Page 77 of The Unfinished Line

We lay in bed that night—I’d made her watchThor: Ragnarok, and yes, she agreed Cate Blanchett was hot in Hela’s iridescent skin-tight leather armor—and I lamented every passing minute that brought me closer to Greenland.

“I don’t even want to go.”

“Bollocks.” She stroked my hair as I lay against her chest, watching the TV turn black on automatic shutoff. “This is going to be the most incredible experience of your life. By the time you get to Scotland, you’ll have forgotten all about me.”

“Now that’sbollocks,” I mocked her, turning my head to catch her eye, wondering just how long it might really be before I saw her again. “Are you sure you can’t come see me in Aberdeen?”

“You know I would if I could.” She ran a fingertip along the channels of my ribcage, trailing off into a senseless design at my hip. “But the Championship Series will be underway. I’ll be in Yokohama when you’re in Scotland.”

Yes, I knew. And after that Leeds. Montreal. Málaga. Cagliari. Abu Dhabi. And no telling what might get thrown in in between. It could be November before I saw her again. But by then, we’d be well into post-production. I’d be in the middle of the required promotional phase—interviews, talk shows, red carpet appearances. Pretty much whatever the studio wanted.

The dawning acceptance of our reality left me feeling hollow, with a sinking feeling spreading through my chest.

She must have felt my rising misery, because she wrapped her arms around me, holding me tightly against her.

“We’ll find each other. I promise.”

“And what if you forget me?”

I could feel her smile against my temple before suddenly rolling to pin me beneath her, brushing her mouth across the ticklish skin of my stomach. “I’m going to show you right now what happens when you playWhat If.”

But later, in the middle of the night, it was she who woke me, her lips pressed to my ear, and promised it would be a blazing day on Cairn Gorm Mountain before she ever could forget me.

Scene 28

Three seconds.

That was the difference in $6000 of prize money and seventy-five fewer points toward the championship. A runner-up result leading to hours wasted of second-guessing every choice made on the course.

Dillon had lost Bermuda to the French track and field sensation-turned-triathlete, Elyna Laurent. Just twenty-two years old.

But it was worse than that. Elyna wasn’t just a rising talent in the sport.

She was Henrik’s student.

His newhellster Stern.One that, based on her performance that morning, might actually prove to be his brightest star. Perhaps even a frontrunner for Los Angeles.

No athlete of Henrik’s had come within fifteen placings of Dillon since she left him. Going into the race, no one expected Laurent to beat the established veteran. Most especially Dillon herself. But she’d surprised everyone with a sit-and-kick strategy, holding the middle of the pack until throwing it in high gear over the last half kilometer of the run. And, caught in an unexpected footrace, Dillon hadn’t been able to hold the lead.

Three bloody seconds.

“We, uh, skipping the piss-up, then?” Kyle’s gear bagbumped against his hip as he matched Dillon’s stride, taking the stairs two-by-two to the entry of their hotel.

“You should go.” Mad at the world, she shouldered through the revolving door in her rush to get to her room. “Harry and Georgina will be there.”

“Come on, Sinc. Shower and ride back with me. You ran a solid race.”

“Not solid enough.”

He trotted to catch up with her. “You can’t beat yourself up over—”

Dillon spun in the foyer. “He knew, Kyle! He knew he could bait me to chase her if she sprinted the hill and I’d run out of gas on the carpet. He fuckingknew.”

“Yeah. He did.” Kyle nodded, dropping his placation. It was a thing she loved about him. He knew when to quit with the bullshit. “There’s no question that bastard knows you. He’s just been waiting to have a competitor strong enough to put his knowledge to the test. He knew you wouldn’t be able to deny your ego the effort to maintain the lead. But—” he held up a finger as she opened her mouth to tell him to piss off about her ego. “The thing is, Sinc, you, more than anyone, know you can’t let him get inside your head. One race—that’s all today was. First of the series. You learned a lesson and not the way you like to learn them. But you’re not the only one who cocked up.” The cleft in his chin deepened as he smiled. “Today they made two fatal errors: One—they showed their cards in the first round, and two—they forgot who the fuck they’re dealing with.” He thumped her chest with a knuckle. “You’re still Dillon Sinclair.”

What if that didn’t mean anything anymore, she wanted to ask, but kept quiet.It wasn’t so much that she’d been beaten that bothered her—it was that she’d been outplayed. Byhim.

But Kyle was right. One race. One mistake. She wouldn’t let it happen again.

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