Page 29 of Green Flag
“You okay?” I asked. I had mentally prepared for multiple possibilities since I left the pit box and he was debriefed on how the press meeting had gone. Anger, calm, outright depression. Not humour.
He nodded and took the can of drink I offered with a thanks. I pulled my flag from the belt strap as Livie had taught me. Then I lifted the umbrella into the sky, shading him from the incessant sun.
“Fine,” he said, but turned his smile on me. It didn’t quite reach his eyes. “How are you? How’s your head?”
“No complaints,” I told him, searching for the mechanics. Everyone in our colours of red and green was at Nix’s side. “I might have been a little late getting up. I’m in Dad’s bad books for it.”
“Just the place we intended,” he said with a grin.
There was no nervous energy about him, not about the race, nor being around me after last night.
Thank god.
Because the thought of Luca Mendes not liking me? Not acceptable. Him avoiding me like I had him this morning? An overwhelming depth of sadness pitched in my chest at the thought of it, which was stupid because I hardly knew the guy.
“I’m glad we’re not awkward about it,” I said, shrugging.
“Nothing to be awkward about,” he said with a laugh. “We’re friends. Who happen to kiss.”
But I didn’t hear if he saidhappenorhappened.And that wasn’t all that had happened between us.
I could really do with a friend. I’d expected some messages from people at uni asking if I was coming back, but I’d had nothing.
When I went through my contacts, there were very few people I could really talk to. Given the weight of what I was planning to do at Ciclati, a friend would probably be good for me.
“You really did enjoy kissing me,” I said with a whimsical sigh. “My lips hurt.”
I’d woken to a swollen bottom lip from the way we’d ravaged each other.
“Of course I did,” he laughed. “Who wouldn’t enjoy kissing you?”
I looked around to check no one was paying any attention to us. They looked over, but not close enough to hear.
“But, really, how are you?” I asked, but he looked to Abbé, who came over with a wave.
“Right, Luca, you alright?” he asked.
“I amfine,” he stressed. With me he had been light-hearted, with Abbé… was there such a thing as heavy-hearted? “Ready to race.”
“So you are,” Abbé said, throwing a look of warning my way, before reminding him of something related to the changed tyre pressure and the bikes.
Luca nodded but didn’t say anything as the mechanics got to work beside our feet.
“Right, well, okay. Good luck.”
“Thanks,” he muttered.
And the second he was gone, the press descended.
“Mendes!” one of them shouted before launching forward and right in front of Luca’s front wheel, almost straddling it. “You were absent for the inquiry,” they said. They paused, expecting Luca to say something, but he remained silent. “We were expecting you to be there.”
“I’ve read the report and know what the StormSprint and Ciclati press release said. I didn’t need to be there.”
“Any thoughts you’d like to share?”
Three more press arrived in the time he asked that question.
While Luca’s jaw stiffened. “I am glad changes have been made to the helmets. I am saddened by what my cousin has gone through. My publicist made it clear to you all that there would be time for questions with Ciclati after the race, not at the beginning.”
