Piran! Why make this even more difficult?

I jerked my attention back to the race. Three riders had pulled away from the front of the field. No way. You’re not breaking away without me. I lifted off my saddle and drove harder, while Caroline slipped into my draft stream.

The break ahead of us set an unbelievably tough pace, and I had to fight to ignore the lactic acid burn creeping into my calf muscles.

A glance over my shoulder revealed two riders on our tails, but we’d lost Justine, the pace too brutal for her. After closing the gap, I drafted behind the lead riders to catch my breath, while Caroline moved to the front. When we rounded the next curve, the two chasing riders caught up to us.

Seven riders now in the breakaway group. As we soared past the podium, the crowd cheered and clapped, giving me an extra boost of energy. Piran’s voice carried above the others, his words of encouragement grabbing my soul as if he’d reached his hands directly inside me. But I couldn’t look at him. I couldn’t acknowledge what his presence did to me.

More importantly, if I didn’t pay attention to the riders around me, I could end up face first in the gravel on the side of the road.

During the next lap, our breakaway group lost ground, and the chasing field caught us. On the backside of the course, new riders took the lead. The crowds had nearly doubled with spectators running alongside us on the road. My hands damp with sweat, I flexed my cramping fingers, constantly scouting for possible escape paths.

Near the front of the now bunched-up field, the handlebars of two riders became entangled. I immediately slowed, praying they’d untangle without crashing.
Come on . . .

Shit!

Bikes flew across the road, and I squeezed hard on my brakes. I slid one way then the other, my heart thumping so hard I thought it would explode right out of my chest. Unable to swerve out of the way, my front wheel crunched right over a downed bike.

I cringed. That could have been a rider’s leg.

Other riders jumped on the opportunity to take the lead. With barely time to savor the relief I hadn’t crashed, I struggled to find a way out of the mess. Finally, I maneuvered into the clear, but by the time I completed the lap, I was stuck in mid-field.

Near the start-finish line, Piran’s mother paced the roadside in her long, iridescent gown, wringing her hands. As we passed the podium, she grabbed Piran and pointed. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw them both jumping up and down, and I couldn’t help but grin.

Suddenly, we all slowed. The course, narrowed by spectators lining the roadsides, now only allowed a few riders passage through at a time. I’d never seen crowds like this at an American women’s race. Hell, I’d never seen crowds like this at a men’s race in the states.

An ambulance on the backside of the course further hindered our pace as volunteers tended to the injured from the crash on the last lap. When workers hoisted a rescue basket over the guardrail, a chill ran through me.

Shit just got real, and all I could do was send a silent prayer the injured rider would be okay.

A media helicopter whirred overhead, sending a gust of wind across the course. Squinting from the dirt swirling in the air, I zigzagged my bike to dodge debris churning across the road.

My rear tire erupted with a loud pop.

Jesus! Really? I skidded to a stop, pulled over, and quickly dismounted. After unclipping my rear wheel, I thrust it over my head as a distress signal.

“I need a new wheel,” I yelled, unsure if anyone could hear me over the helicopter drone. Frantically, I searched for the team van. Damn. Blocked by the crowds and halted a good fifty meters back.

“Please make room,” I shouted, waving my wheel. “My team van needs to get through.”

Either the onlookers didn’t understand my crazy gesturing or they didn’t care.

The field of riders passed me by on their way to the final lap. My chest felt hollow. A top finish would be impossible now. Gripping my bike handlebars, I wiped my mouth on my upper arm, sweat mingling with the dirt coating my face. I tasted grit in my teeth. And desperation.

“Please, does anybody have a rear wheel?” I asked nearby spectators. They looked at me as if I’d lost my mind. Maybe I had. Tossing my busted wheel aside, I let loose a string of swear words that would have made Nick proud and my mom faint.

My first pro race—a total failure.